Secured By The Seal. Carol Ericson

phone, or snoops through it or even if you’re showing them something else and they see any pictures of Lee, you’ve blown your cover.”

      “My cover?” She grabbed his hand. “You’re going to take me up on my offer?”

      He shrugged quickly. “I figure you’re not going to leave that club just because I tell you to, so we might as well make this deal. I don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way—no more skulking around. The cameras are going to catch you anyway. Don’t ask any questions about Tatyana or Lee, but keep your eyes and ears open.”

      She was still in possession of his hand, so she squeezed it. “I can do that. And you’ll help me find my sister?”

      “I will, and I’m going to start by searching through her belongings. Do you have them, or are they still in her apartment?” He drove the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Don’t tell me you’re staying in Lee’s apartment.”

      “I’m not that stupid. I did pay her past-due rent and a few months in the future...just in case she comes back, but I rented myself a little bachelor in West Hollywood. I left Leanna’s apartment as I found it, except for this.” She pinched the Tattle-Tale napkin between two fingers and then stuffed it into her purse. “Like I said, it was with her bills that I took with me.”

      “Have you been back to her place since?”

      “No.”

      “Anything else?” Their waitress had returned with a coffeepot and their check.

      Alexei glanced at Britt, and she shook her head. “We’re good, thanks.”

      As Britt ducked beneath the strap of her purse, she watched Alexei peel off a few bills from the same wad he’d used to tip the Russian dancer. His strong fingers moved with deftness and confidence, and for the first time since coming to LA to look for Leanna, Britt was good.

      While Alexei had confirmed her worst fears about her sister, Britt now had someone on her side—a mysterious Russian American with acute knowledge and vast resources.

      “Let’s go, moya solnishka.”

      That was the second time he’d called her that. She had no idea what it meant and didn’t want to know, but Alexei Ivanov could call her anything and she’d follow him anywhere.

      * * *

      AS BRITT DROVE through her sister’s seedy neighborhood looking for a parking spot, she continued to keep one eye on her rearview mirror. Nobody at the Tattle-Tale had any reason to follow her, but she didn’t want to tempt fate. With that in mind, she drove around the block from her sister’s place and parked in front of a different, although just as crummy, apartment building.

      She exited her car and scanned the block, her gaze sweeping past an older couple walking a dog and a young Latino waiting for someone at the curb, his car idling and his music thumping through the open window.

      She didn’t even know what Alexei was driving. He’d walked her to her car in the diner’s parking lot and watched as she drove away. Maybe he had a gadget to materialize and then disappear. She wouldn’t put it past him after watching how he’d altered Sergei’s security footage from his phone.

      Hunching into her sweater against the gloomy late-June marine layer that had spread inland, Britt loped down the sidewalk. She turned the corner and made a beeline for Leanna’s pink stucco apartment building.

      She jogged up the steps to Leanna’s place on the second floor and held her breath as she peered down the row of doors leading to about six apartments. She stopped midway at Leanna’s door and inserted the key into the dead bolt first and then the door-handle lock.

      Her heart skipped a beat at the whisper of movement behind her, and she spun around, her nose meeting Alexei’s chest.

      “Hurry, before someone sees us.” He reached past her and pushed open the door, crowding her inside from behind.

      She closed it and locked the dead bolt. Turning to face the room, she slipped the key into the pocket of her sweater.

      “Is this how you left it?” Alexei took a turn around the small living room.

      “Yes.” Britt’s gaze darted among Leanna’s sparse furnishings, lingering on a row of oil paintings propped up against the wall. A dark piece with red swirls was still clipped to the easel in front of the window.

      Alexei pointed to the painting. “Your sister was an artist?”

      “Yes, and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have left her work behind.”

      “Is it worth anything?” Alexei cocked his head to the side as if trying to make sense of the chaos on the canvas.

      “They could be. She told me she sold a few pieces on the street at an art fair.”

      “Where did you find the bills with that note on the napkin?”

      Britt crossed the room and rapped on the kitchen counter that doubled as a table. “Right here. There were three bills, and the napkin was stuffed inside one of the envelopes.”

      Alexei squeezed past her into the kitchen, his leather jacket brushing her arm. While the hot summer weather hadn’t yet descended on Southern California, the jacket and his motorcycle boots seemed like overkill—unless he rode a motorcycle.

      He pulled open drawers and cabinets. “Looks like she took most of her kitchen stuff.”

      Britt snorted. “That’s what the cops said even though I tried to tell them my sister wouldn’t have had much of that stuff to take. It’s not like she had a set of matching china to pack. Besides, I thought you believed my theory after finding Tatyana’s note.”

      “Maybe she knew she was in danger and got out.”

      “That’s what I’ve been hoping ever since you translated that note, but why wouldn’t she contact me?”

      “Fear? Doesn’t want to involve you?”

      “That would’ve been the old Leanna, but I made her promise me at the beginning of this year to call me if she needed anything.”

      Crossing his arms, he wedged his hip against the counter. “Why weren’t you two close? Is it because you’re half sisters?”

      “We didn’t grow up together.” Britt traced the dingy grout lines on the tiled countertop. “My mother was a drug addict and lost custody of us when we were little. My father’s family took me in, but they didn’t want Leanna. She went to foster care.”

      “Your father?”

      She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to convey everything, knowing it conveyed nothing at all. “Do you want to search the rest of the place?”

      He pushed off the counter and returned to the living room in a few steps. He pulled the cushions off the couch and held up a quarter. “Payback for taking care of her bills and rent.”

      He tossed it to her, and she caught it in one hand. “My sister doesn’t have to reimburse me. I just want her back.”

      He continued to go through Leanna’s belongings in the living room, flipping through her pieces of modern art. “These aren’t half-bad. They convey a range of deep emotions—rage, terror, hopelessness.”

      “You see all that in those swishes of dark, heavy strokes of paint?”

      “Must be my Russian heritage.” He twisted his mouth into a smile—of sorts. “Anything else you can tell me about this room? Nothing missing from the last time you were here?”

      “Not that I can tell. You think someone searched her place?”

      “They may have done that before you or the police got here. It’s a good thing she hid that note in her bills. I guess she was pretty sure nobody would want to look through those.”

      “Nobody but me.” Britt caught her breath.