Page 19

I lean against the partition behind her.

I see the exact second she realizes I'm there and watch as her shoulders go stiff. Her next shot pulls half an inch left.

She sets the gun down and pulls the defenders around her neck. “No.”

“I haven't said anything,” I counter, opening my palms out in a gesture of placation.

“You followed me.” Her eyes are fiery and bright. I love the way they change with her mood.

“I didn't,” I say. “I've known about this place for three years.”

“I've been coming here for three years.”

“Exactly.”

I watch her draw her conclusions. Her eyes still sparking with annoyance.

“You sent me here,” she says flatly. “Unbelievable.” She folds her arms. “If you're about to tell me I shouldn't be out here on my own now that Papa's gone, or that a Maximova can't go anywhere without a man standing over her...”

She's braced for it. She's been waiting her whole life for a man to say those words so she can rip him apart.

“You've got two of your father's men in the parking lot,” I say. “The one in the silver Mercedes keeps falling asleep. You should replace him.”

Her mouth opens, then her eyes narrow.

I step into the next lane, take the ear defenders off the hook, and set my gun on the bench.

We shoot side by side for half an hour without a word. She's very good. I'm slightly better. I've never been more aware of another person in my life. Every reload, every shift of her weight. Twice I catch her glancing at my target, and both times she scowls and fires faster.

When she's out of ammunition, she hauls in her target. Then she reaches over, hauls mine in and compares them.

“Show-off,” she mutters.

“You pulled left after I came in. Three shots.”

“I did not.” She looks again at the three holes sitting just outside the rest. Her mouth twists.

“Have dinner with me,” I say.

“No.”

“You haven't eaten properly for over a week. You never eat when you're upset. You live on coffee until Zhenya makes you eat soup.” I shrug. “I'm offering you something better than Zhenya's soup.”

“That,” she says slowly, “is deeply unsettling.”

“Tbiliso. Off Patriarch's Ponds. Eight o'clock.”

“I said no.”

“Then I'll eat alone, and Timur will never let me hear the end of it.”

“Good.” She snaps her gun case shut. “Goodbye, Garick.”

She doesn't look back.

Ruslanoslav clears his throat behind the counter, still cleaning the same rifle. “She'll come,” he says.

It's the most he's ever said to me.