I study the map, tracing the routes between the three locations with my eyes. They're spread out enough that checking all of them in one night will require careful planning and precise timing. "How confident is your contact?"
"Seventy percent on the first two, fifty on the third." He taps each circle with his finger. "The third is a backup facility they use when the other locations are compromised. Less likely, but still possible."
"We'll check all three." I lean back and press my fingers against my temples, trying to ease the headache that's been building all afternoon. "Tomorrow night. We move fast, hit each location, and don't leave until we're certain he's not there."
"And if we find him?" Lazar's expression remains neutral, but there's a tension in his voice that suggests he already knows the answer.
"Then we finish what we should've finished months ago." I drop my hands and meet his gaze. "Yuri wants this handled before trial. We're running out of time."
"Understood." He folds the map and tucks it back into his jacket. "What about the woman?"
"What about her?" I'm already thinking ahead to tomorrow night, trying to search three facilities without getting caught.
"Who's going to watch her and the boy?"
"Vasili, maybe, or Vadim… We'll work it out," I say with a wave of the hand. I'll figure out how to balance this out or it'll be my head.
But I'm not letting Yuri down. Inessa killed that bitch Victoria in self-defense. I won't let Marat tell the whole world it was cold blood and let Victoria reach back from the grave to win. It won't happen on my watch.
6
NOEMI
When the door shuts behind that ogre of a man I suck in a breath to help ease the stress in my ribcage. My wrists ache where the rope cut into them and the skin burns, spreading up my forearms. I press my palms flat against my thighs and feel the dampness of my own sweat soaking through the fabric of my pants.
My throat tightens and I swallow hard against the pressure building behind my eyes. I won't cry in front of Sasha. What he needs right now is to see me being calm and confident so he understands this environment is safe for him, even though I'm not entirely sure it's safe for anyone.
He stands near the bed with his small hands curled into fists at his sides and his shoulders drawn up toward his ears in a posture that makes him look even younger than ten years old. His face is pale except for the red blotches around his eyes and the flush across his cheeks from crying. He stares at the floor and his chest rises and falls in uneven jerks that tell me he's fighting to keep himself together.
I force my legs to move and cross the distance between us, and he flinches when I crouch down in front of him, but he doesn't pull away. I reach out slowly and rest my hand on his shoulder and feel the tremor running through his entire body as his eyes lift to mine. They're wide and dark and filled with fear, much the same way I felt weeks ago when I thought he'd gotten lost in the snowy brush.
"Sasha," I croak and then clear my voice to try again. "Sweetheart, I need you to look at me."
He does, and his lower lip quivers, but he holds my gaze.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" I run my eyes over him quickly and check for bruises or cuts or any sign that he's been physically harmed. "Did anyone touch you or hurt you in any way?"
"No, ma'am." His voice is so quiet, I almost don't hear it. "I'm not hurt."
"Good." I squeeze his shoulder gently and feel some of the tension ease out of my own chest. "That's very good. Now I need you to tell me something and I need you to be honest with me, alright?"
He nods.
"Do you know that man who brought me here?" My heart is hammering so hard, it's difficult to keep my voice steady. "Have you ever seen him before today?"
Sasha shakes his head and fresh tears spill down his cheeks. "No, ma'am. I never seen him before." Smiling at his misuse of the word, I nod and cup his cheek.
"Has he told you why you're here in this house?"
"He said mymamochkais gone and he's my father now." The words break apart halfway through and he sucks in a shuddering breath. "But I don't want him to be my father. I want mymamochka. I want to go home."
The grief in his voice is so raw, it makes my own chest tighten in response. I pull him against me and wrap my arms around his thin frame and feel him collapse into the embrace.
His fingers dig into the back of my coat and his face presses into my shoulder as he sobs. He doesn't understand why his world's been ripped apart. This is exactly what I feared would happen—not the strange, overbearing father type, but the distraught pain he's in.
I hold him and rock slightly and make soft shushing sounds that do nothing to ease the pain but at least let him know he's not alone in it.
Minutes pass before his crying subsides into hiccups and then into ragged breathing. I ease him back and wipe the tears from his face with my thumbs and try to give him a reassuring smile even though my own face feels frozen. His eyes search mine and I see the question there before he asks it.
