For the next three hours, I work. I check every window, every door, every possible entry point. I move furniture to create better defensive positions. I inventory what we have that could be used as weapons. A hunting knife. A fire poker. Not enough, but it'll have to do.
Maya watches me work, bringing me water, asking questions. Her presence is both comforting and distracting. Every time she bends to pick something up, I catch myself staring at the tight curve of her ass. Every time she reaches for something on a high shelf, her sweater rides up, exposing a strip of pale skin that makes my fingers itch to touch it.
As I'm reinforcing the back door, a memory slams into me with the force of a freight train.
"A safe house is only as strong as its weakest point." My voice echoes in a concrete room. Six men stand at attention, listening. "You check every entrance. Every window. Every ventilation shaft. You create fallback positions. You always, always have an exit strategy."
One of the younger men raises his hand. "What if we're outnumbered?"
"Then you make them pay for every inch." I tap the blueprint spread across the table. "You use the environment. You create choke points. You make them think twice about coming through that door."
The weight of command sits heavily on my shoulders. These men trust me to keep them alive. To teach them how to survive.
I blink, and I'm back in Maya's cabin. My hands are shaking.
"Sasha?" Maya's voice is soft, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." I'm not fine. The memories are coming faster now, sharper. But I can't afford to fall apart. Not when she needs me.
"You remembered something," she says. It's not a question.
"Later." I straighten, rolling my shoulders. "Right now, I need to check the perimeter."
"It's dark."
"Exactly." I grab my coat. "Stay inside. Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone but me."
She nods, her blue eyes wide and trusting. It does something to my chest, that trust. Makes me want to be worthy of it.
The night air is sharp and cold, biting through my coat. I move silently through the trees, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The moon is nearly full, casting everything in silver and shadow.
I'm about fifty yards from the cabin when I see them.
Tire tracks. Fresh. The tread pattern is clear in the soft earth near the tree line.
My heart kicks into overdrive. I follow the tracks, my breath forming clouds in the frigid air. They lead directly toward the cabin, close enough that whoever was driving would have had a clear view of the windows. Then they stop, turn in a wide arc, and head back toward the main road. They don't belong to Pavel's vehicle.
Someone was here. Watching. Circling.
And they know exactly where we are.
13
LENA
The door opens before I can reach it, and Sasha fills the frame. Snow dusts his dark hair, melting into droplets that catch the lamplight. His gold eyes are hard, flat, the kind of expression that makes my stomach drop.
"Someone was here. And I'm not talking about Pavel." His voice is cold, controlled. The warmth from earlier, the tenderness after we made love, is gone. This is someone else entirely. Someone I instinctively know is dangerous.
I step back so he can come inside. "What do you mean?"
"Tire tracks. Fresh. About fifty yards from the cabin." He moves past me, tracking snow across the floor as he heads straight for the window. His movements are precise, economical, like a predator assessing territory. "They circled close enough to see inside, then headed back toward the main road."
My hands start to shake. I clasp them together, trying to hide the tremor. "Maybe it was just someone who got lost. Turned around in the dark."
"At this hour?" He doesn't look at me, just keeps scanning the tree line through the window. "The tracks show deliberate movement, not confusion."
"It could have been Pavel coming back. Maybe he forgot something."
