THE FIXER

A fresh chill washes over me. “What if they’re not making a grab for power?” My voice sounds tremulous.

“No one can touch you, Sasha,” he says immediately, correctly guessing at my thoughts. “But we should get back to Chicago where I have backup. Okay?”

I nod.

“I’m sorry.” He does genuinely sound remorseful. “I know you wanted to stay. I’d just rather play it safe while things are in turmoil. Until we see how things land in Moscow and Dima has his tracking in place to alert us of anyone coming into the country.” He searches my face. “Do you want to grab brunch with your friends before we go? Or take a walk on the beach?”

I don’t mean to be so transparent, but I jump back into his embrace to hug him, relieved. A man intent on killing his wife would not worry about taking her to the beach first. Or brunch.

He lets out a surprised chuckle. I know the hug is out of character. I’ve been playing stand-offish since the day we wed. But whatever. The kinky bastard deserves it.

His hand slips under my hair to cup my nape, and he nudges my face up. The kiss he gives me seems meaningful. Important. It’s not teasing, not claiming. Firm, but not rough. Like we’ve reached a different level in our relationship.

When he breaks it, he asks, “Beach or brunch?”

Me being me, I bat my lashes and push my luck. “Both?”

His smirk is both knowing and indulgent. “Okay, sugar. But we will be on a plane back to Chicago by nightfall.”

“Let’s go,” I chirp, happy that it’s true. He would give me anything after good sex.

My mother’s right. It would probably even keep him from killing me, if that was his plan.

But I can’t believe it is.

My mother is just being paranoid.

And my father trusted him. That hits me for the first time. Maxim’s been saying it from the start-that my father picked him because he could protect me best.

I didn’t believe it. I thought he chose Maxim to humiliate and punish me. But now that the danger’s pressed in close, my view’s shifting. Maybe my father foresaw murder, power plays and chaos ensuing after his death. Sending me out of the country was smart.

So long as he didn’t send me into the arms of a killer.

But he wouldn’t knowingly do that. And despite having sent Maxim away, he still trusted him. And Maxim still respected his pakhan enough to accept his dying request. Either that, or he just wanted my money.

If only I knew for sure…Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

Maxim

ONLY KAYLA CAN MEET us for brunch, but she seemed like Sasha’s closest friend, anyway. We meet her at a beachfront cafe in Santa Monica. I’m itchy with all the people around, but I have a piece tucked in the back of my waistband, with my shirt untucked to cover it. I still don’t expect trouble-not yet, anyway-but you never know.

There’s something off about Vladimir’s death. The fact that the killer didn’t just outright announce himself and say he was taking over seems strange to me. I need to know what’s going on there to stay on top of any threat that may come Sasha’s way.

Kayla shows up still as cute and chipper as she was last night. She throws her arms around Sasha and then me like we’re old friends. I kiss her cheek and hold both their chairs like the perfect gentleman.

“Oh my God, I may have just found an agent,” Kayla gushes the moment we sit down. “She specializes in commercials, but whatever. I’ll start anywhere.”

Sasha grabs her hand across the table. “OMG, tell me everything. How did you find her? What’s the deal?”

I half-listen as the women dive deep into the story of a chance meeting at her hairdressers that netted a callback this morning.

We’re interrupted by the waitress, and we order food. I ask for Mimosas with their best champagne and the women light up.

“So if this works out, I’ll have you to thank, really.” Kayla beams at Sasha after the waitress leaves.

“How is that?” I ask.

Kayla turns her wide blue eyes on me. She’s got that Buffy the Vampire Slayer look going-a cute little dynamo in the All-American way. “Sasha’s the one who got me going to Monique, our hairdresser. She’s way out of my budget, but Sasha sniffed out the best in L. A., and that studio is where things happen. I mean, I felt like Monique practically acted as my agent with the agent. You know? Like she made the introduction while we were both sitting next to each other with foils in our hair.”

Sasha shifts in her chair and looks at her manicure. “Well, I’m happy for you, but also-I’m so jealous, bitch.”

Something twists in my chest. Sasha had dreams. Maybe I hoped she hadn’t-that her theatre degree was just some fluffy thing to do while she enjoyed college. Sasha could probably buy that agent’s agency, she could fund her own movies, but I doubted that would be as exciting as the achievement of the Hollywood dream. Getting discovered. Auditioning. Nailing the part. Making it big. Those experiences couldn’t be bought.

But no problem can’t be fixed. That’s my motto, and it’s never failed me. So I’ll have to figure something out. Something that lights my bride up back in Chicago.

Our drinks arrive, and I lift my champagne flute in Kayla’s direction. “To new opportunities.”

“For all of us,” Kayla counters, and we clink glasses.

Sasha steals a look at me. She’s been doing that since we checked out of the hotel, and I hired a driver for the day. He’s sitting in his car somewhere nearby with our belongings safely stowed.