"I intend to."
Pavel's eyes linger on me for a long moment, and I see hurt and confusion and something that might be anger flash across his face.
Remembering the wad of cash I have clutched in my hand, I thrust it out toward him. "I almost forgot to pay you for the supplies. Thanks again for checking on me!"
His cheeks flush slightly, but he nods, takes the money, and then leaves.
I close the door and lean against it, exhaling slowly. "That was awkward."
"He's in love with you." Sasha's voice comes from right behind me, close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck.
"He has a crush. It's not the same thing."
"He wants you." Sasha's hands settle on my hips, turning me to face him. "The way he looks at you, the way he talks to you. He's been waiting for his chance."
"Well, he's not getting one." I look up at him, noting the possessive gleam in those gold eyes. "Not that it's any of your business."
"No?" His lips brush mine, feather-light.
I should argue. Should push him away and remind him that he's a stranger with no memory, that I'm a woman in hiding, that this whole situation is insane. Instead, I kiss him, hard and desperate, my hands fisting in his shirt.
We break apart breathing hard, and he rests his forehead against mine. "There's something wrong with your neighbor."
The statement is so unexpected that I pull back. "What?"
"Pavel." Sasha's expression is serious now, all traces of heat replaced by cold calculation. "Something about him feels off."
"He's just awkward. Lonely. He's been nothing but helpful since I moved here."
"Maybe." But Sasha doesn't look convinced.
He moves to the window, watching Pavel's truck disappear down the mountain road. "He shows up every week like clockwork. He knows your routines, your habits. He's inserted himself into your life under the guise of being helpful."
"That's what neighbors do in rural areas. They look out for each other." I pause. "What do you think is wrong with him?"
"I don't know yet." He crosses back to me, his hands cupping my face. "But I'm going to find out."
Through the window, I watch Pavel's truck disappear down the mountain road, and I realize he kept glancing back at the cabin with an expression I couldn't quite read.
8
ALEKSANDR
Ihaven't been able to get Pavel's visit yesterday out of my head. His nervous energy and pale eyes linger in my mind like smoke I can't wave away. Something about him scratches at the edges of my memory, a splinter I can't quite dig out. The way he moved through her cabin with that careful, observant precision. The way his eyes darted to the exits, cataloging escape routes. The nervous habit of adjusting his glasses when he was uncomfortable.
I know these behaviors. I recognize them because I do some of the same things.
A memory flickers at the edge of my consciousness, trying to surface. I close my eyes and reach for it, willing it into focus.
Numbers. Columns and columns of numbers, neat and precise, marching down pages in a ledger. My hands holding the book, my thumb running down the margin. The numbers mean something important, something dangerous. Money moving through channels, being cleaned, redistributed, hidden.
And a face. Pale, sweating, eyes wide with terror behind wire-rimmed glasses. A man begging, his voice high and desperate, promising he can fix it, that he just needs more time.
The memory fragments before I can grasp more, leaving me with a headache pulsing behind my eyes and the certainty that Pavel Galkin is more than just Maya's helpful neighbor.
The cabin is cold, the fire burned down to embers. I add wood and stoke it back to life, then stand at the window staring out at the snow-covered landscape. I can see the tree line, the shed, and the path Pavel's truck carved through the fresh powder yesterday.
I pour myself water from the pitcher on the counter and drink it standing at the window. My reflection stares back at me from the dark glass. A stranger's face with a stranger's eyes, but the instincts are all mine. And those instincts are screaming that Pavel is dangerous.