Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
In under a second, some of my confusion lifts—not a lot. Just a little.
The gate number on the surveillance image Ivan places down matches the gate number Zoya and I used last week, and the air hostess scanning the middle-aged man’s ticket is the same one who ushered us down the gangway when I arrived late.
It is clear we shared the same flight, but that doesn’t alter the facts.
“I boarded late. My fellow passengers had already embarked.”
My eyes shoot to Ivan when he says, “He was seated two rows in front of you.”
I don’t appreciate his tone, and it has my reply coming out as snappily as his expression. “Two cubicles in front of me. Visibility is far lower in first class compared to economy.”
“I’m sure it is. Though I’ll have to take your word on it since I’ve never flown first class.” Ivan steps closer, attempting to intimidate me with his large frame. “Is flying across the country first class something you do often, Doctor?” He spits out the title I’ve worked hard for as if it is trash.
“It isn’t a luxury I often seek out, but a friend purchased us an upgrade—”
“Friend? Ha!”
His rudeness shocks me, but I’ve handled my fair share of arrogant, conceited men, so I take his unprofessionalism in stride—mostly. “Yes, friend.” With the curtesy I usually offer fellow public servants obliterated, I look him straight in the eyes before saying, “If you’re trying to imply her generosity was something more lurid than it was, you better have more than a sliver of conjecture.”
I can take the hits of life better than anyone, but when it comes to people I care about, all bets are off. I will protect them until my last breath.
I stumble back, shocked when Ivan snarls, “I have enough to issue an arrest warrant right now.”
“For what? Booking the same flight as another two-hundred-plus people?”
“Accessory after the fact can be liable for twenty-five to life.” He’s once again up in my face, his breath heavy on my cheek. “Three men were murdered, and you were on the scene before every single hit.”
I can’t breathe, speak, or move when he slams down image after image after image. My recollection of the third man is basic, but it is clear I associated with him more than a doctor would a patient when half of the shots show him standing directly across from me.
A Tahiti-style bar separates us in a majority of the time-stamped images until the last three. It shows him in an elevator with Zoya, Aleena, Shevi, and me.
Although she appears remorseful, Lara can’t continue playing the good cop when Ivan stacks evidence against Zoya and me. Except this time, it isn’t solely my best friend being thrown in the fire with me. Maksim is tossed into the flames as well.
“Dr. Abdulov was last seen entering an alleyway that borders Myasnikov Private on Thursday, September third at 2:58 p.m.” He places down a time-stamped image that shows Dr. Abdulov entering the alleyway mere seconds before a man who shelters his face from numerous surveillance cameras by tilting his chin. If only he could hide the tailored cut of his suit just as easily. “This image was collected at 3:08 p.m.”
The face of the man in an Armani suit is still concealed during his exit, but since he is holding a cell phone to his ear, parts of his hand is visible.
“Are they—”
“The nail indents of a man fighting for his life?” Ivan interrupts. “Yes, that is what they are.”
My throat is already burning from the amount of bile sitting there, but the scald becomes unmanageable when a camera above the cockpit of the plane shows frame by frame footage of me dragging Maksim into the bathroom of our transportation.
This isn’t about Zoya accepting money she didn’t earn.
This is about Maksim and me.
Ivan angles his head to bring us eye to eye. “Need to clean up after bludgeoning a fellow passenger to death?”
“I spilled my drink.”
“That he served you?” He taps on the third man’s image. “Is that what got him killed? Did he not mix your cocktail how you like it?”
“I—”
“Am not speaking another word,” says a voice from behind my shoulder.
I can’t hide my shock when the woman Maksim chaperoned out of his room at two in the morning arrives out of nowhere. Raya looks dressed to impress in a fitted pantsuit and minimal makeup, but her angry scowl is what I pay the most attention to.
“All your so-called evidence is inadmissible. You have no bodies, no motive, and no witnesses—”
“According to your client’s alibis, Dr. Fernandez was present at every murder. We can also convict in absentee of a body.”
I assume they have the wrong person until Raya corrects, “Dr. Ivanov attended an event with her friends and her husband”—she annunciates her last word to ensure its importance can’t be missed—“where some unfortunate fools had too much to drink and forgot to check in with their wives. That is a regular occurrence in the Trudny District. It does not warrant a murder investigation, much less three.”