TIMOFEY
I leave the meeting room to see how well Piper can follow directions. She's supposed to be waiting for me in my office, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's stumbled into some calamity or other in the ten minutes she's been out of sight.
I'm almost to my office when Fyodor hurries around a corner and flags me down. "You have a guest, Mr. Viktorov."
"I fucking knew it. I told Piper to wait in my office. I can handle her from—"
"Not Ms. Quinn," Fyodor cuts in. "Another guest. One who would like to remain…discreet."
Fyodor fixes me with a meaningful look, and I understand instantly. "Where?"
"The south entrance. The cameras are on a loop."
I turn back the way I came and stride away from my office. For all the time Piper has already stolen from me, she can wait a few more minutes. This is important.
Just like Fyodor said, I see a hooded figure standing outside the door to the southern entrance. I open the door and the figure steps inside, head lowered.
"Are you alone?" he mumbles.
"Do you see anyone else here with me, idiot?"
Detective Rooney lifts his face and looks around the alcove at the back of the house. "I can't be too careful. I'm risking a lot by even being here."
"I'm paying you well for it," I remind him. "What's this about?"
His salt-and-pepper mustache twitches in irritation. "A body popped up near the docks this morning. Albanian. A gunshot through the eye."
My expression doesn't change. "And?"
"And I know it was you, Timofey!" he hisses. "Whoever dumped the body did nothing to disguise the person, and I know you met with the Albanians last night."
I nod. "Thanks for keeping the patrols away from the warehouse."
Rooney drags a hand down his face. His under-eyes are baggy and gray. A kinder man would feel bad for him—not only is he a homicide detective in a big, violent city, but he's a dirty one to boot.
I don't feel a goddamn thing.
"Thanks for the warning," he grumbles back, sarcasm thick in his voice. "I could have cooked something up if I'd known this was coming. But I wasn't even the one to find the body."
I cross my arms over my chest. "It wasn't exactly planned."
"You could have called after it happened."
"I was a little busy washing away the blood." The memory of Piper's eyes bulging at the sight of the blood under my chin flashes through me like a cold front. I grimace. A stupid oversight—that's all it was. That's all it needs to be.
Rooney leans back against the wall and shakes his head. "I've done as much as I can, but I don't know if I can shut this one up. Especially with Kreshnik involved."
"Kreshnik won't say shit. This won't look good for him, either."
"He might not press charges, but this man is tied back to his company. He's listed in the employee directory, so this isn't some easy gangland cover-up."
"Pity." I shrug. "He didn't mention it."
"Probably because he was too busy staring at your gun in his face."
I shake my head. "No. He barely had time to process that. I don't like to play with my food before I eat it."
Rooney wrinkles his nose. "I don't know how you do it."
"Which part?"
"Kill people," he says. "And then just walk around like, like… like it's nothing. Like everything is fine."
If he's looking for an introspective answer, he won't find one here. I don't know if it's been bred into me or if it was coded into my cells from the start. All I know is that I kill as needed.
And when nighttime comes, I sleep like a fucking baby.
"Probably the same way you look your brothers in blue in the eyes after you doctor up a crime scene to make me look innocent."
Rooney's face flushes, but I don't let off the gas just yet.
"Or the way you go home after a long day's work and kiss your wife on the cheek," I continue. "The extra money I funnel into your bank account does a great job of quieting that little voice in the back of your head that tells you you're a terrible person."
"I'm not a bad person," Rooney snaps.
"Of course not," I condescend. "You're a man who took a month-long tropical vacation last year on the salaries of a kindergarten teacher and a police officer."
"I don't even know why I agreed to help you in the first place," he mutters. "You're an asshole."
"We're in a symbiotic relationship here, Detective. If one of us stops pulling their weight, the whole thing crumbles."
Rooney looks up at me. "So… what do I do?"
"Get this story shut down and keep the police off my ass. The same as always."
He nods. "Okay. For a price."
I let out a growling exhale and flex my fists at my sides. The crack of my knuckles is the only response needed to remind Rooney who dictates the rules here.
"I didn't mean to—you're dependable. A man of your word. That's all I'm saying." Rooney looks away nervously, and I see the moment his eyes catch on something over my shoulder.
He frowns, his brows knitting together. Then his eyes go wide. "What the f—who is that?"
Before I spin around, I already know.
Only one person under my roof would be stupid enough to eavesdrop on this conversation.