The hairs on my neck rise. "I don't know that name."
"You will. Nikolai works for Obrecht Ivanov."
My mouth turns dry. Any Ivanov I'm aware of in Chicago has influence that doesn't advertise.
Why would they send me an attorney?
And who is Obrecht?
Mikhail watches my reaction as if he's reading a report in my posture. "Your arrest created ripples. Certain people noticed."
I stay quiet, trying to hide my growing fear.
He adds, "Certain people didn't like how close law enforcement moved to territory they consider sensitive."
"She didn't do anything. Did they release her?" I blurt out, with more panic burrowing.
"Take a seat, Dr. Mercer," he instructs, pointing at the metal chair.
Why is Blue's attorney here?
I gaze at the chair, my unsettled anxiety morphing into a snowball.
"Please sit," Mikhail repeats.
Unsure of other options, I obey.
He sits across from me. "Everything has to do with proximity in the world she's from, as I'm sure you're aware."
My heart skips several beats, then squeezes so I can't inhale properly. I narrow my gaze, lengthen my spine, and attempt to appear unintimidated.
Mikhail assesses me, his dark eyes predatory as a hunter, like he can see through me and know exactly who I am as a person.
I lean back in the chair. "Where is she?"
"Safe enough. Contained."
The word needles me. I snarl, "You don't get to decide if she's safe."
He nods, with arrogance flaring. "I do at the moment."
Silence stretches, and neither of us flinches.
Mikhail folds his hands. "You need counsel. Not the kind provided by the state or that asks permission."
"And you think that's you?"
"I know it is."
"Who's Obrecht?"
"Adrian's brother."
My stomach churns. "Why is he involved?"
He deadpans, "Demi."
"Demi?" I question.
