Page 9 of Victor's Lethal Desire
The shower continues its steady hiss in the next room.
I start with the drawers. The top one sticks when I pull the handle, so I yank harder and it slides open with a scrape.
Inside are pens, loose change, a half-empty pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and receipts crumpled into tight balls.
Nothing useful.
I close it and move to the second drawer. This one opens smoothly. Inside are folders, thin, cheaply made, the kind youbuy in bulk at an office supply store. I flip through them quickly, scanning the labels.
Utility bills, tax documents, and bank statements. I shut it and reach for the third drawer, and it's locked. Okay, maybe I'll get lucky here.
It's a simple desk lock, so I take my multi-tool and on my second try, it unlocks and I slide the drawer open.
Inside is a half-empty bottle of alcohol and a few thick folders bound with rubber bands. I pull one out and flip through it.
It's photographs of women. Some smiling. Some crying. Some with vacant, drugged-out stares.
What the fuck?
My stomach tightens. I take a step back. The floorboard beneath me lets out a loud creak, and I stop, my eyes darting to the door. I wait a moment, and the shower keeps going.
He didn't hear me.
I toss the pictures back into the drawer and shut it. This might be good intel, but it's not the hard drive.
I start moving the papers all around his desk, rummaging through the piles of crap.
My fingers brush against something hard, and I stop. I move the folders away and shine my light. Sitting right there is a dark blue external hard drive.
Found it.
Just as my fingers close around it, the shower shuts off and I hear the shower curtain scrape across the rod, then footsteps on tile.
My hand hovers over the hard drive.
It's too risky to pocket it now. He's coming. I move back toward the wall behind the door as I hear footsteps in the hallway getting closer.
My pulse stays steady. My breathing is silent. I've done this a hundred times.
The door handle turns and I shift my weight slightly, ready to move.
The door swings open. A tall shadow steps into the room.
I don't hesitate.
I drop my center of gravity and lunge forward, driving both hands squarely into the man's chest to knock him off balance.
The instant my palms make contact, my brain misfires.
The chest beneath my hands is rock-hard and broad.
The man doesn't stumble like he should. Instead, his reflexes are instant. His arm comes up defensively, his body already pivoting to counterattack.
This isn't Bogdan.
5
VICTOR
