“You don’t have to follow me into every store,” I say once we’re back in the atrium.
“I know.”
“Don’t you have” — I gesture vaguely — “things? On a Sunday? Things that need doing that aren’t this?”
He considers the question. “Several, yes.”
“So you could?—”
“I’ve chosen to be here instead,” he says simply. “With you.”
I huff, giving up for now.
We walk. I try to check the atrium without appearing to scan it. There’s no sign of Landon. He could be here already — he’s early to things, another feature of his personality that I’ve learned to treat as a threat — or he could be waiting until ten, exactly on time, making me wait.
By 10:36 a.m., I’m thinking about calling Landon to reschedule — a thought that makes my stomach hurt, when Rolan says, “I’ll get the car.”
I halt.
“What?”
“The car.” He nods toward the east exit and the parking structure beyond it. “Wait here. I’ll bring it around.”
This is the moment. This is the window, the one I couldn’t manufacture and couldn’t engineer, arriving on its own.
Rolan turns toward Dmitri and the other guard, murmurs in low Russian, and they follow him toward the parking structure.
Approximately ninety seconds pass before I feel the discomfort.
“Hey, baby.”
The voice comes from my left.
And everything slows.
“Finally alone,” he says.
“Landon.” I keep my voice level. “This isn’t a good time.”
“You’ve said that before.” He takes a step closer, angling slightly so that his body is between me and the direction Rolan went. “I’m starting to think there’s never going to be a good time. You’re not at your apartment. You’re not answering your phone. I had to hear from a contact that you’d takena live-in job somewhere outside the city.” His head tilts. “Who are these people, Ellie?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Your location is my concern. You are my concern.” He pauses, adjusts, and composes himself. The mask re-settles. “I want to talk. That’s all. Come with me for ten minutes.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m not asking.”
A cold edge finds the small of my back.
My body stills.
“Walk,” Landon says.
I walk.
The parking garage is empty, only cars are in sight. Two steps. Three. Eight.
