Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(34)

She gives me a small smile. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

Even with her shirt hanging long, I can see her h*ps sway as she strolls toward the door. And then I remind myself that that’s Viktor’s Petrova’s wife, I’m in his garage and working on his car, and I don’t believe for one second that this place isn’t under some kind of surveillance.

I dive back into the engine, keeping my attention glued to it until I hear the door open again and Alexandria’s slippers pad across the concrete floor.

“Here.” I look up to find another beer in her hand. “It’s this or vodka, and you don’t like vodka much.”

“How do you know that?” I frown as I take the bottle. Our fingers graze and I temporarily forget my question.

“Because you looked like you were forcing it down at The Cellar.”

“You were watching me?” Now I can’t help but stare openly at her—changed into jeans, a fitted T-shirt stretched over what I’m guessing is a B-cup chest, her hair pulled into a bun, reminding me of Amber when she used to get dressed up for ballet on Saturday mornings. Except it’s Friday night and Alex can’t be mistaken for a nine-year-old. “You kept your head down the entire time.”

Her cheeks flush. “Well, how would you know unless you were watching me the entire time?”

Caught. I go back to my engine, a smile now affixed to my face. She has a confident streak in her.

“Viktor doesn’t let me drink,” she admits. Then she leans her head back and, closing her eyes, pours the beer down her long, slender throat.

A confident, rebellious streak.

“You don’t talk much. It’s too quiet in here. Do you mind if I put on some music?”

“Go nuts.” Inviting her in here might have been a bad idea after all. I can’t keep my eyes off her ass as she strolls over to the radio on the back wall. She punches in a few buttons and an alternative rock station comes on. “Thank God,” I mutter, turning my focus back to my task.

“What?”

I shake my head. “I was afraid you were going to put that trance shit on, from the club.”

“Oh, no.” She shudders. “I can’t stand that music. Or that place. The people there are all phony and vapid. I hate when Viktor makes me go.” She walks back over to stand near the engine, leafing through the manual. The silence lasts for only a minute before she asks, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

The hesitation swirling around her is palpable. “Why not?”

“Guess I haven’t met the right girl yet.” I broke up with Shyanne six months ago, after dating on and off for close to a year. It was never serious—not to me, anyway—and I can’t say that I miss her. I certainly don’t miss being accused of looking at or talking to or flirting with another girl every single day. And I never was—not knowingly, anyway. Which made it ironic when I found out she was screwing around with her brother’s friend.

“My husband is sleeping with that waitress, Priscilla.” Alex just throws it out there, so matter-of-factly, that I take a moment to process it. Not because I’m shocked that he’s doing it. I pretty much knew.

“I’m sorry.”

“I found out a few weeks ago.” She sets the manual down. “I was taking his dry cleaning in and I found her pink lipstick all over the collar.”

“Maybe just an innocent hug?”

“On the inside of his dress pants, too. And a receipt for a hotel in his pocket.”

You’re busted, Viktor. I can’t lie—I’m glad Alex knows, even if it hurts her. That was a few weeks ago, she said? Around the same time she got a flat tire. Is that what sparked the tears, the questions . . . the kiss? “And you know it’s her?” I should probably warn Boone, in case Viktor’s the type of guy who gets territorial about his mistresses.

“People think I’m just some stupid money-grubbing wife, that I don’t know what he’s doing. Or that I should just look the other way and go shopping.” A bitter chuckle escapes her lips. “I don’t even like shopping. I’d take a husband who loved me over all the money in the world.”

I hardly know her, but I believe that she’s telling the truth. “And what’d he say about it?”

She pauses. “Nothing. I haven’t mentioned it.”

“Are you going to?”

I almost miss her head shake, it’s so slight. But then she touches her cheek, her eyes drifting.

And it clicks.

“You’re afraid of what he’ll do.”

“Viktor doesn’t take well to accusations.”

Has she made that mistake before and learned her lesson? Do I want to know? I chew on that question until the words crumble in my mouth. “If he’s screwing around on his beautiful, young wife, I’d hate to see what life’s going to be like for you down the road.”

There’s a pause and then she asks, so faintly I almost miss it, “You think I’m beautiful?” Somehow I can tell it’s not a fishing expedition; somehow, she hasn’t figured out that she is.

I keep my head down, quietly taking notes in my notebook.

After a while, when Alex doesn’t say anything else, I hazard a glance over my shoulder to find her sitting cross-legged in the folding chair with her textbook in hand, watching me. Her eyes drop to her lap instantly.