I want to tell him about the baby. The secret sits on my tongue like a stone, heavy and impossible to swallow. But this isn't the time or place.
"I'm just worried about what we'll find," I say instead. It's not a lie, just not the whole truth. "Pavel was a good man. He didn't deserve to die like that."
His voice drops to that dangerous quiet that makes people nervous. "We'll find who did it. And why. Then they'll pay for it."
The certainty in his tone should terrify me. Instead, it makes me feel safe in a way that's probably deeply unhealthy.
The jet lands at a small private airfield outside town, and a black SUV waits on the tarmac. Danil drives while Aleksandr sits beside me in the back, his hand never leaving mine. The two guards follow in a second vehicle, and I feel the weight of all this protection like a physical thing.
The town looks exactly the same. Same weathered buildings, same pickup trucks parked at angles along Main Street, same sense that time moves differently here than in the rest of the world. But I'm different. The woman who lived here in hiding is gone, replaced by someone I'm still trying to figure out.
John Davis's house sits on five acres at the edge of town, a modest ranch-style place with a well-maintained yard and a view of the mountains. Smoke curls from the chimney, and I see curtains twitch as we pull up the drive.
He's watching. Of course he is. Former FBI agents don't lose that instinct.
Aleksandr helps me out of the SUV, his hand on my elbow, and I notice the way he positions himself slightly in front of me. Protective. Always protective.
John opens the door before we can knock. He's dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, his hazel eyes moving over Aleksandr with the kind of assessment that comes from decades of studying dangerous men.
"Sasha, isn't it?" His voice is neutral, giving nothing away. "I wondered if you'd come back."
"Actually, it's Aleksandr. Aleksandr Romanov."
John nods. "Figured as much." He turns to me. "Maya, good to see you looking so well."
I smile. "Actually, it's Lena," I say with a slight grin. "Lena Orlova."
His smile gets a little brighter. "Figured that, too."
"Thanks for meeting us," Aleksandr says.
"Didn't have much choice, did I?" But there's no hostility in the words, just resignation. "Come in. We have a lot to discuss."
The house is exactly what I'd expect from a former FBI agent living alone. Clean, organized, sparse. A few photographs on the mantel show a younger John with a woman who must have been his wife. The furniture is comfortable but not expensive, and everything has the feel of a man who's given up trying to impress anyone.
Danil and the guards wait outside, and I'm grateful for the small mercy. No need to make John feel like he's surrounded by armed men, even though he is.
John gestures to the couch. "Sit. I'll make coffee."
"We're not here for coffee," Aleksandr says, but he sits anyway, pulling me down beside him. His arm goes around my shoulders, and I lean into his warmth despite the tension crackling through the room.
"No, you're here because Pavel Galkin is dead, and you want to know who killed him." John moves to the kitchen anyway, andI hear the sound of a coffee maker starting. "And because you think it's connected to whoever tried to kill you."
Aleksandr's body goes rigid beside me. "You know about that, too."
"I know a lot of things." John returns with three mugs, setting them on the coffee table with deliberate care. "I know you disappeared for a month. I know you showed up at Maya's… er, Lena's… cabin bleeding and half-dead. I know you left with her, and I know Pavel was terrified in the weeks after you were here."
"Terrified of what?" I ask.
John settles into the armchair across from us, his weathered hands wrapped around his mug. "He wouldn't say. But he came to me three weeks ago, asking if I still had contacts in the Bureau. Said someone from his past had found him, and he needed to know if his cover was blown."
My stomach drops. "Did you help him?"
"I made some calls. Discreet ones." His expression darkens. "His cover was solid. No leaks from Witness Protection. Which meant whoever found him did it the old-fashioned way. They tracked him down."
Aleksandr leans forward, his gold eyes intense. "Did he say who?"
"No. But he was scared enough that he asked me to keep an eye on his place when he wasn't home." John stands and moves to a desk in the corner, pulling out a manila folder. "Which is how I got these."
