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I tap the wheel as I pass through the estate gates and turn onto the main road. “Just covering ground. If whoever sent her gave her anything—she might have left it behind—we might be able to trace it.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah… Fuck, we should have done this sooner. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

I slow to a stop at a red light. “Doubt we’ll find anything useful, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”

We’re silent for the next fifteen minutes until I pull up in front of the old brick apartment building Grace lived in. The car carrying Pavel and my other men slots in beside us, and everyone files out.

There’s nobody at the door to stop us or ask us questions. Zero security. I frown as we cross the lobby toward the elevator, only to find an out-of-order sign taped to it, and redirect toward the stairwell instead.

A handful of tenants pass us on the climb to the third floor, every one of them giving us a wide berth and pretending not to see us. Makes me wonder how often this kind of thing happens here.

When we reach Grace’s apartment, I signal Jake, our expert lockpicker, and he steps forward to examine the knob—except the door swings open under the slightest pressure. I go still. My men exchange glances, all of us reading the same thing in it. A door left unlocked in broad daylight, in a building like this, isn’t normal. I nod, and we move in carefully.

Into chaos.

The place has been torn apart. Furniture shoved out of place, cabinet doors hanging open, drawers pulled out and upended, objects scattered…

Someone beat us to it.

Noah exhales quietly behind me. “You think it was the person who sent her?”

“Most likely,” I answer, scanning the room as I step farther inside.

The apartment is small, with a cramped living area bleeding into a narrow kitchen, but every inch of it has been disturbed. I sweep across the space until a picture frame lying face down under the coffee table catches my eye.

I reach for it and flip it over, my grip tightening as the image beneath the cracked glass comes into view.

It’s Grace.

Younger, her red hair pulled into a high ponytail, her face stretched into a wide, unguarded smile. Her arm is slung over the shoulders of another girl around the same age, dark-haired, dark-eyed, smiling brightly. And I can see why. They’re both dressed in graduation gowns. High school, by the look of it.

They both look so young. So hopeful. My eyes linger on Grace before sliding to the girl beside her. She looks familiar, like I’ve met her before, but that can’t be right.

“That’s Millicent Wilson,” Noah says. “Miss Turner’s roommate and longtime friend from the home she grew up in.” I’d already worked that out. I’d never seen her face before, but the guess wasn’t hard to make. It’s the familiarity I can’t account for.

I turn the name over in my head again. Millicent. If Grace has a weak point, it’s her. It would make sense, since Millicent seems to be the only friend Grace has. “Do we know where she is right now?”

“Probably out and about? Maybe at her clinical rotation?” The doubt in his voice lands the same way it does in my gut.

“Find her,” I say, dropping the frame on the coffee table as I get to my feet. “And run a check on her, on where she’s been the past few months. I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere recently.”

I just can’t pinpoint where.

30

GRACE

The first thing that registers as I wake up is the aches. My wrists, my shoulder blades, my core muscles, my legs—everything hurts. But it’s not unpleasant. It’s similar to that delicious burn you get the morning after a rigorous workout. And, well… what Dimitri did to me last night might as well count as one.

I smile, moaning as I stretch my arms over my head. My core throbs, reminding me that I still didn’t get the happy ending I was chasing. I roll onto my stomach, and the drag of my nipples against the sheets pulls another helpless moan from me.

He didn’t put the chastity belt back on me.

Wait…

My eyes snap open, and I let out a small scream, yanking the blanket over my exposed body as I scramble upright. “What are you doing here?”

Anya is sitting in the armchair by the window, a book now abandoned at her feet. She must have dropped it when I startled her. “Sorry,” she says quickly, looking flustered. “Mr. Petrov didn’t want to wake you when he left, but he didn’t want you to be alone either, so he asked me to stay with you.” Her expression softens, turning almost dreamy. “So sweet.”