you?”
She smiled up at him. “I promise I’ll use my head, okay?”
He gave her a quick hug. “If only that were enough.”
“When did Kilo tell you that I found the painting?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Does it matter?”
“I’m just wondering who took him off Aneta’s murder investigation. I mean, was it before or after the painting was recovered? Whichever, he seemed perturbed by it.”
“Maybe he had other matters on his mind,” her uncle offered. “Of course, I know little about how the police work, but I am sure the job is extremely stressful.”
There he went again, protecting her. Kilo had said her uncle knew everything that went on in the police office, and her uncle was telling her he didn’t know how it was run. The truth probably lay somewhere in the middle.
“I beg you not to concern yourself with these tawdry matters,” he said as he moved back toward his desk. “Is there anything else I can do for you? It’s growing late, and I have a few calls to make yet tonight.”
“No. Good night, Uncle Luca.”
“Good night, my dear,” he said. “And, Skylar, just be warned that I will look after you any way I must. To do less would be negligent.”
She started to protest again, but what was the use? He was a proud and stubborn man, and as long as she was a guest in his house, he would demand she play by his rules. Perhaps not out-and-out verbally, but the pressure was there. He was warning her that she wouldn’t see Cole again as long as she was in Kanistan.
That was okay, right? Hadn’t she as much as told Cole the same thing a few hours earlier? So why did it annoy her now? Her uncle was picking up the phone as she left the office, and she heard the first few words he spoke as she closed the door. “Send someone to my place—”
Someone to his place. Within a half-dozen steps, the impact of those words hit her. She’d bet money he was arranging for someone to come keep an eye on her.
She hurried to her room and threw a few things in a large carryall, then took the time to write a note that she subsequently sealed in an envelope addressed to her aunt. She propped it on her untouched pillow, then went down the servant’s stairs, exiting into the kitchen that was blissfully empty.
But all that had taken time, and her uncle’s office was very close by.
She let herself out the door without turning on any lights and stood in the deepest shadows for a few moments, allowing her vision to adapt to the darkness. Then, keeping to the edge of the driveway, she approached the gatehouse, well aware of the security cameras and that she was probably being watched.
The truth was she felt melodramatic and yet nervous. She did not want to alarm her uncle or her aunt, but she wasn’t content to sit in her room, either, not with her aunt’s pleas still ringing in her ears. She’d lived alone for several years back home, and this feeling that she was being watched—even if it was done out of concern for her—was getting old. When she got to the street, she kept walking, using the internet access on her phone to look up Svetlana Dacho’s address.
It was too late for a social call, but as this visit could hardly be labeled social, she hailed a cab and felt tucked away from curious eyes as she scooted into the warm interior. She told the driver to take a circuitous route, just in case, to the general area of the city in which Svetlana lived.
At least the late hour would probably guarantee she would be home. Skylar told the driver to let her out a couple of blocks further on, exited the cab and paid him, waiting until his taillights disappeared before turning around and hurrying back to the right address.
Svetlana had a mailbox in the lobby like Aneta had had, and Skylar couldn’t help wishing Cole was there to climb those dark stairs with her. She sidled past a group of teenagers who whistled after her, past a couple making out on a landing, erupting at last on the fourth floor.
She smiled up at him. “I promise I’ll use my head, okay?”
He gave her a quick hug. “If only that were enough.”
“When did Kilo tell you that I found the painting?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Does it matter?”
“I’m just wondering who took him off Aneta’s murder investigation. I mean, was it before or after the painting was recovered? Whichever, he seemed perturbed by it.”
“Maybe he had other matters on his mind,” her uncle offered. “Of course, I know little about how the police work, but I am sure the job is extremely stressful.”
There he went again, protecting her. Kilo had said her uncle knew everything that went on in the police office, and her uncle was telling her he didn’t know how it was run. The truth probably lay somewhere in the middle.
“I beg you not to concern yourself with these tawdry matters,” he said as he moved back toward his desk. “Is there anything else I can do for you? It’s growing late, and I have a few calls to make yet tonight.”
“No. Good night, Uncle Luca.”
“Good night, my dear,” he said. “And, Skylar, just be warned that I will look after you any way I must. To do less would be negligent.”
She started to protest again, but what was the use? He was a proud and stubborn man, and as long as she was a guest in his house, he would demand she play by his rules. Perhaps not out-and-out verbally, but the pressure was there. He was warning her that she wouldn’t see Cole again as long as she was in Kanistan.
That was okay, right? Hadn’t she as much as told Cole the same thing a few hours earlier? So why did it annoy her now? Her uncle was picking up the phone as she left the office, and she heard the first few words he spoke as she closed the door. “Send someone to my place—”
Someone to his place. Within a half-dozen steps, the impact of those words hit her. She’d bet money he was arranging for someone to come keep an eye on her.
She hurried to her room and threw a few things in a large carryall, then took the time to write a note that she subsequently sealed in an envelope addressed to her aunt. She propped it on her untouched pillow, then went down the servant’s stairs, exiting into the kitchen that was blissfully empty.
But all that had taken time, and her uncle’s office was very close by.
She let herself out the door without turning on any lights and stood in the deepest shadows for a few moments, allowing her vision to adapt to the darkness. Then, keeping to the edge of the driveway, she approached the gatehouse, well aware of the security cameras and that she was probably being watched.
The truth was she felt melodramatic and yet nervous. She did not want to alarm her uncle or her aunt, but she wasn’t content to sit in her room, either, not with her aunt’s pleas still ringing in her ears. She’d lived alone for several years back home, and this feeling that she was being watched—even if it was done out of concern for her—was getting old. When she got to the street, she kept walking, using the internet access on her phone to look up Svetlana Dacho’s address.
It was too late for a social call, but as this visit could hardly be labeled social, she hailed a cab and felt tucked away from curious eyes as she scooted into the warm interior. She told the driver to take a circuitous route, just in case, to the general area of the city in which Svetlana lived.
At least the late hour would probably guarantee she would be home. Skylar told the driver to let her out a couple of blocks further on, exited the cab and paid him, waiting until his taillights disappeared before turning around and hurrying back to the right address.
Svetlana had a mailbox in the lobby like Aneta had had, and Skylar couldn’t help wishing Cole was there to climb those dark stairs with her. She sidled past a group of teenagers who whistled after her, past a couple making out on a landing, erupting at last on the fourth floor.
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