An hour later,we walk into a little cafe half a mile from Kolya’s fortress. A black scarf hides my hair, and Ryker’s wearing coveralls, hoping he can pass as a sanitation worker. On the way here, he must have asked me twenty times if I had my tracker and my earbud.
“Stay here until I come back. If you have to leave for any reason, go to the restaurant I showed you. Order a meal. Read a book. Act—”
I rest my hand on his forearm and squeeze the tight, corded muscle. “Normal. I know, Ry. I’ll be fine. I’ll connect to the cameras and watch your back.”
“Keep off comms as much as you can.” The strain in his whispered words and the furrow in his brow make my heart hurt a little. As hard as staying back at the safe house would have been for me, this is just as hard for him.
“I will.” Cupping the back of his neck, I pull him down for a slow, deep kiss. Luckily, we’re tucked back in the corner of the cafe. “Thank you.”
“For what?” His gaze takes a quick trip around the small space before returning to mine.
“For everything. For believing me.” The lump in my throat threatens to cut off my words, so I force a smile. “Be careful.”
With a nod, he’s gone.
Despite my complete ignorance of the Russian language, I manage to stumble through ordering a small lunch plate with strong coffee and pull out my tablet. The cellular data card gives me quick, encrypted internet access, and before my food arrives, I’ve brought up all three traffic cameras with views towards Kolya’s headquarters.
The kids he told me about—all Zion’s age or a little younger—gather around the fountain, laughing and roughhousing like kids do. They seem…happy. At least for the moment, and I hope Zion’s life here wasn’t all bad.
Bringing up another of his diary entries, I search his words for the barest hint of hope.
Sis, I wish I could talk to you. Semyon and I went out for dumplings last night. You’d love how they make them here. I tried to get Elena to go with us, but the boss wouldn’t let her come. She’s the reason I can’t just leave. I think I might love her. Maybe one day you’ll meet her. I just need to figure out a way to get my passport back and get out of the country. Semyon said he’d help. I don’t know why I keep writing to you. I don’t want you to ever read these letters. But sometimes…they help keep me focused when I just want to escape from everything. Love you.
From all accounts, Semyon was Z’s best friend here. I bring up a photo of the young man I found when I poked around St. Petersburg’s prison records. He has that vacant, “I don’t care about anything” stare of an addict, bad teeth, and a smattering of pimples across his forehead. But otherwise, he’s a good-looking kid. Blond hair, blue eyes, full lips. Arrested for property damage—at a restaurant Kolya owns. Probably how he got trapped in this life in the first place.
Shifting my focus to the cameras, I search for Ryker. Anxiety twists my stomach until I find him. With a large rubber bin slung over his shoulder, he trudges along the edges of Kolya’s hotel-turned-stronghold, using a long pole with pincers to pick up trash in the gutters.
He slows, checks all around him, and then drops to his knees next to a tall set of windows covered with bars. I zoom in, mesmerized as he places something small and black on the side of one of the bars. A moment later, his voice rumbles in my ear. “Mic one. Set.”
I switch to the list of locations he sketched out early this morning and mark off the first one. Only ten more to go.
* * *
Three hours later,I start to worry the cafe owner will think I’m trying to take advantage of her warm, quiet shop, so I order two pastries and a soda. I don’t need any more caffeine—my anxiety is already through the roof, but I don’t know where else go to, and Ryker only has two mics and one camera left.
“Something’s happening,” he mutters in my ear. “North of the square. Get eyes over there.”
Cracker Jacks. My fingers tremble as I bring up both traffic cameras and the surveillance cams he planted earlier and try to find the disturbance. When I do, I gasp before clapping my hand over my mouth.
“Wren. Talk to me,” he snaps.
“Two big guys are beating the crap out of a kid. I can’t tell if they’re his men or not. Or one of his kids. They’re dragging him into an alley and…frankincense. I can’t see them anymore.”
“Going to check it out. Be ready to move if I tell you.”
My heart thuds so loudly I think he can probably hear it over comms. But I force myself to move slowly, calmly, as I pull out a handful of rubles for my bill. Tucking the book I’ve been pretending to read all afternoon back in my bag, I scan through all of the camera images. Nothing. I can’t find Ryker or the goons.
When his voice returns to my ear, it carries a hint of panic. “Something’s wrong. Get the fuck out of there. Rendezvous point three. Five minutes.”
With a little squeak, I shove the tablet into my bag, throw the rubles on the table, and try not to run for the front door. My first breath of fresh air helps center me, and I remember to check for anything or anyone out of place before I set off for the bar Ryker showed me this morning.
A handful of people are out and about. A businessman talking on his cell phone, a mother with a small child holding her hand, and an older couple—maybe fifties, heading for the cafe. No onelookslike a threat, but would I even know?
Two blocks later, I’m almost in control of my emotions until a young man rushes past me, his shoulder slamming into mine. I stumble and snap, “Hey. Watch where you’re going.”
When the kid stops, turns, and meets my gaze, time stops.
“Semyon?”
