Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

I thank the man and hang up, and then stare at the phone in my hand. Then my mouth curls into a cold smile. After all her loyalty, he left her behind. Will she weep for him, the man who passed her over so easily? Who didn’t know what a jewel he had working for him, day after day?

I go to my computer and search the employee records. Bethany Voight. There’s an address in Vauxhall. I put the details into a text message, and then call Boris again.

“Boris, send two men to the address I’ve just forwarded to you. Not Anton and Miguel. Those two idiots are fired. Tell the men to watch the apartment, but to keep out of sight. If a woman emerges, they’re to follow her and call me immediately.”

I don’t want her taken in her own home where it could be witnessed by people who know her. She needs to disappear quietly, unseen and unheard.

Boris is crisp and business-like. “What does she look like?”

“Five-five. Long, dark hair. Early twenties.” Skin like satin. Lips like rose petals. Emerald eyes that are as innocent as they are knowing.

“Mikhail Ravnikar’s assistant?” Boris guesses.

“Yes. If she goes anywhere but to Mikhail’s office, the men can grab her. Otherwise she’s to be left alone.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Oh, and Boris? If this gets screwed up as well, heads will fucking roll.”

“Yes, boss.”

I hang up, grab my jacket and head round to Mikhail’s building. I can’t keep still, and maybe I’ll discover some clue as to where he and Ciara have fled, or what made him betray me.

As soon as I step into his office, I know it’s hopeless. There’s an empty water glass on the desk. A pen lying by the telephone. Everything’s neat, clean and dusted, with no clues whatsoever.

I sit for a while at Bethany’s desk, going through her things. She keeps a sparse work area with few personal effects. I find a doodle of Godzilla trampling London on a Post-it, and despite everything, I smile. She’s got a strange sense of humor.

Then I go through to my brother’s office again, and stop dead in the doorway, staring at his empty chair. I’ll never see him sitting there again. What we built up over the course of twenty years is over. I see him in my mind’s eye, walking up the steps of the jet with Ciara held lovingly in his arms. He must know that he’ll be incredibly traceable if he tries to move money or contact anyone we both know. His instinct will be to go to ground and protect the thing most precious to him.

He’ll hide, and I’ll hunt.

I receive a text from Boris. No lights on in the target’s apartment. Men in position front and rear of the building.

I tap the side of my phone, thinking. If Bethany’s in there, she doesn’t know what’s happened tonight. I want to look into her eyes and see it for myself, the terrible realization that Mikhail left her behind. Left her to me, knowing full well what I’m capable of.

Tell them to stay where they are and out of sight, I text back. They’re only to follow her when she leaves for the office.

After that, there’s nothing to do but sit and wait. All through the small hours, I watch the lights of London. The reflection of streetlights on the Thames. Headlights moving along the narrow streets.

I wait, and I smolder.

At nine-twenty in the morning the elevator pings. I retreat into the stairwell. Through a crack in the fire door, I see her, and silently release the breath I was holding. She’s here. And she’s all alone.

I watch Bethany as she boots up her computer and smooths down her hair. She’s slightly out of breath, as if she hurried all the way here. There’s a slight frown between her brows as she glances toward Mikhail’s silent office, but then she shrugs and goes to make coffee.

A few minutes later, sipping from her steaming mug, she reaches for her phone. I tense, wondering if this is the moment she finds out what occurred while she was sleeping. She listens to her voicemail, and her heart-shaped face transforms in shock.

My hands grip the door frame.

Bethany glances at Mikhail’s office again. She hits a few buttons on her phone, listens again, and gasps. There’s an expression of anguish on her face that so acute it knocks the breath from my lungs. I don’t know what I feel more keenly in that moment, rage that he’s betrayed me, or jealousy that she’s devastated he’s left her behind.

Bethany makes another phone call, but no one answers. She puts her phone down and runs into Mikhail’s office. I silently emerge from the stairwell, keeping her in my line of sight. She’s standing in the middle of Mikhail’s office, staring at his empty chair.

Beside me are the light switches. I flick them all off at once, plunging the office into gloom.

“Hello, Bethany.”

She freezes, her hands fisting at her sides. Then she slowly turns around. When she sees me coming toward her she shrinks away from me toward Mikhail’s desk. Even now, she thinks he can protect her. The thick, ugly jealousy in my guts intensifies. She hurls a pot plant at my head, and I dodge to one side, never breaking eye contact. The glass partition behind me explodes into shards that rain down all around me.