Page 12 of Sin Wager
Her shoulders drop. She returns to the counting, but her movements carry frustration now. She wants to go home. Perfect.
I shut off the monitor and grab my keys, heading out to meet my lovely, oblivious Ms. Kovalenko to offer her a ride. The walk from the office to the stables takes nine minutes. By the time I reach the feed room, Vera has moved to the far wall where the vitamin supplements line the shelves. Her back faces the door.
I watch her work for a moment, noticing how her jeans hug her hips and cup her perfect, round ass. There are those feminine wiles my father warned me about years ago. One thought of what she'd look like without that clothing on makes me feel unhinged, but I control myself in favor of the long game.
"Working late tonight?" I ask softly, not intending to shock her but knowing I will.
She spins around, clipboard clutched against her chest. "Misha! You scared me."
"Didn't mean to. One of my men said you were handling inventory." I step into the room and let the door swing shut behind me. "Seems beyond your usual duties."
"He said it needed finishing before tomorrow's delivery." She holds up the clipboard. "Almost done, though."
"Good. I'll give you a ride home when you're ready." I lean against the wall, folding my hands together in front of myself like I have all the time in the world.
Her eyes widen. "You don't have to do that. I can just take the bus."
Kudos to her for being wise enough to use the bus instead of walking this time of night, but it won't do. "Bus routes are unreliable this time of evening. Besides, I was heading that direction anyway." Lies come easily when you are manipulating a target. I have all the time in the world to do whatever is needed to see this through. Find out who is behind this, which Radich scum I need to stop, and then put an end to it all. Hopefully without collateral damage.
"Are you sure? I don't want to impose."
"No imposition. Finish up here and meet me at the parking lot."
Twenty minutes later, she slides into the passenger seat, her work clothes still carrying the scents of hay and horses. She buckles her seatbelt and smooths her braid over one shoulder. She's very out of place in my vehicle, but the naivety of it all stirs something inside me. How easily low-hanging fruit is plucked from a tree. Vera makes it simple.
"Thank you for this. Really. The bus takes forever, and I need to pick up groceries before the market closes."
I start the engine and pull out of the lot. "Which market do you prefer?"
"There's a small one near my building. Nothing fancy, but the prices work for my budget."
"What neighborhood are you in again?" I glance at her as I drive, careful to keep my eye on the road, though I don't mind looking at her. She's intoxicating.
"Altufyevo District. Not the nicest area, but it's what I can afford."
Altufyevo means immigrant families, tight finances, limited options. All information I already know, of course. "You live alone?" I ask, feigning ignorance. Making her feel important and like I'm interested in her life is key to getting her to open up to me on her own. This has to work a certain way. I can't have her getting skittish and running to that Radich bitch to throw up red flags.
"With my father. He works construction when he can find jobs." She adjusts the air vent and settles deeper into the seat. "What about you? Do you live near the track?"
"I have a place in the city center. Closer to family business."
"Must be convenient."
"It has advantages." I glance at her profile. "You mentioned your brother yesterday. Does he live nearby?"
Her expression tightens. "He's in the hospital a lot with his cancer treatments. But he does live with my father and me." She turns toward the window. "Elvin is strong, though. Stronger than I am sometimes."
"You seem plenty strong to me. Working at the stables isn't easy labor."
A small smile crosses her face. "I've always been good around horses. They don't judge you for being quiet or different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. I've never been the type to go to clubs or date around. I focus on family needs. I don't have good friends, and the ones I do have only want to go out and party."
"Your friends are idiots." The words are carefully constructed to get a rise out of her, and it works. She turns back toward me with surprise. "You're thoughtful. Responsible. Those are rare qualities in people your age."
"Thank you." Her cheeks flush pink. "That's very kind."
