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He tapped a few keys to bring his laptop to life. “I can set up a secure network for us. I’m sure the Dominiks have their Wi-Fi locked down.”
Bryce busied himself with work. But Kira itched to explore their surroundings. “I’m going to check out the back and walk around outside.”
She backtracked to her room to grab several pairs of gloves from her bag before exploring the back of the brownstone, just in case she found evidence—and she’d need them for where she planned to look.
The glassed-in terrace area extended across the back of the townhome and created an extra room. Two plush white couches turned an ordinary balcony into an elegant seating area, perfect for hosting parties. Kira crossed the beige travertine tile floor and headed down the wooden-plank steps.
The fancy entertaining space sat above the two-car garage. Bryce would need to move the Mercedes back here later. A brick wall separated the neighbor’s narrow cobblestone driveway from theirs, and from her vantage point, the Dominiks’ layout appeared to mirror theirs. Behind the row houses ran an access road to the driveways, and across the street a wooded area gave the place a sense of privacy.
The next-door unit had the blinds down in every window. It was a Monday afternoon. Maybe they were working? Did people who lived in these homes work?
The access road allowed the city to discreetly empty the trash bins at the end of the driveways. The two units shared a fenced enclosure with a lidded, boxlike cover for their garbage receptacles. Kira walked down the driveway. At the end, her head swiveled left, then right, to make sure no one was around as she lifted the lid to find two trash buckets for regular garbage, two for recycling.
She stopped and listened. Birds chirped, but that was it. She pulled on the gloves, then opened the plastic lid to the first bucket. “Ew. Great. Trash stink.” She willed her gag reflexes to stop being overly dramatic and peered into the container. Empty.
Except . . . was that a piece of paper or a napkin stuck to the side? As if she’d be so lucky to find some earth-shattering clue forgotten in the sludge of a trash bin.
She leaned over the edge of the container and grasped the wadded-up napkin, which had adhered itself to the side via a layer of gunk.
Gross. Even with the gloves on, she did not want to know what she was touching. But she refused to contaminate potential evidence, even if in this case it might already be destroyed by disgusting muck.
She might be picking up actual garbage. But once she saw Russian writing on the scrap, she thanked her instincts. A noise behind her stopped her heart for a second. She shoved the napkin into her pocket and turned.
A man rounded the raised lid of the trash enclosure and pointed a gun at Kira.
Bryce tried to check emails, but instinct drove him to watch Kira out the back window. He moved to the balcony just in time to see a man with a gun aimed at her.
He grabbed the wedding ring from his briefcase on his way out the door and threw on his suit jacket to hide his Glock 17.
“I will ask you one more time. What are you doing?” Bryce heard the guy’s distinct Russian accent. The dude was thick—muscular arms, wide shoulders, complete with a neck that resembled a tree trunk. If he had to guess, this man was part of the security team for the Dominiks. Earlier surveillance notes in the file indicated the unit next door had heavily armed guards patrolling the area.
Kira let out a whiny, nervous laugh. “Um, I really don’t think the gun is necessary. I—I live here. I—please. Put the weapon away.” She sounded scared out of her mind, and he wasn’t sure if it was part of her act or not. “I’m Katrina. You must live next door. I was just—”
“There you are, honey,” Bryce called out. The man turned his bald head and lasered Bryce with a glare.
Kira hurried to his side and hugged him. “He . . . he’s got a gun. Why is he armed? I thought this was a safe neighborhood.” Her voice quavered and her words came out almost as sobs.
Bryce kept an eye on the gun and its owner and pulled Kira slightly behind him, putting himself between her and the weapon. “No gun necessary, sir. She was just searching for her wedding ring.”
Kira coughed, then cleared her throat. “Yes. I—yes.”
“Good news,” Bryce said, “I found it.” He pulled the ring out of his pocket—the one he had forgotten to give her earlier. Mainly because he didn’t want to be married—even fake married—and a ring gave a finality to their predicament.
He hugged Kira and turned to the meathead security guard. “Are you out of your mind pulling a gun on an innocent woman?” He let anger tinge his tone. It wasn’t hard. “My wife lost her ring and thought she’d maybe thrown it out. But I found it in the bathroom. Now seriously, can you put that away before someone gets hurt?”
Kira’s hand covered her heart. “I’m so relieved. Thank you, sweetheart.” She turned to the muscleman. “And now your first impression of me is digging through the trash. I’m sorry.”
Her fake accent came naturally to her. Gone was Kira the Special Agent. Katrina now stood before him, the somewhat ditzy socialite from Manhattan.
The man winced and narrowed his eyes as if trying to decide whether or not to believe them. But he holstered his weapon. “Sorry, ma’am. We didn’t realize anyone had moved into the house next door. I am Peter, head of security for the Dominiks.”
“Security? My, my. I thought this area had low crime?” Kira patted her heart and swayed a bit. Bryce tightened his grip to steady her.
The man blanched. “Oh no, this is a quiet area where people keep to themselves. We’ve had no problems, but the Dominiks have always traveled with extra protection due to threats back home. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Bryce offered a handshake, but the man didn’t reciprocate, so Bryce gave him a wave. “Well, I feel better having you watching the place. I’m Brian Beckett and this is my wife, Katrina.”
The man nodded. “Take care, Mr. and Mrs. Beckett. Sorry about the mix-up. I hope we can keep this between the three of us?”
