Dima
DimaI wake in the night to the sound of something outside the cabin. I leap out of bed and palm the Glock on the bedroom dresser. I’m in the master bedroom where Nikolai’s recovering. Even though he seems like he’s doing okay, I’m not willing to sleep in a separate bedroom. Like he might stop breathing just because it’s night or something.
I hear another sound—right outside the French doors that open to the deck.
I silently turn the lock on them, twist the handle, and nudge the door open, all the while I’m on an internal rampage against myself for not having figured out Alex’s every secret. Because it seems there must be something more to him than a trigger-happy Federal agent.
Something feels off. Very off.
The door opens silently—it’s solid and well-built. All the glass in this
