Ivan walked to his dresser and found some underwear. “Now you sure you don’t want to join me in the shower?”
I shook my head and sat, feeling groggy. Ivan walked away from his dresser, leaving it open. I walked to where my shirt lay next to the dresser, when I spotted a glint of metal. A gun. I glanced at his valet.
His uniform was pressed, with the uniform shirt hanging. Ivan’s gun—a Beretta—hung on the holster. Sloppy. He should have secured his Beretta in a gun safe.
Ivan whistled in the bathroom, behind the partially closed door. Then the water ran in the bathtub. I stood there and waited. When it sounded like there was a change of the rhythm of the water, I pulled the drawer more to get a better look.
Not a Beretta but a Glock, like Noah’s.
Why would Ivan not secure this Glock?