“I asked Irina the same thing. She said you’ll come up with something. You just need the right motivation.” Vero’s complexion turned a little green, her dry lips speckled with Oreo crumbs.
“And what’s that?” I snapped. “More money?”
“Not exactly.”
She stared numbly at the empty package of Oreos, and a cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. “What kind of motivation?”
“We take care of her husband in the next two weeks, or…” Vero’s throat bobbed with her hard swallow.
“Or what?”
Her eyes shimmered with fear as they lifted to mine. “Or Irina will tell her husband we stole the money. And then she’ll send him to find us.”
CHAPTER 26
There was only one thing to do about Irina Borovkov, and that was to talk with her face-to-face like adults. No more middlemen. No more disguises. No more envelopes full of cash. I would simply explain that Patricia had been mistaken when she’d hired me, that I was not who she thought I was. Then I would explain that I hadn’t killed Harris Mickler—that someone else had broken into my garage and done the actual killing part—and therefore, I was not qualified （or willing） to assassinate her problem husband.
And then?
Then I would do the most adult thing of all. I would throw the backpack full of cash at her and run before she had a chance to stop me. Possession was nine-tenths of the law. I wasn’t sure whose law, or if the mafia even cared about the law. But math was math, no matter who was holding the calculator. If I didn’t have Irina Borovkov’s money, she’d have no leverage against me for robbing her and she wouldn’t send her scary husband to slit my throat.
The parking lot of the Tysons Fitness Club was packed with cars, all shiny and imported, with monthly payments that probably amounted to more than the mortgage on my house. I parked Ramón’s loaner between an Audi and a Porsche, careful not to ding anyone’s door as I eased myself out. The rusted sedan stuck out like a sore thumb. Apparently, I did, too. My knuckles were white around the strap of Delia’s Disney Princess backpack as I walked to the front desk. This had to be the right club. The name and logo matched the one on the sweatshirt in Patricia’s locker at the shelter, but this place didn’t feel like it fit Patricia Mickler at all. The inside of the fitness club was swanky as hell, with a juice bar in the lobby, a courtyard with a fountain, and long, bright corridors lit by tinted glass ceilings. I couldn’t picture Patricia walking down those halls wearing a plastic smile and a tennis skirt, but based on Vero’s description of Andrei’s wife, I could definitely picture Irina Borovkov here.
The woman waiting in line behind me made a sound like a snort. I glanced over my shoulder and caught her staring at my backpack. Then at my hair and my sneakers. I hoisted Delia’s pack higher on my shoulder, ignoring the titters and stares of the women who passed the desk. If they knew how much money was in that Disney Princess bag, or what I’d done to get it, they wouldn’t be smirking so hard.
“May I help you?” The perky young receptionist wore a lot of makeup and a logo-emblazoned polo. A fingerprint reader glowed red on the counter.
“I hope so,” I said, eying the scanner warily. “I’m interested in taking a Pilates class. Your instructor was recommended to me by a friend—Irina Borovkov? I called earlier and the receptionist mentioned there was a class starting at ten. I’d like to try it out and see if I like it before joining.” I’d watched a Pilates video that morning, and Vero was right. You really could learn anything on YouTube. I could totally pull this off. “Do you know if Irina is here?”
“Reenie? Sure, she just got here. But she’s taking a Spin class today. It starts in ten minutes. Would you like me to page her for you?” She reached for her desk phone.
I rushed to stop her before she could pick it up. “No, no, it’s fine!” The element of surprise was probably the more sensible approach here. After all, what would I ask the woman to say? Attention, Mrs. Borovkov. The contract killer you hired is in the lobby to see you. I plastered on a smile. “I’ll just catch up to her in class, thanks.”
“Will you be needing shoes?”
I glanced down at my sneakers. Shook my head.
“Great, I just need you to fill out these health and safety waivers for me. When you’re done, I’ll need a quick scan of your finger. Then the women’s locker room is down the hall to your right, and the trainers on the floor can show you where to find the class.”