"Let me go," she hisses.
"Can't do that."
I look over her head at Richard, who's watching us with the dawning realization that this situation is far more complicated than he imagined.
"One week," I repeat. "Find the money, or I keep her."
"And if I can't find money I never stole?"
I don't answer, because we both know what happens then. In my world, debts are always paid, one way or another.
I start to guide Hannah toward the door, but she digs in her heels, turning back to her father with tears streaming down her face.
"Dad, tell me you didn't do this. Tell me you didn't steal from them."
"I didn't, baby girl. I swear to you on your mother's grave, I didn't steal anything."
The raw honesty in his voice is hard to ignore. This man isn't acting. The confusion, the desperation, the absolute conviction in his denial—it sounds real.
But I can’t believe him. I’ve seen the proof. I’ve interrogated plenty of men that deny their crimes with their last breath. It doesn’t change anything.
"I believe you," Hannah says quietly.
"Hannah," Richard calls as I guide her toward the door. "I'll fix this. Whatever it takes, I'll fix this."
She doesn't answer, but I feel the shudder that runs through her. Whether it's from anger or grief or fear, I can't tell.
Outside the building, I help her into the back of my SUV, noting how she doesn't fight me anymore. The fight has gone out of her, replaced by something that looks dangerously like despair.
"He's telling the truth," she says as Alexei starts the engine.
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I know my father." She turns to look at me, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. "He's many things—apparently including a criminal accountant—but he's not a thief. Someone is setting him up."
I ignore her. Of course, she’s going to defend her father.
“Will you kill me?”
Alexei looks at me.
“You’re safe—for now.”
"Safe." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Is that what you call kidnapping now?"
"I call it staying alive."
"Take us home," I tell Alexei, and try to ignore the way Hannah flinches at the word. “And we’ll talk later about what it means to keep someone locked down.”
He chuckled, clearly not worried about the price he would pay for disappointing me.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Hannah whispers. “You are so going to regret this.”
I glance over at her. She doesn’t look mad or scared.
I see disappointment.
And for some reason, that is worse than anything.
