Vlad throws the drink back in one gulp, then sets the glass down without a sound. When he speaks again, he switches into the tone he uses for orders, not arguments. “Teresa, as we discussed, you are not to leave the penthouse.”
“I already agreed to that.”
“Not even with me,” he amends, and lifts a finger, stopping my protest. “You are responsible for two lives now.”
I feel the bristle rise anyway, the walls already closing in. “I understand.” I hate it, but I do understand.
“From this minute,” he continues, “access to the elevators are through my code only. The service stairwell doors will be bolted and the camera coverage expanded. Two at the door, two on the elevator, two on the roof at all times. Three-man coverage inside the unit. Anything delivered—no matter what it is—goes through Dmitri only. You need air, it’s on the balcony off the study with two men on the terrace below. But not before I have the terrace fitted with bulletproof glass.”
The lieutenants nod in silent sequence. I glance from face to face and wonder if they ever smile.
“We’ll confirm Volkov’s the one behind the attack,” Vlad says. “Meanwhile, you stay here and be ready to move.”
“Move where?” I ask. “You just said?—”
“Up.” He tips his chin toward the ceiling. “There’s a helipad on the roof.”
My eyes widen. Of course there is.
“If it gets dicey,” he says, “I’ll have you evacuated to my safehouse upstate.”
“Upstate,” I echo, trying to picture it. Snow, trees, quiet. The opposite of this humming, glittering cage. “How quickly?”
Dmitri answers. “One phone call, three minutes to skids-up, twelve to clear New York City airspace.”
My throat tightens as I do the math. Three minutes to pack a life, twelve to leave behind the only city I’ve ever lived in.
“How long would I be gone?”
“As long as it takes to end this,” Vlad replies.
I stare at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got,” he says, nothing but weary truth. “You’d stay upstate until I was one-hundred-percent certain you and the child would be safe in the city.”
The room suddenly seems too big and too small at the same time. The men shift subtly as they get ready to move. Outside, the snow thickens, the wet glass smearing the lights of the city into a watercolor. It would be beautiful if my chest didn’t feel like it was tied with wire.
“What about my doctor?” I ask. “I have to?—”
“I know,” he says softly. “I’ll have Dr. Kornilov come here. Private entrance. He’s used to discretion.”
Some of the wire around my heart loosens. Just a little.
Dmitri glances at his watch. “Teams are staged,” he reports. “Roof and lobby in position. Rover ready. Perimeter clean. This penthouse is tight as a drum.”
Vlad nods. “If Volkov pushes tonight, he won’t reach this door.” Then, to me, “You will sleep in the master. I’ll take the guest room until we’re sure the building is quiet.”
Something inside tugs. “You don’t have to?—”
“I do,” he says, and I understand he means more than just a room choice. He’s putting space between the situation and me because he’s afraid they’re bleeding together too fast.
“What do I do now?” I ask. There has to be something other than sitting and listening to men arrange barricades around my life.
He studies me for a long second. “You rest. You eat. You answer my call on the first ring. And you keep him or her”—his gaze drops to my belly again— “safe.”
“I hate this,” I repeat. I know I sound like a brat not getting her way, but the truth is, I’m scared out of my mind.
“So do I. And I will end it.”
