The Russian's Acquistion(65)

                She realized she understood more than the Russian moniker of Scarface, but other names. Victor Van Eych. His son.

                “Did you know about the private investigation?”

                “How do you respond to the accusation you sent Van Eych to an early grave?”

                “You’ve been arrested for murder before. Are you guilty?”

                The words smashed through her euphoria like a rock through a window.

                Seconds later, Clair found herself shoved into the back of his town car, jolted by more than the sudden end to the snapping and snarling of the paparazzi frenzy. Aleksy gave Ivan sharp instructions to return them home as he jerked loose his tie and ran fingers into his hair, then made a call in Russian.

                She stared at him, conscience squirming at what was going on in her mind, but she couldn’t help the reaction. That white line on his face seemed too revealing.

                Murder?

                His cheek ticked. He knew what she was thinking and his face hardened, but she couldn’t help how shaken she was. Adrenaline saturated her blood. She tried to scramble herself together, tried to stop trembling, but she kept asking herself, What kind of man had she attached herself to?

                One who bought her a necklace she somehow still had gripped in her tense hands. Also a new laptop, new smart phone, a tablet. Clothes, meals, tickets to shows. There was no end to the generosity he bestowed on her, but he wasn’t really soft and kind. He was hard and angry if she cared to remember their first meeting and—her mind tripped to think of it—capable of murder?

                No, her heart cried, but his expression wasn’t that of someone who was incensed at being falsely accused. There was too much resentment. Too much bitter resignation.

                “We’ll go to Piter,” he said once they’d made it into the safety of his flat. When she only stared blankly, he clarified, “St. Petersburg. Things will be ugly here for a while.”

                Uglier than right now? He was like ancient iron, all pitted darkness with grim angles in his face. Her mind was grappling to process the impossible. One question burned on her tongue: Is it true? Her heart pounded.

                “We?” Her lips felt numb.

                “You’re not going back to London if that’s what you’re thinking.” Implacable.

                She gave a near-hysterical choke that wasn’t anything like a laugh. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Her gaze circled wildly, searching for a place to land, glancing off the illusion of a home she’d begun to see in these flawlessly decorated walls.

                If she hadn’t been with him outside and heard those shouts, would he have told her the reason they were leaving Moscow? Or would he be selling this sudden trip as a romantic getaway?

                Would she have bought in? Was she that naive and desperate for affection?

                “Pack for staying in.” Acrid hostility coated each word.

                She swallowed, ears ringing. She’d never felt so alone in her life, so aware that her complete disappearance would go unnoticed by the world.

                “I need to know what happened, Aleksy.” Her stomach trembled, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she met his forbidding gaze.

                “I told you that some people will do anything for money.” A vilified sneer pulled at his lips.