Free Bound to the Beast: Russian Hitman Romance by Ada Stone

offered me a wistful smile and ran the back of his hand across my face in a surprisingly tender caress. “I’m positive. I want things to be okay for you.”
     
    He seemed so earnest—this was Tyler; he was earnest—but somehow I couldn’t shake the sense that this was all wrong. But what other options did I have? Finally, I said, “I…I need to think about it. This is all too much and…I just need some time. Is that okay?”
     
    I saw a flicker of what might have been annoyance, but it disappeared so quickly that maybe it was just my imagination. A second later he smiled gently at me and nodded his head. “Take your time. I’ll be here when you decide. Do you want me to stay?”
     
    I shook my head. “No, I need time to think things over. You should head home and get some rest. You’re always taking care of me.”
     
    He shrugged it off like it was nothing, then winked at me. “It’s what I’m good at.”
     
    I smiled at him, then watched him go, wondering if I could really do this.
     

Chapter Eight
    Alexei
     
    The red truck was helpful only because I had connections to the Department of Motor Vehicles. They were very helpful, as well as discreet as far as looking up certain vehicle information for me whenever I needed it. The red truck itself didn’t help a lot. Sure, we were in the city, but there were still plenty of people who liked to have trucks of varying sizes and colors. So it narrowed it down, but not enough. The fact that it was dented in the hood, however, was helpful. The woman had mentioned that Christopher had been complaining about it being new, too, and he couldn’t believe he’d already dented it. Which meant that the truck was a recent purchase, but also that the accident was recent, too. Which meant that he could have called in a claim and possibly exchanged insurance with someone. Since I had his name already, it went a long way towards filtering out all the useless information, but I needed more to go on and was hoping the car might be helpful, since the only working address I had for him thus far was some farm out of the city.
     
    Clearly, he wasn’t staying there.
     
    “Do you have any address listed for the truck?” I asked Max, my contact at the DMV. He was looking up the truck along with the information connected to Christopher’s name.
     
    “Uh, yeah, hang on. Let me bring it up.” He paused a second and all I could hear was the sound of clicking. “Ah, here it is.”
     
    Eagerness bubbled up within me. This could be it, but I tried not to get my hopes up, lest I become disappointed. “Is it here in the city?”
     
    “Yeah. Some art district downtown. I don’t know the area myself, but it’s near the art school, the one off Main? Anyway, do you want the address?”
     
    “Yes. Go ahead and list it off for me. Is there a number attached to it?”
     
    There was a pause and some more typing. A second later, “Yeah. Looks like he’s got a bunch of them, do you want them all or just the most recent?”
     
    “All.”
     
    By the time I hung up with Max, I had a half a dozen phone numbers and just one address written down on a scrap of paper. I began trying the numbers as I got into my car. I needed to check out the address in the hopes of finding him. If he was staying at a hotel, there was a good chance he wouldn’t go home, if he had one here in the city, but if this address belonged to him, then maybe I could find a clue in his home. I’d break in, take a look around, check to make sure he wasn’t there, then see if he left anything that might tell me where he was going. People did stupid things when they were on the run, like leave receipts and ticket stubs and check receipts behind, indicating where they were going, what they were doing, and when they were leaving or coming back.
     
    I had the distinct feeling that Christopher would be no different. He didn’t strike me as terribly intelligent.
     
    The first number was a bust, disconnected or