I would take that from Gennady’s night. A half breath of humor she hadn’t meant to give me.
I walked her to the guest room myself.
Not because she needed escorting. Because every guard, every camera, every locked door between the elevator and that room was part of what I had done to her, and she deserved to see me stand inside it instead of hiding behind men with earpieces.
The guest room faced east. Warm lamps glowed beside a wide bed dressed in cream and gray. A robe waited folded on the mattress. On the chair: soft black pants, a pale sweater, thick socks, and a silk nightdress Irina had included because Irina believed in covering all possibilities.
Nadia saw the nightdress and gave me a look.
“I didn’t choose it,” I said.
“You expect me to believe you don’t personally arrange kidnapping wardrobes?”
“I delegate where my expertise is limited.”
She looked down at the clothing again. “You’re joking.”
“Badly.”
“Don’t do that. It makes this confusing.”
“Then I will stop.”
Her face changed at that, not because I’d said anything important, but because I’d listened.
I walked to the door that connected to the hall and touched the lock. “This turns. No one can open from outside without breaking the door or overriding it from the security panel. No one will do either without fire, blood, or your voice asking for help.”
“What about you?”
“I own the security panel.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I won’t use it to enter while you’re changing or sleeping.”
“You keep saying things like they should mean something.”
“They should not mean anything yet.” I stepped back. “They can start meaning something if I keep them true.”
Nadia looked away first.
Her fingers touched the sweater.
“Can I call Petya?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
I took my phone from my pocket, unlocked it, and held it out.
She didn’t take it. “You’ll listen.”
“I’ll wait in the hall.”
“You could still listen.”
“Yes.”
