Beauty & the Beast by Nancy Holder Read Free Book Online Page B

have much time for cleanup.”
    “And this was her fault.”
    “Head wounds are bloody.”
    “And she was the one who shot him.”
    Ilya reddened. “She’ll say I did it.”
    Anatoly realized with a shock that his nephew was lying to him. Ilya had done it. Was he so stupid that he thought his uncle wouldn’t see through this falsehood? Why even bother? What did he hope to gain?
    Ilya was so immature. Thank God for Svetlana. A scrawny little child when he had taken her off the streets. A woman now. His woman. Or one of them, anyway. A man in his position must protect himself with redundancy. He must have backups everywhere. He could not rely on one particular hit man. Love one specific woman.
    Trust one particular relative.
    “Was there a blood trail to the van?” Anatoly asked. Ilya shook his head, but uncertainty blazed in the younger man’s eyes. Anatoly couldn’t help another attack of anger. It didn’t show on his face but he dug his fingers into his palms to maintain control. Emotion was always weakness.
    “Torch the car,” Anatoly said. “Then junk it.”
    His phone rang. He muted the iPad and looked at the ID. It was the man he had called in Los Angeles.
    The voice on the other end said, “We’ve got someone headed for the Kellers’ hotel now.”
    Anatoly huffed. “Don’t bother me with the details. Just let me know when it is done.”
    “ Da , Anatoly.”
    Anatoly hung up. I am surrounded by idiots.
    And idiots can be dangerous.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    The moon cast ripples of silver on the easy, cresting waves of the Pacific Ocean. Sea foam bubbled onto the warm sand. It was a night straight out of the pictures from the tour brochure Catherine had downloaded.
    “This was a wonderful idea,” Cat said as she and Vincent strolled barefoot along the beach. Catherine’s strappy sandals were dangling from Vincent’s fingers and her faux hibiscus flower was nestled behind his ear. The Pacific was chillier than either of them had expected, but the evening air was balmy and smelled of honeysuckle and star jasmine. They had flown into Los Angeles the night before the cruise and were enjoying a luxurious stay at a Spanish Colonial-style hotel in a part of Los Angeles called Playa del Rey, dining on fresh swordfish and mango salsa. Two margaritas later, they were kissing under the palms, already under the sway of their romantic getaway.
    “This is so perfect,” she murmured as they finished one kiss and began another. “I hope everything is all right back home. Heather didn’t answer my text—”
    “No,” Vincent said firmly. “No texting, no Wi-Fi. There’s a reason you left your phone on the nightstand, remember?”
    “Yes.” She smiled lovingly up at him. “And he’s standing right here.”
    “I love you,” he whispered. “I can’t even tell you how much.”
    “Then why don’t you show me?” she asked huskily. “Back in our room?”
    “You don’t need to ask me twice.”
    They turned around, passing through an arch of bougainvillea illuminated by flickering torches with their arms around each other. A distant guitar played a sensuous Spanish melody.
    They bypassed the elevator and climbed the stone stairway together. Each riser was decorated with a matching row of colorful tiles. Then they were at their door, which was made of wood and ornately carved.
    And hanging open.
    They looked at each other. No phones. No gun. She left it to Vincent to go first. If there was trouble, he could beast out.
    Their single overnight bag lay on its side, and all the contents were strewn on the mattress. Cat’s surprise sheer black nightgown lay on the floor. The drawers to their nightstand were open, the dresser as well. They didn’t touch any of it as they moved across the room. The sliding glass door to their balcony was open too. They looked down, scanning the palms and purple jacaranda trees surrounding a tile fountain where a few guests were drinking at wrought-iron tables beneath colorful