Right now, it’s useful.
I close my eyes and replay the hours I spent as their captive. Every word I overheard. Every face I saw. The specific locations they mentioned when they thought I wasn’t conscious.
Connections form. Patterns emerge.
When Menlow comes back from wherever he disappeared to, I’m sitting up in bed with a notebook in my lap, scribbling furiously.
“What are you doing?” he asks, frowning at me. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I remembered something. Several things, actually.” I flip to a new page. “When they were holding me at the warehouse, they made phone calls. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but they mentioned a location. Somewhere called Meridian Storage. Unit 47.”
Menlow goes still. “Keep talking.”
“One of them said Oleg would be there tomorrow to inspect a shipment. They were nervous about it. Kept talking about making sure everything was perfect before he arrived.” I tap the pen against the paper. “And I got a partial license plate from the SUV that hit us. First four characters are 7-K-B-3. One of the men had a tattoo on his forearm—a double-headed eagle with a crown. Does that mean anything?”
“The Volkov family crest.” Menlow moves closer, his earlier fatigue forgotten. “What else?”
“They mentioned someone named Yuri. He’s supposed to meet Oleg at the storage facility. From what I gathered, he’s the one coordinating the shipments.” I flip to another page. “And there was a name on some paperwork I saw when they dragged me through the office area. Konstantin Holdings. It looked like a shell company.”
“It is. We’ve suspected the Volkovs were using it to move money, but we could never prove the connection.” Menlow is pacing now with his phone already in his hand. “If Oleg is personally inspecting shipments at Meridian Storage, that’s the closest we’ve ever gotten to pinning down his location.”
“Is that enough to find him?”
“More than enough.” He types rapidly. “Pavel can cross-reference the license plate with known Volkov vehicles. The storage facility gives us a target. And if we can catch Oleg there…” He trails off, still typing. “This is exactly what we needed. A way to end this.”
I watch him work, something warm blooming in my chest despite the ache in my ribs. I helped. My weird brain actually helped.
“Thank you,” he says without looking up. “This changes everything.”
“You’re welcome.” I set the notebook aside and lean back against the pillows. “Now will you finally tell me what’s been bothering you?”
He stops pacing. “Nothing’s bothering me.”
“Menlow.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve barely said more than ten words at a time in the last three days. You stare at the wall like it owes you money,and you won’t look me in the eye when you think I’m watching.” I cross my arms, wincing when the movement pulls at my ribs. “Something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Then he sighs and sinks into the chair beside my bed.
“I almost got you killed.”
“No. The Volkovs almost got me killed.”
“Because I took you away from the gala. Because I played right into their trap.” He runs his good hand through his hair. “I should have seen it coming. I should have—”
I reach over and grab his hand. “Stop. You saved my life. You came for me when anyone else would have waited for backup. You fought through an entire warehouse full of men to get to me. That’s not something to feel guilty about.”
“You got hurt because of me.”
“I got hurt because bad people did bad things. You are not responsible for their choices.” I squeeze his fingers. “Do you understand me?”
He doesn’t answer, but some of the darkness in his eyes fades.
A week later, I’m well enough to leave the hospital.
Menlow takes me back to his apartment, and for a few days, things almost feel normal. We settle into a routine. We have breakfast together, work side by side on our laptops, and have dinner on the couch while watching movies neither of us really pays attention to.
