Then he steps back, slowly and deliberately. His breath changes, just barely. But I notice.
“Don’t make me regret this,” I tell him.
His hand covers mine. He drags his thumb slowly across my knuckles. “I won’t.”
It’s not a promise of forever or a declaration of love. It’s just two people standing on a cold balcony in St. Petersburg, deciding to bet on each other when the odds say they shouldn’t.
I’ve made worse bets.
19
Pyotr
The man in the gray coat has been reading the same newspaper for two hours.
I spot him again from the kitchen window while I’m washing breakfast dishes. He’s parked on a bench across the street, positioned to watch our building’s entrance. Every few minutes, he glances up from the paper, inspects the windows, and returns to pretending he’s interested in the headlines.
Amateur.
“Kira, finish your eggs,” Daria calls from the table. “We need to leave for the park soon.”
“But Mama, I’m full.”
“Three more bites. Then you can bring your dinosaurs.”
I dry my hands on a dish towel and cross to the table, keeping my body angled away from the window. “We have company,” I whisper near Daria’s ear as I reach past her for my coffee cup. Ishift closer, putting my body between her and the window like it’s nothing. Habit.
She doesn’t flinch or look toward the window. She just keeps cutting Kira’s toast into triangles and gives me the subtlest of nods. “How many?”
“One visible. Probably more I haven’t clocked.”
“What do we do?”
“What we planned. Boring day. Boring people. Nothing worth reporting.”
She nods almost imperceptibly and turns back to Kira with a bright smile. “Okay, baby. Get your shoes. The red ones with the butterflies.”
Kira scrambles from her chair and races toward her bedroom. The moment she’s out of earshot, Daria’s smile drops.
“He knows something,” she whispers.
I take a sip of coffee that’s gone cold. “If he knew, he wouldn’t waste resources on surveillance. He’d just act.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Just stay focused, golubka.” I set the cup in the sink as I add, “Today, we’re a happy little family taking a walk in the park. That’s all. You hold my hand, you laugh at my terrible jokes, and you don’t look at the man on the bench.”
“I didn’t know you made jokes.”
“I don’t. That’s what makes them terrible.”
A ghost of a smile crosses her face, and something loosens in my chest. She’s scared, but she’s holding it together. That’s all I can ask.
Kira returns with her shoes on the wrong feet and three dinosaurs stuffed into her coat pockets. Daria kneels to fix the shoes while I grab my jacket and check the weight of the gun holstered at my back. It’s become second nature, this constant awareness of where my weapon is and how fast I can reach it.
We leave the apartment at 9:47 a.m. I’ve timed our departures to vary by a few minutes each day. They’re predictable enough to seem routine, but irregular enough to suggest we’re not following a script.
The man in the gray coat doesn’t look up as we pass.
