reveals anything I didn’t already know.
Still, I diligently review all of her Facebook friends’ profiles on the off chance that one of them may be a drug dealer who’s stupid enough to announce it on social media. Because that’s the best theory I can come up with.
Mom witnessed something she shouldn’t have, and that’s why those men came after her—just as they’re now coming after me because I saw them and know her death wasn’t a suicide.
Admittedly, the evidence for this theory is nonexistent, but I can’t think of a reasonable alternative. Well, I can—a burglary gone wrong—but there are way too many issues with that idea. I mean, guns with silencers? What burglars carry those?
The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that those men came to kill her.
The big question is: why?
Three hours later, I delete my browser’s history and clear the cookies—just in case I have to give back the computer unexpectedly—and close the laptop. My eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed with sandpaper from all the reading on the screen, and the mellowing effects of pot have long since worn off, leaving me tired and dispirited. I’ve googled just about everything I could think of in connection with Mom’s life and death, have scoured the local papers for reports of other crimes around the same time—in the unlikely case that Mom’s murderers were two serial killers working together—and have stalked each of her Facebook friends and restaurant co-workers with the perseverance of the most dedicated online troll. I’ve even looked into the death of her adoptive parents, in case there was something more to their car accident than I’d been told, but it seems to have been a straightforward case of a drunk driver ramming into them on the highway.
There’s nothing, absolutely nothing to take to the cops. No wonder they didn’t believe me when I burst into the station that day, shaking and hysterical.
I should probably call it a night and think about everything with a fresh head tomorrow, but despite my tiredness, my mind is buzzing with all sorts of unsettling questions—only some of which have to do with Mom’s death. Because there’s another mystery I haven’t let myself think about yet, one that may have just as much bearing on my safety.
Who exactly is Nikolai Molotov, and what did Alina mean by her strange warning?
I look at the pillow, then at the computer. It’s late, and I should really go to sleep. But the odds of being able to drift off while I’m this wired are low, almost nonexistent.
Screw it. Who needs sleep?
Opening the laptop, I type “Nikolai Molotov” into the browser and dive in.
31
Nikolai
The first thing I do upon arrival at my hotel is power up my laptop, open the video feed from Slava’s room, and check that my son is peacefully asleep.
He is. The car-shaped nightlight he likes us to leave on illuminates his sleeping features, revealing a tiny fist tucked underneath his sweetly rounded cheek. My heart thumps harder at the sight, a now-familiar ache spreading through my chest. I don’t understand it any more than I understand my growing obsession with his tutor, but I can’t deny it’s there, as real and concrete as my hatred for the woman who gave birth to him.
For Ksenia, and the entire Leonov viper clan.
Rage kindles in my stomach, and I wrench my thoughts away from them. Tomorrow will be soon enough to deal with their latest sabotage; tonight, I have more pleasant things to think about.
Opening a new window, I bring up the feed from the webcam on Chloe’s laptop, and a warm glow spreads through me as her pretty face fills the screen. Despite the late hour, she’s awake, her smooth forehead creased in a frown as she peers intently at her computer. She must be doing something online because I can see her browser being active, and when I go into her search history, I’m pleased to find her researching me.
I was hoping she’d be thinking about me, just as I’m thinking about her.
She has no idea I can see this, of course. The laptop I gave her is from a special batch altered by one of Konstantin’s shadier ventures. It looks like a regular brand-new Mac but comes pre-installed with undetectable spyware that allows us to keep an eye on all sorts of influential businesspeople and politicians.
Many a business deal was pushed through thanks to this handy software and the secrets it has revealed.
I watch her