A man rises to greet her.
I see the easy confidence in his posture even from this distance. This is the kind of man who’s never been told no.
He kisses her cheek, and her body goes rigid.
I pull out my phone and zoom the camera to snap several photographs as they sit at a table. The man’s face fills my screen. Strong jaw, cold eyes, and a smile that doesn’t reach past his lips.
He looks an awful lot like the man identified as her ex-husband in Daria’s file, but from a distance, through rain-streaked glass, I need to be certain.
The facial recognition software confirms what my gut knew. Bogdan Lebedev. Nephew of Yevgeny Lebedev. Ex-husband of the woman shrinking into herself across from him like she’s trying to disappear into the chair.
For forty-five minutes, I stand in the rain and watch.
He does most of the talking. His hands move in expansive gestures before he shows her something from a folder. At one point, he reaches across the table to touch her hand, and she flinches so hard that the waiter pauses mid-step to stare.
She doesn’t eat or drink, just sits and absorbs the poison he pours into her ears.
When she stands to leave, her legs are barely able to hold her. Bogdan flags down the waiter for another glass of wine, dismissing Daria like a servant who’s completed an unpleasant errand.
I slip into an alley before she exits and take the long way back to the apartment.
I need to be there when she arrives. I need to see her face when she realizes I know.
The apartment is dark when I let myself in. Kira is still at Natasha’s house. Daria won’t pick her up until tomorrow morning. The thought of that child sleeping somewhere other than her dinosaur-covered bed doesn’t sit right with me, but I push it aside.
I lower myself onto the couch and wait.
The door opens at 9:47 p.m.
Daria steps inside and fumbles for the light switch. When the lamp clicks on, and she sees me sitting there, her face cycles through surprise, then fear, then resignation.
“You followed me.”
“You lied to me.”
She closes the door and leans against it. Her coat is soaked. Her hair hangs in wet tendrils around her face. She looks like a woman who’s been drowning for years and has finally stopped fighting the current.
“I had to,” she whispers.
“No. You didn’t.” I rise from the couch and cross the room. She flattens herself against the door, but there’s nowhere to go. “I told you I could help. I told you no one would take Kira. And you walked out of here to meet the man who’s terrorized you for years.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.” I stop two feet away, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. “Tell me what he wants.”
She shakes her head.
“Daria.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You just won’t.” I take another step. “I know who he is. I know what he’s done. I know about the accounts, the shell companies, and the money he’s moved through your name. What I don’t know is what he demanded from you tonight.”
Her eyes go wide. “How do you?—”
“It’s my job to know. I’ve spent the past two weeks tearing apart every thread connected to your life, and every single one leads back to him.” I drop my voice to add, “Tell me what he wants, and I’ll make sure he never gets it.”
She blinks hard, and wetness streaks down her cheeks, mixing with the rain still glistening on her skin. “He wants information about Dmitri. Things I couldn’t give him even if I wanted to. But if I don’t provide it, he’ll take Kira. He’ll destroy me in court and take my daughter, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”
