“She has information he wants. He needs. He won’t kill her until he knows he’s safe. I have to believe that. If I don’t…I might as well just go in there guns blazing and take out as many of those fuckers as I can before they kill me.”
“No.” Shaking me off, West takes a step back. “If we get confirmation she’s dead—” he holds up his hands when I growl and raise my fists, “—fucking listen to me, McCabe. If she dies—we’ll blow that entire building. Together. And then we’ll all go home. As long as we think there’s a chance she’s alive, no one’s giving up on her.”
For a long moment, neither of us move. Finally, I lower my hands. “I have to get her back.”
“I know. And we’re with you. Whatever it takes.” He turns back to his maps and laptop, and I scoop up the sleeping bags and carry them into one of the back bedrooms. Wren is coming back to me. And when she does, I’ll take care of her. In private. Where she can feel safe. Nothing will ever hurt her again, and I have to tell her. She’s it for me.
27
Ryker
By the time Inara arrives, I have all of Wren’s things set up in the bedroom. I found a few candles in the kitchen and unrolled the extra sleeping bag we brought and never used. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do.
West mutters from the front room every few minutes, and once or twice, I hear him on the phone to Graham back at our base in Seattle. I’m glad they didn’t bring him. The kid’s brand new, and this isn’t a mission for amateurs. Though, a couple of extra guns wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“A little help?” Inara calls.
I race out and lift the still-unconscious kid off her shoulders. Tossing him onto the couch, I grab a set of zip ties and secure his hands behind him, then bind his ankles together.
Propped up against the cushions, he looks so young. Twenty-three maybe? “Wake him up,” I say, and Inara pops the top on a vial of smelling salts.
Semyon snorts and coughs and tries to squirm away from the stench, but West slaps his hands down on the kid’s shoulders from behind. “Don’t move if you know what’s good for you.”
A string of Russian escapes the kid’s lips, and I glance at Inara. She shakes her head as if she can’t believe he’s that stupid. “Half of your text messages are in English, kid. Don’t pull that shit with us.” Waving his phone in the air, she smiles. Not the friendly, I’m happy to see you grin she can sometimes affect, but a lethal, try anything and you’re dead smile.
“Who are you?” Semyon asks.
“Try again.” I lean forward, putting my face right in front of his. “You recognize me, asswipe. I know you do. And you know where Wren is.”
He starts to tremble and writhe against the zip ties. “He will kill me if I talk to you.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” Whatever he sees in my eyes and hears in my calm, flat tone convinces him I’m telling the truth, and he deflates.
“She’s with Kolya.”
Even though I knew it, hearing the words still shakes me to my core. “Is she alive?”
“Da. Yes. He wants her for himself. He say…if I help him…he will let Elena go. The redhead…Wren…will be his newshlyukha.”
Inara grabs my arm and holds on tight before she translates. “Whore.”
I want to snap this kid’s neck—after I break every bone in his body, but he’s my only link to Wren. I meet Inara’s gaze. “I’m in control.”
“You better be,” she mouths, her back to Semyon.
Returning my focus to the kid, I cross my arms over my chest. “Here’s what’s going to happen now, Semyon. That is your name, right?”
He nods.
“You’re going to help us get Wren back. And in return, we’re going to get you and your sister out of the country where Kolya can never touch you again. Deal?”
Wide, blue eyes stare back at me, and he shakes his head vigorously. “You will fail. And Elena will die. We all will.”
“I don’t fail, kid.” Jerking my thumb at my chest, I arch a brow. “Special Forces. The guy behind you is a SEAL, and she’s the Rangers’ most deadly sniper in the past fifteen years. We’re your best shot at living through the next few days. But we need intel.”
Semyon presses his lips together, determined not to speak. West grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head back. “Listen, you little shit, all three of us are trained in enhanced interrogation. And we hate pulling those skills out of the deep, dark box they live in. Because it’s messy. You’re going to piss yourself. Bleed all over this couch. Probably shit yourself too. And you’re definitely going to cry. In the end, you’ll tell us whatever we want to know while begging us to kill you.”
The kid looks from me to Inara. She shrugs and pulls a knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh. The serrated edge gleams in the light, and I shove down a laugh as she uses the tip to clean under one of her fingernails. There’s a reason every movie on the planet uses that ploy. It works. At least on civilians.
