Page 17 of Whiskey Poison

I want to ask what that is, but it would give me away. I should know what she’s talking about. All of this information is almost certainly somewhere in Timofey’s file. I guess I got hung up on the list of felonies on page one.

“He rambled on about it for a while,” she continues. “The long and short of it is that the man is loaded. The meeting was at his house, right? Was it huge?”

“Massive,” I breathe.

“And what about him?”

“Also massive.”

Andrea cackles. “No, you goose! I mean, what was he like? James said he might be a crime boss or something. The truth is never as interesting as rumors, but did he seem like someone who breaks kneecaps for a living?”

The words are right there at the end of my tongue.Yes. He’s dangerous. We need to call the police and get that baby out of his care.

Instead, I hear myself say, “He actually, uh… wasn’t there.”

Andrea does a double-take. “He stood you up?”

“It wasn’t a date,” I say a bit too harshly. “I was running late and he had another meeting to get to. We rescheduled.”

I spin to face my desk, hoping Andrea won’t sniff out my lie.

I’m not even sure why I told it. Timofey doesn’t seem like the kind of man to give up easily. Just because I refused his offer and stomped out of his office doesn’t mean he’s done with me yet.

Andrea sighs. “Darn. Well, keep me posted.”

“Will do.” My voice comes out high and tight.

There’s a pause before I hear Andrea’s chair squeak closer. “Piper?”

I swallow nervously. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think you’re a liar or anything, but…” I hold my breath before she finishes. “…But if you’re sick, please go home.”

My heart restarts.Thank God.“I’m not sick!”

“Fine. Whatever you say.” She slides back into her desk, still muttering. “Sheesh.”

I dig the heel of my hand in my eyes. Today is going to be a very long day.

8

PIPER

I thought a run after work would help me clear my head, but as I round each corner, I keep expecting to see Timofey standing there waiting for me.

The run was born of necessity. The last thing a stressful day like this one needs is an elevated heart rate, but I rode the bus into work this morning. Which means my bike is still hanging from its hooks in my living room, and I’m far too jumpy to try and wedge myself into the back of a taxi. Even with the windows down, I’d be trying to claw my way out within a block.

So I dragged out the gym bag I keep in my locker and laced up.

All I want is to get home and double-check all my door and window locks.

I keep my head on a permanent swivel as I run, Timofey’s criticisms playing and replaying in my head.

You didn’t even check to see if anyone was around.

Your head was down and you don’t have a weapon.

You fool. You fucking fool.

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