When we hear the “Come” from within, I push past Stefan and explode into the room like a grenade.
Sitting behind a wide oak desk across the room, Dimitri looks me over dispassionately, with nothing like fear. Or even surprise. It’s like he knew I was coming.
He swirls the whiskey in the cut crystal glass in his hand. “This should be interesting. Have you found a gun?”
He’s stripped to the waist. His strong, lean chest glistens with a sheen of sweat. The muscles of his stomach are clenched, each individual one articulated, as if they’re under strain.
Kneeling on the floor beside his chair is his physician who looks like an accountant. He’s surprised by my sudden entrance, blinking like an owl. He was in the midst of cleaning the bullet hole in Dimitri’s abdomen.
The hole that is as red
