Die for Me (Killing Eve #3) - Luke Jennings Page 0,27
we talk about it this evening?”
“Why not now?”
I feel a hand slip under my sweater, and fingers tweaking my waist.
“That’s not an answer. And stop pinching my fat.”
“I love your fat.”
“What about the rest of me?”
“Hmm…” She half-turns. “Oh my goodness, look at that face. I’m teasing you.”
“Funny girl. So what shall we do?”
Her hand continues its exploration. I feel the tip of a finger probing my belly button. “Let’s go back to the apartment.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I take a bite of my burger. The greasy smell hangs in the air between us. “It’s not really about me, though, is it? It’s what we did in the banya that’s making you want sex.”
“Honestly? It’s both.” She wipes her chin with a paper napkin.
“So what is it that excites you about killing that nasty old fucker? I mean, it was pretty disgusting.”
“This hamburger’s pretty disgusting, pupsik, but sometimes that’s exactly what you want. You can’t live on beluga caviar.”
“Go on.”
“Killing people like the Pakhan makes me feel powerful. Konstantin always used to say: ‘You’re an instrument of destiny.’ And I loved that. I love that I’ve changed history, and that if it wasn’t for me the world would be a different place. Because in the end, that’s what we all dream of doing, isn’t it? Making a difference?”
Half a dozen blue-uniformed Politsiya officers swagger in, give a cursory glance around the restaurant, and start eyeing up the women at the serving counter. “Don’t look at them,” murmurs Oxana, surreptitiously sliding her hand from under my sweater, and I transfer my gaze to a copy of Izvestia that someone’s left on the table. The lead story is about the upcoming New Year summit talks in Moscow between the Russian and U.S. presidents.
One of the cops saunters over. “Afternoon off work?” He’s a mean-looking type with a bad shaving rash.
“Tourists,” says Oxana in English. “Ne govorim po Russki.” Her accent is comically awful.
“Vy amerikanki?”
“British.”
“Pasport?”
“At the hotel. Four Seasons. Sozhaleyu. Sorry.”
He nods and joins the others.
“Motherfucker,” Oxana whispers. “We shouldn’t have come in here. I think they bought the tourist story, but that could have ended badly. We’ve got to be more careful.”
The Politsiya officers mill around for a few minutes, attempt desultory banter with the female staff, pull out their phones and take selfies, and leave.
“What were they doing in here?” Oxana mutters. “What the fuck were they doing, taking those photos? Did you notice that they didn’t get any food? Or even a drink?”
“They were just getting in out of the cold for a minute, and checking out the girls.”
“Maybe. I hope so.”
“You know what I’d really like to do?” I tell her. “I’d like to go into the city center. St. Petersburg has got to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I’ve dreamed of visiting it for ages, especially in winter. The palaces, the art galleries… Just to walk down the streets, and see the frozen Neva river. It must be so magical.”
“I know. I’d love to see it all too. And one day we will. But right now the center’s too dangerous. There’s mass-surveillance tech everywhere—CCTV, facial recognition scanners, all that stuff—and we have to assume the Twelve are monitoring it and have flags out for us. And that goes for every big city in the world. For now, we’ve got to stick to outlying areas.”
“Promise me we’ll come back one day, and explore it together. Promise me that.”
“OK.”
“Say it. I promise…”
“I promise that we’ll come back to St. Petersburg, and walk together by the Neva—”
“In winter, in the snow.”
“Yes, in winter. In the snow.”
“You really and truly promise?”
“I really and truly promise. But you have to promise me something too.”
“What?”
“You have to trust me. I mean really trust me, despite the…”
“Psychopath thing?”
“Yes, despite that. Even if things get really bad.”
“Villa… Oxana, you’re frightening me. What do you mean?”
“I mean trust me. That’s all.”
“I’m scared now.”
“Don’t be. Let’s do what we should have done an hour ago, and go back to the apartment and have sex.”
“My silver-tongued girlfriend.”
“What’s that about my tongue?”
“It’s an English expression. It means you have a way with words. You know how to talk a woman into bed.”
“That’s true.”
“So what would you have done if I’d said no. If we’d run away together and all that and then I’d refused to do it.”
“Do it?”
“Sleep with you. Have sex. Be your girlfriend.”
“I always knew you’d do all of those things.”
“How did you know? I mean, I was married, I had a husband, I’d