Morton gestured to the housekeeper. ‘Call Darya Miller.’
‘Um, sure. But why, boss?’
‘Just do it!’ Morton snapped impatiently.
Maybe Darya was too afraid to call, Morton thought.
Or maybe she was too stupid to realise he was behind the post.
As the housekeeper dialled, Morton sat on the sofa and rehearsed what he was about to say.
***
Meanwhile, Darya was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, playing with Marshmallow.
On the flat-screen TV a few metres away, an arctic wolf howled.
A second later, Marshmallow followed suit, but the sound that came out of his mouth sounded more like the angry yip of a Chihuahua.
Callan threw his head back and laughed. ‘Give it up, Marsh. You are a dog, not a wolf.’
Darya’s lips curved as well, but she made sure Marshmallow cou
