I crushed the envelope to my chest. “Where’s Steven now?”
“He’s at home. The EMTs suggested he get checked at the ER, but he insisted on being at his house when the gas company came out to inspect the lines. I asked a couple of off-duty uniforms to head over to his place. They’ll stay and keep an eye on things until we know what happened.”
I sagged against the wall. It had to have been EasyClean. How many times could she miss before she finally succeeded in killing him?
Zach babbled downstairs. Kitchen drawers opened and closed. The microwave beeped, and the strong herbed smell of leftover pot roast filled the house. It was a little early for lunch, and I wondered if Vero was doing it just to mask the faint scent that had begun creeping from the washer.
“I should go,” Nick said, hitching a thumb toward the stairs. “Joey’s waiting for me back at Theresa’s.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Theresa disappeared.” The kitchen noises stopped, as if Vero was listening. “We found her ankle monitor in her house. It looks like she may have been gone for a few days. We’re not sure exactly how long. We’re talking to her neighbors, but so far, no one remembers seeing her leave. Until I figure out where she is, and what’s going on with Joey’s CI, I want you to be careful. I have a bad feeling this is all connected somehow.”
I clutched the knot in my towel. “What happened to Joey’s CI?”
“He never called with that intel he promised me yesterday. Joey went to his house to follow up on it this morning, but the kid wasn’t there. The attendance office at his school says he never showed up. I sent a car out to his house a couple of hours ago to talk to his grandmother. No one’s heard from him since we saw him on Saturday.” When I’d drawn my finger across my neck and warned him not to say a word about me. Cam must have decided his probation wasn’t worth the risk of turning over what he knew about the forum. Nick shook his head. “I’m starting to think Joey’s CI may have been onto something. If he’s right about that forum, then Theresa, Steven, and the kid all have a link to Zhirov, and I don’t like it.”
“You think Feliks Zhirov had something to do with what happened to Steven?”
“I can’t rule it out. Until then, I want you to be more careful. You really shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked.”
“What do you mean? It’s always…” I glanced to the stairs. I clearly remembered locking the front door after my mother had left yesterday. And this morning, Vero would have left through the garage.
The brush of Nick’s fingertips startled me back to the moment. He reached for a strand of dripping hair, tucking it behind my shoulder before it could soak through the envelope I was holding. “I’m sorry I scared you before.”
“I’m fine,” I said through a shiver.
“You sure you don’t want me to open this mystery package for you before I go? Just to make sure there isn’t anything in it I should be concerned about?” His eyes lit with a dangerous degree of interest.
I moved it behind my back, my face warming. “They’re just copyedits. Really, you can forget this whole incident ever happened.”
“Believe me, nothing about this incident was forgettable. I’ll call you later,” he promised with a smirk. He hollered goodbye to Vero from the foyer, reminding her to lock up after him.
I slipped into my room and shut my door, throwing the envelope on the bed and rubbing my hands on Delia’s towel. It felt cleaner than the envelope with my name written in Irina Borovkov’s handwriting.
I heard the snap of Zach’s high chair buckles in the kitchen, then the scatter of dry Cheerios against the plastic tray. Feet scurried up the stairs, and Vero threw open my door.
“Is everyone gone?” I asked.
She nodded. “What’s in the package?”
We walked to the edge of the bed, staring at the brown envelope. I tore it open and turned it upside down. A long brunette wig spilled out, fanning over the comforter, a business card tangled in its shimmering dark waves. Vero picked it up. “Who’s Ekatarina Rybakov?”
The fine print under the name read Attorney at Law. I shook out the envelope. A handwritten note fluttered out.
Attorney visiting hours daily, 7 A.M.—10 P.M.
Bowling League practice every Tuesday, 8–10 P.M.
“What do you think it means?” Vero asked.
I picked up the wig. The strands fell into place, assuming a familiar shape around my hand. The odd pieces of Irina’s package snapped together with a startling clarity.