“Sir, you need to check in before you—”
“No time!”
I call for an elevator, thumbing the button repeatedly. It doesn’t come soon enough, so I head for the stairs, taking three at a time, sprinting up to Lauren’s office. Adrenaline winds through me, taking the strain off my muscles. I ascend flights of stairs, so many that it feels like there is no end.
Arriving at the right level, I push open the glass doors and head straight to Lauren’s office, my footsteps announcing to all that an intruder has just broken in. Her assistant looks at me funny but stands back to let me pass.
A new wave of fear cuts through me when I see that her office is empty.
Not good.
Then, footsteps echo behind me.
I whip around and meet the face of one of Charles’ employees. She looks at me with narrowed cat eyes through the lenses of her glasses. “Can I help you, Mr. Rogov?”
“Where is she?” I can’t get my words out.
“She? I’m sorry, Mr. Rogov, I’m going to have to ask you to wait while I inform Mr. Watson-”
“Where is Lauren?”
“She left for lunch about thirty minutes ago. Would you like me to-”
Chert voz’mi!
I’m out of Lauren’s office without a second thought, navigating my way to her father’s office, intending to wrap myhands around his neck. I reach his office and push through the door.
Empty.
What the fuck?
I take a breath, slowing to a walk to make sure the oldpizdaisn’t hiding under the table. He isn’t. No sign of him anywhere. The air conditioning has been switched off, his desk tidy, cluttered with no paperwork.
Da chtoby tebe kol osínovyy v serdtse!
Not fucking good!
I’m out of his office in less than a second, heading back to the lobby when my phone rings in my pocket.
I stop dead in my tracks.
A paralyzing dread fills my body, turning my blood to cement.
I take out my phone.
Unknown number.
The cement solidifies into concrete, rendering me frozen.
This can only mean one thing…
My heart rattles against my ribs like a series of warning shots through a cold Moscow night.
I accept the call, bring it to my ear, and wait for my death sentence to be delivered.
“TavarishRogov,” the voice says. “Do I have your attention?”
I know that voice all too well. The familiar accent, the cold amusement that drips from every syllable are like poison. They make every muscle in my body coil with a rage so pure it threatens to consume me whole.
