Page 49 of In Her Blood
Evelina blinked stupidly up at him.
Otto shifted to glance toward her, a silent indicator of his own confusion.
Finally, Evelina asked, “Message?”
Artem frowned. “Ms. Orlov said she would tell you I called.”
Evelina’s stomach managed to contort one more time.
“Why would you call Orlov?” Otto asked before Evelina could think of words.
She couldn’t quite stop her wince. It’d been years since Otto had referred to Kat by her surname.He probably has the right idea, though.Distance, disassociation, and a clearer head—she needed those things.
“I didn’t,” Artem replied. “I called my pakhan. Ms. Orlov answered.” He switched his stare back to Evelina. “She said you were in the shower, so I asked her simply to let you know I had information you needed to be made aware of sooner than later. I was not specific. She assured me she would tell you as soon as you were ‘dry enough to hold a phone.’”
Evelina flashed back to the texts she’d read, screenshotted, and forwarded to herself. She knew Kat had been engaging with Pyotr at that time. All Artem’s words really did was further solidify the fact that Kat had been plotting against her the entire weekend—longer, really. She’d sure as hell been pregnant longer.
Drawing a steadying breath, Evelina quietly said, “Come with me. We can trade updates.” She hated that they had to speak in private even inside the house. Home was supposed to be their safest place.
It had been once. When she’d lived in a different home, with just her mother and Otto.
I’ll make it that way again.
“Where’s Orlov’s truck?” Otto asked, voice low, as the trio moved through the halls.
Artem’s response was equally hushed. “I’m told Grisha moved it, about forty minutes ago.”
Evelina absorbed this information silently, her hands curling into shaking fists. Was Pyotr not trying to hide his treachery anymore? Or had he concocted some cover story? She knew she’d find out eventually. Even if she had to hunt the bastard down, stalk the neutral areas of their infuriatingly shared living space, or plant herself at the gate, she would find a way to confront him. But first, she needed a full picture of everything that had apparently gone down while she’d been away. And, maybe, she needed more than ninety minutes between their confrontation and her latest devastation.
That last part was a generous ‘maybe.’
“Where the fuck is Chek?” Artem said, a roughened edge to his voice, as they approached her suite.
Evelina glanced up at the brigadier even as Otto commented.
“He should’ve been on for another couple hours, right?”
Understanding dawned. They were talking about the lack of a sentry beside her door. And while she did prefer having someone watch her space currently, the men were still only human. So, she opted to hope there was a mundane explanation and offered, “Bathroom break?”
“We have a system for those,” Artem replied.
So much for that, then.
Otto made as if to try and dig out his key, despite the mountain of luggage weighing him down.
Evelina pressed a hand to his chest to stop him and swung her purse around, quickly producing the key and leading the procession into her suite. She heard Otto grumble his disagreement with the choice, but for once, she moved fast enough to keep the lead. It wasn’t like she didn’t know her way around her own room. Her hand moved on autopilot to the nearest switch as she dropped the keyring back into her purse, triggering the overhead chandelier and filling the sitting space with light.
Or it should have.
Evelina’s feet came to a stumbling stop and her heart caught in her throat as she attempted to comprehend the destruction before her. For a painful second, she didn’t know where to look first.
At the shredded upholstery, broken apart ottoman, and ripped out shelves. At the toppled and scattered items that had once sat on those shelves. At the pages of books that had been torn loose and tossed about like confetti. At the portion of chandelier that dangled just barely from the ceiling like a beaten piñata. At the fragments of the chandelier shattered across the floor like crystalized bloodstains.
Or past all of that, through the doorway that led into her actual bedroom, where she could see a man’s leg clad in black pants hanging awkwardly in the air. The shoe for his visible foot was balanced in place over his upward-pointing toes, having somehow popped off his heel.
Otto let out a string of curses, mostly in Russian, and dropped the bags weighing down his arms in favor of scooping her up. He tucked an arm under her ass the way he alwaysdid when he determined it was time for an extraction, and she knew that meant he’d drawn his gun. Otto had felt the need to draw his gun in her bedroom.
Why was itthatthat made her eyes burn? Her vision blurred just long enough for her to miss the actual movement, until they were back in the hall again. But at least she managed to push the tears down on the inside for once.
