As soon as I park my car in the garage, I take a detour to Felix’s place to take a shower and change. I tried not to get any blood on my shirt, but some ended up on my sleeve anyway. I don’t want Angelina to see it or be afraid of me. Also, allowing her to see me covered in blood would require explaining.
When I’m done, I head into the house. There’s no one downstairs, so I run upstairs and into my bedroom, where Angelina is curled on the recliner, holding a book in her hands. For a moment, I think she’s reading one of my detective novels—I have tons—but I stop in my tracks when I notice the cover. She’s holding Anna Karenina, Russian edition. Was Felix right about her?
She looks up from the book and meets my gaze. “How was the meeting?”
“Fine.” I lean on the doorframe and nod toward th
