shower.
Chapter Ten
P am let herself into her office, making sure to lock the doors behind her. Pulling the blinds closed, she turned on the light. If anyone wanted to get to her, they’d have to get through building security and two locked doors. This was safer than the Marriot, and it had the extra bonus of being her own space. She didn’t think she could face the anonymity of a hotel room. She’d sit up for a bit and then catch a cat nap in her treatment room. She’d light a few candles, put on music, and try to forget that this day had ever happened. But just in case sleep was elusive, she set the coffee pot to brew while her computer booted up.
When she turned around, Darren stood in front of her.
“Don’t scream,” he said. The door to her treatment room was open. He must have been hiding in there waiting for her.
He was a tall, brooding figure. His shaggy black hair hung down his into his eyes. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. She could see the various tattoos on his arms and hand. There was a Madonna and child, in addition to marks and dots and slashes. She had no idea what they meant, but she knew they were some sort of status symbol in the gang he was involved in. His hands were the worst. He had tattoos that looked like rings on his fingers and a spider on the top of one hand.
“What have you done to yourself?” she said.
“Hello, Pavla.” His voice was thick with a Russian accent. It was as if he had decided that his native language was no longer English, or perhaps he had been speaking Russian for so long that it was now more familiar to him. Each syllable was heavy with Russian consonants. His voice reminded her of Vadim’s, but it didn’t frighten her as much. He wasn’t one of the Russians that had forced them out of the house the night their father signed over the deed. He just sounded like them.
“I’m Pamela,” she said, trying to reach through to the brother she barely remembered. “You’re Darren. We’re American. You were named after the husband from Bewitched , and I was named after Nancy Drew. Our mother watched way too much television.”
“I have no mother.”
“Right, the stork brought you. I forgot. How did you get in here?”
“I opened the door and walked in.”
“You broke in.” Pam looked around the room, but nothing seemed out of place. “Why are you here? If it’s for drugs, you can just turn around and walk right out. I am not Chris’s replacement.”
“You’re in danger. I came to warn you.”
“Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “I don’t. But you have something I need to retrieve. In exchange for it, I’ll let you know how to remove yourself from the situation.”
“Did you trash my apartment?”
“It wasn’t me. But I know who did.”
“It was Vadim Fomin, wasn’t it?”
Darren winced. “No. Vadim wouldn’t attack your apartment. He would attack you.”
“Gregor and Piotr, then?”
“Exactly so. They want you to drop the charges.”
“Not a chance.” Pam crossed her arms in front of her.
“Then expect them to continue to be nuisances and vandals. If I were a betting man like your father, I’d say your car was next.”
Pam tried not to react to the “your father” remark. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to tell the police what you know?”
“Why should I? Can I have a cup of coffee?”
Pam looked back at the finished pot, distracted by the turn of the conversation. “Sure. Sit down.”
She sneaked a glance at him while he folded himself into one of her chairs. He looked lean and ragged, but there was enough muscle on him to show that he could take care of himself.
“Black?” she asked.
“How did you know?”
“You’re a tough guy. Tough guys always drink it black.”
He took the cup from her and waited until she made herself one and sat down.
“What did you do with the drugs you bought from Chris?”
“Why? Do you want some?”
“You’re a drug dealer?
Chapter Ten
P am let herself into her office, making sure to lock the doors behind her. Pulling the blinds closed, she turned on the light. If anyone wanted to get to her, they’d have to get through building security and two locked doors. This was safer than the Marriot, and it had the extra bonus of being her own space. She didn’t think she could face the anonymity of a hotel room. She’d sit up for a bit and then catch a cat nap in her treatment room. She’d light a few candles, put on music, and try to forget that this day had ever happened. But just in case sleep was elusive, she set the coffee pot to brew while her computer booted up.
When she turned around, Darren stood in front of her.
“Don’t scream,” he said. The door to her treatment room was open. He must have been hiding in there waiting for her.
He was a tall, brooding figure. His shaggy black hair hung down his into his eyes. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. She could see the various tattoos on his arms and hand. There was a Madonna and child, in addition to marks and dots and slashes. She had no idea what they meant, but she knew they were some sort of status symbol in the gang he was involved in. His hands were the worst. He had tattoos that looked like rings on his fingers and a spider on the top of one hand.
“What have you done to yourself?” she said.
“Hello, Pavla.” His voice was thick with a Russian accent. It was as if he had decided that his native language was no longer English, or perhaps he had been speaking Russian for so long that it was now more familiar to him. Each syllable was heavy with Russian consonants. His voice reminded her of Vadim’s, but it didn’t frighten her as much. He wasn’t one of the Russians that had forced them out of the house the night their father signed over the deed. He just sounded like them.
“I’m Pamela,” she said, trying to reach through to the brother she barely remembered. “You’re Darren. We’re American. You were named after the husband from Bewitched , and I was named after Nancy Drew. Our mother watched way too much television.”
“I have no mother.”
“Right, the stork brought you. I forgot. How did you get in here?”
“I opened the door and walked in.”
“You broke in.” Pam looked around the room, but nothing seemed out of place. “Why are you here? If it’s for drugs, you can just turn around and walk right out. I am not Chris’s replacement.”
“You’re in danger. I came to warn you.”
“Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “I don’t. But you have something I need to retrieve. In exchange for it, I’ll let you know how to remove yourself from the situation.”
“Did you trash my apartment?”
“It wasn’t me. But I know who did.”
“It was Vadim Fomin, wasn’t it?”
Darren winced. “No. Vadim wouldn’t attack your apartment. He would attack you.”
“Gregor and Piotr, then?”
“Exactly so. They want you to drop the charges.”
“Not a chance.” Pam crossed her arms in front of her.
“Then expect them to continue to be nuisances and vandals. If I were a betting man like your father, I’d say your car was next.”
Pam tried not to react to the “your father” remark. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to tell the police what you know?”
“Why should I? Can I have a cup of coffee?”
Pam looked back at the finished pot, distracted by the turn of the conversation. “Sure. Sit down.”
She sneaked a glance at him while he folded himself into one of her chairs. He looked lean and ragged, but there was enough muscle on him to show that he could take care of himself.
“Black?” she asked.
“How did you know?”
“You’re a tough guy. Tough guys always drink it black.”
He took the cup from her and waited until she made herself one and sat down.
“What did you do with the drugs you bought from Chris?”
“Why? Do you want some?”
“You’re a drug dealer?
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