Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(24)

Those ten seconds of conversation have affected me more than anything else in years. Decades. It’s burned into my brain. My ears. My heart.

I didn’t think I still had a heart, but I must. That hollow space in my chest I’ve had for so long is filled with wild beating.

Because of her.

“I’ll follow up on the other leads. Get back to you as soon as I have anything.”

“You do that. And Kage?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Ya rasschityvayu na vas.” I’m counting on you.

“Ya znayu.” I know.

Picturing Natalie’s face, I close my eyes.

If anyone ever finds out I didn’t do the job I was sent to do, we’re both dead.





10





Nat





I can’t sleep that night. I toss and turn restlessly, stalked by dark thoughts of what could be in David’s safety deposit box, why he wouldn’t have told me he had one, and why he’d go to the odd lengths of mailing me the key instead of just giving it to me.

Strangest of all, why there would be no note of explanation.

Like, what, I’m just supposed to figure it out? If Chris hadn’t clued me in, I don’t know how I would’ve identified it.

It’s all disturbingly mysterious. I’ve had quite enough mysteries to last me an entire lifetime, thank you very much.

Also scratching around the inside of my skull like hungry little rats are thoughts of Kage.

A debt collector? What exactly does that mean?

I’m not sure I want to know. Part of me does, but another part of me—the wiser part—is telling me to back away slowly.

He’s gone now, so it doesn’t matter anyway.

I heard his big SUV roar off into the night, watched its red taillights from the kitchen window until he turned a corner and the car went out of sight. It was then that I realized I don’t know where he came from or where he’s going, or why I should care in the first place.

I mean, I don’t care.

I think.

Getting through class Monday is sheer hell. I watch the clock like a bird of prey, counting down every second until I can leave and go to the bank.

There’s only one branch of Wells Fargo in town, so it’s not like I’ll have to drive all over the state looking for the right one. That’s not a problem.

The real problem lies in gaining access to the safety deposit box.

David and I weren’t legally married when he disappeared. We had the marriage license, but you also have to have a ceremony performed by an authorized person to make the marriage official.

As only his fiancée and not his wife, I won’t be allowed access unless I’m named on the account. Which I’m not, considering I would’ve had to be there with him and provide ID when the box rental agreement was signed.

At least according to Google.

Also complicating the situation is the lack of a death certificate.

Although David is presumed dead under state law because he’s been missing for five years, there’s no death certificate. I can’t petition the court to get one, either. Only a spouse, parent, or child can do that, and I’m not any of those things.

If I had a death certificate, I might be able to convince a sympathetic bank employee to allow me access, especially if I also produced our marriage license.

Even more especially if the person lived in town five years ago. Nobody talked about anything else for months.

I’d get sad sack bonus points, for sure.

Additionally, David didn’t have a will, so I’m not the executor of his estate, either…not that there was any estate to speak of. He had less than two thousand dollars in his checking account when he went missing. He didn’t own any property. The modest investments we made were in a brokerage account solely in my name. The plan was to add him as a beneficiary to all my accounts as soon as we got back from our honeymoon, but that never happened for obvious reasons.

So I’m not his wife, I’m not his family, and I’m not his executor. I’m pretty much not anything but shit out of luck.

I’m gonna try anyway.

At ten after four, I park in the bank parking lot, turn off the car, and stare at the double glass doors of the entrance, giving myself a pep talk. I don’t bank at Wells Fargo, so I don’t have an in with anyone, a friendly account manager or familiar teller I could try my luck with. I’m going in totally blind.

I hesitate just inside the doors, looking around to see if I recognize any of the tellers. There are three of them, but they aren’t people I know. The teller I decide to approach is a young redhead with a friendly smile.

I know I’m going to hell for hoping she might have a tragic romantic past and take pity on me when I have to trot out my woeful story.

“Good afternoon! How may I help you?”

“I need access to a safety deposit box, please.”

“Certainly. Let me just verify the signature card. What’s the name on the account?”

Smiling pleasantly, I say, “David Smith.”

“Just a moment, please.” She pecks away cheerfully at her computer keyboard. “Here it is. David Smith and Natalie Peterson.” She looks at me. “That’s you, I assume?”

My heart pounds. I’m on the account. How could I be on the account? Maybe Google was wrong. “Yes, that’s me.”