Click.
Empty.
Pyotr's grin is vicious as he levels the pistol at me. I dive to the side as he fires. The bullet punches through the door frame where my head was a second ago, and I feel a cold jolt of fear as I wonder where Svetlana is inside, if she was in the line of fire.
I hit the ground rolling, coming up with my own handgun. Pyotr tries to turn the snowmobile to get another angle, and I put three rounds into the engine block.
The snowmobile coughs, sputters, and dies.
Pyotr jumps off, using it for cover. We're maybe thirty feet apart, both of us armed and looking for an opening.
"Kazimir Orlov," he calls out. "Ilya's dog. I’m surprised you’d ruin our friendship over a woman.”
I don't answer. I just watch his shadow on the snow, waiting for him to move.
"Iosef's going to be very interested to know you're the one who took his property," Pyotr continues. "Very interested. And Ilya—well. I don't think he's going to be happy about this either."
"Ilya doesn't know anything about this," I growl, trying to keep him talking. Distracted.
"He will soon." Pyotr shifts, and I see the barrel of his pistol appear over the edge of the snowmobile. "And when he finds out you've blown this all up over a woman he didn’t give a shit about before?—”
I fire twice. The first shot hits the snowmobile. The second hits Pyotr in the chest.
He goes down hard, the pistol falling from his hand. Before his other men can fire, I finish off the rest of the rounds in my gun, dropping them all before one can do more than get off a shot that goes wide, cracking the gutter in the overhang.
I go straight for Pyotr’s limp form in the snow, kicking his weapon away and checking for a pulse.
Nothing.
I stand there for a moment, breathing hard and looking down at the body. Pyotr was right about one thing—this is going to get complicated. Iosef knows someone took Svetlana. He’s not going to stop looking for her. And since I’m gone too, it’s fairly easy to guess that it was me. I need to get Svetlana and me out of here, and her dealt with before Ilya finds out about any of this.
One of the men next to the other snowmobiles groans, rolling to his side, and I slam another magazine into my pistol, finishing him off with a shot to the head. The dogs bay again, barking and howling, and I fire two rounds into the snow in front of them, shouting for them to get the fuck out. They yelp and bark, fleeing into the trees.
"Kazimir?"
I turn. Svetlana is standing in the doorway, her face white, her eyes fixed on Pyotr's body.
"Inside," I snap. "Now."
She doesn't move. She's staring at the blood spreading across the snow, dark and vivid against the white, her eyes so wide that they look as if they could swallow up her whole face.
"Svetlana." I make my voice hard. "Inside. We don't have time for this."
That breaks through. She looks at me sharply, something flashing in her eyes, and then turns and goes back into the cabin. I follow after I’ve dragged the bodies a decent way into the woods to keep predators away from the cabin, pulling the door shut behind us and shoving a nearby chair under the doorknob.
The interior is dark, the shutters blocking most of the light. I can make out the shapes of furniture—a couch, a table, and chairs. A stone fireplace against one wall. Stairs leading up to a second floor; a loft, by the looks of it. The square footage of this one is about the same, but it’s a little nicer on the inside.
"Stay away from the windows," I tell her, moving through the space and checking to be sure no one else is in here, and what other entrances there are. There's a back door, but it’s locked. There’s an old sideboard nearby, and I drag it in front of the back door so I’ll hear if anyone tries to come in. "And keep quiet. There will be more coming."
"How many more, do you think?" Her voice is steady, but I can hear the fear underneath.
"I don't know. Iosef had plenty of guards at the compound, and I didn’t count them all. When Pyotr doesn’t come back, he’s going to get even angrier. Some of them will stay to guard it, but he'll send the rest after us." I'm checking the windows now, making sure the shutters are secure. "He's not going to let you go. You're too valuable."
“Valuable.” She tests the word. “Is that what I am to you, too?”
“You’re valuable to him.” I turn to face her. She's standing in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself,shivering. "To me, you're a complication I don't need. But I'm not leaving you here to die."
I see the words land. They’re harsh, but I don’t need her thinking this is anything more than what it is. I don’t need her getting ideas in her head that when we get back to Boston, I’m going to keep helping her.
