Grisha is on the porch. Every few minutes, I hear the creak of his boots on the wooden planks as he paces a circuit outside the front door. Beyond that, nothing. The forest is silent.
Bogdan is out there somewhere, on foot, wounded, and without a coat or supplies or a single person left to call. Tony confirmed the warrants hit the border system two hours ago, and his photo is flagged at every crossing between here and Finland. Yevgeny has disowned him. The accounts are frozen. Every hired man from the cabin is either dead or has taken for questioning.
I know he has nothing, but my stomach still won’t unclench.
“What if he finds a house?” I ask. “A farmhouse or a cottage. Somewhere with a phone and a car. He’ll hurt anyone inside to get what he wants.”
“Tony ran the area before we left the city. The nearest occupied structure is a logging station eleven kilometers east, and Marat has a man posted on the access road. His snowmobile died in a ravine.”
“He could have?—”
“Daria.” Pyotr’s voice isn’t harsh, but it stops me. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. Boris has been doing it even longer. A wounded man on foot in subzero temperatures has limited options, and we’ve closed off all of them. The only question left is how long it takes Eduard to reach him.”
I dig my thumbnail into one of the knots on the table until the wood bites back. “I know you’re right. But I’ve believed it wasover before. Every time I moved to a new city, I told myself it was done. He always found a way back.”
Pyotr reaches across the table with his good hand and covers mine. His fingers are almost scorching against my freezing skin. I haven’t been able to get warm since the firefight, despite the woodstove throwing heat from the corner.
“He’s bleeding in the snow with nine men closing in. This is a dead-end for him.”
I turn my hand over beneath his and link our fingers. He moves his thumb across my knuckle in a slow rhythm that I suspect is as much for him as it is for me.
“What does it feel like?” I ask. “When it’s over, and the person you’re hunting can’t get away?”
He tilts his head, considering this. “During, you stay focused. You don’t let yourself believe it, because belief makes you sloppy. The feeling comes later, once the adrenaline burns off and the quiet sets in, and you realize you don’t have to check behind you anymore.”
“I don’t remember what that’s like. Not checking.”
“You will.”
The radio squawks on the table, and Grisha’s voice comes through. “Perimeter clear. No contacts.”
Pyotr keys the mic with his thumb. “Copy.”
He sets the radio down and pushes his untouched coffee toward me. “Drink mine. It’s still warm.”
I take a sip because arguing requires energy I don’t have. The coffee is bitter and too strong the way he makes it, and the heat spreads through my chest like a small mercy.
“Tell me about tomorrow,” I prompt.
He tilts his head again. “What about it?”
“After this is done. Walk me through what happens.”
“Boris handles the scene. Tony files the documentation with the federal liaison. We drive back to the city.”
“That’s logistics. I’m asking what happens to us.”
He drops his eyes to the table and swallows hard. “What do you want to happen?”
“I want to go get my daughter.” My voice catches on the last word, and I hate that Bogdan still has enough power to cause that, even now. “Get to Moscow, walk through the compound gates, pick up Kira, and hold her until she squirms away. Then bring her home.”
“Then that’s what we do.”
I want to argue how simple he makes it sound. Six years of violence and a lifetime of aftermath, reduced to five syllables. But there’s no arrogance behind the words. Pyotr doesn’t deal with false comfort; he states facts, and if he says that’s what we do, he means he’ll make it happen or die trying. Given that he took a bullet just hours ago and is still sitting upright at this table, I believe him more than I’ve ever believed anyone.
The front door opens, and cold rolls in from the porch. Grisha steps inside long enough to pour a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. He nods at Pyotr, glances at me, and pauses.
“Anything from Boris?” he asks.
