The Master (The Game Maker #2)(87)

I threw back my head and yelled.

Once I’d finished primal screaming, I realized that my ID and my mother’s rosary had been filched as well. What kind of fiend would steal a rosary? Even Sevastyan’s money clip was gone.

Who could have gotten in? I had a dead bolt on the door. I gazed around, fear trickling inside me. I stilled, only now detecting a smell that shouldn’t be here: a mix of sweat and cigarettes.

Shadwell.

He’d been in my apartment. He must’ve stolen everything! But how had he known where my hiding place was?

Following some instinct, I crossed to my underwear drawer. All of my thongs were gone. That sick f*ck! He knew I couldn’t go to the cops. My first impulse was to go throat-punch him. No, he probably wanted me to confront him.

Yet again I would be the shrewd coward, unable to do a damned thing. Stole my dinero, Shadwell? Don’t spend it all in one place. My ID? I didn’t need to work—that’s not how I roll. My mother’s rosary? Vaya con Dios.

When the import of what I’d lost truly hit me, I was sure I’d lose my ever-loving shit as well.

Block it out. For now, survival. How the hell was I going to get money? I weighed options. Maybe I should call Natalie? But she was in St. Bart’s for her honeymoon. Jess? Oh, wait. No phone.

Fuck. Me jodí.

My eyes went wide. Mrs. Abernathy! I’d confirmed with her. In a private jet, I’d told myself the joke was on her. I almost laughed.

I could clean tomorrow before my exam at two and get another one twenty. It wasn’t a lot, but I could increase my net worth by 50 percent.

Three hundred and sixty dollars.

Three-sixty.

How fitting.

Still, it’d be enough to get me out of town. But how to make it through the night? Shadwell had a key, could waltz in here at any time. If I nodded off, I could wake up to his leering face.

I’d gone from strong arms to hold me and bodyguards protecting me to imminent attack.





CHAPTER 35




As I scrubbed the floor of the blue bathroom at Mrs. Abernathy’s, I stared at the tiles until they ran together. Only a few more hours to my exam.

Last night, I’d held vigil at my violated apartment—inside my own bathroom, with the door locked. I’d gotten little sleep, but I’d been able to steal out early, eluding Shadwell and kissing that place good-bye forever.

Now to blow this city.

On Mrs. Abernathy’s computer I’d looked up the Greyhound bus schedule. My three-sixty would take me to San Diego, barely. A bus left tonight, not long after my exam. I located a women’s shelter in Cali not far from the terminal. Maybe they could help me until I got back on my feet.

Until I could get another ID.

Here I was—totally screwed—and yet I couldn’t stop thinking about Sevastyan and Ivanna. This morning, I’d vomited after imagining them together.

While I’d fallen for him, his preferences had reverted to tall, slim, blond, and European.

Of course, I hadn’t been able to study last night, what with the continual crying and fear of Shadwell. What if I was so tired and despondent that I couldn’t think? What if I flunked? For years, my goal had been to make a perfect 4.0. If I failed right at the end, why should I believe I could succeed at other goals?

My grail, my college credit odyssey, my penance and atonement. All jeopardized because of Sevastyan—

“What the hell are you doing?”

I jerked around with a scream, stunned to see him at the doorway of the blue bathroom. “H-how did you find me?”

“I knew you were going to be at a Mrs. Abernathy’s on this day. There are only so many in Miami that made sense.”

When I’d confirmed with the woman, he’d recorded it! “You have no right! If I get caught with you here, I’ll get fired.” Not that I was ever coming back.

“And that matters?” His tie was loosened, and his hair was unruly, as if he’d been stabbing his fingers through it. He looked like he’d slept less than I had—and I’d been in my bathtub.

Because he’d been with stunning Ivanna all night? The invisible fist paid me a visit.

“You appear . . . different,” he said.

Even in the midst of my emotional turmoil, I hated the fact that I looked like hell. My hair was plaited in two braids, and I wore a faded bandana on my head. Bright yellow gloves, clunky running shoes, frayed jean shorts, and an old T-shirt rounded out my ensemble. No makeup, naturally.

And I was kneeling in floor cleaner. I sponged it up. “You have to leave.” What did he want from me? Did he regret his snide cruelty to me? Did he regret screwing my friend?

Too late, Russian.

“Here.” He offered his hand.

I slapped it away, standing on my own, tearing off my gloves. I stuffed my supplies in a cleaning caddy, then shoved past him.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.” He followed me as I stowed the caddy in a closet.

“I’m at work. You’re stalking me.”

“You know I’ll pay for any income you lose, however modest it might be.”

I whirled around on him. “Don’t you dare! You don’t get to insult me for being an escort, then turn around and insult me for cleaning houses. You can’t have it both ways!”