The woman nodded and coughed, then touched her throat. “I left my water in the kitchen.” She pulled the album from Ava’s lap. “Would you be so kind as to get it for me?”
“Um . . . sure.”
“Get it and see what you can see,” the voice said.
Ava shot Frank a tight smile, rose, and walked into the mammoth kitchen. It was truly a gourmet space. But she wasn’t here to admire the scenery. She spotted the cup on the counter and paused. The room off the kitchen stood open. She hurried to it.
“I need more time, Frank,” she whispered.
“Ah, Ms. Tunicova,” Frank said, “I have my translate app. Maybe we could talk a bit with that?”
“What a silly man,” the woman muttered. “Melissa? Did you find it?”
“I did.” Ava pushed the cup over, and the water splashed across the granite, ran down the cabinet, and onto the floor. “I’m so sorry, I spilled it! Let me clean this up and get you another glass. I’ll be just a minute.”
“There are paper towels where you can see them, I believe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she called. “Okay, guys,” she said in a soft voice, “there’s a room off the kitchen. It doesn’t look like hers.”
“Good job, Ava. You’re a natural. See what you can find.”
Why did everyone keep saying she was a natural? “Frank,” she whispered, “keep her occupied with the photo album, please. Use Google Translate or something. It’s better than nothing.”
He cleared his throat. “Hey, what is this?”
Ava heard the mechanical voice translating—not exactly accurate, but it got the point across.
“Oh, let me show you these pictures. They’re from when I was a child.”
While the woman droned on and Frank acknowledged her monologue with a grunt every so often, Ava cleaned up the worst of the spill, dropped some paper towels over the water on the floor, then darted into the bedroom.
“Definitely a guy’s room,” she said, her voice soft. “He’s a serious cologne lover. Whew. There are scrubs on the bed. I’m sure those are what he wore when he snuck into Mickey’s room to kill him. And there’s a desk.” Heart in her throat, she made her way to it and pulled out her cell phone. She snapped a picture of the surface, then opened the top drawer. Nothing. She worked her way down and found . . . nothing.
She moved to the nightstand with one ear turned toward the door. “I’m almost done,” she called. “Don’t want to miss any and risk you slipping.”
“That’s fine, dear, thank you for your consideration,” the woman answered. “I’ll wait. Just enjoying my memories of Moscow with your friend.”
Ava sprinted back to the room and went to the nightstand once more. She opened the drawer and stopped. A small calendar lay on top of everything. With no time to study it, she opened it to the current month and snapped a picture, then the next page, then the next. She closed it and shut the drawer.
She heard Frank gasp. “Frank?” Then the thud of the cane on the floor. What had she heard? “Frank,” she whisper-hissed. “Answer me.”
“Melissa? Do you need help?”
Ava’s hands shook from the adrenaline coursing through her. She hurried from the room and stepped into the kitchen just in time to drop to the floor and grab the sopping paper towels. “No, ma’am, I’ve got it.”
She wiped the rest of the water up and stood as the woman’s cane rapped hard on the floor. “My dear, are you quite all right?”
“Ava,” the voice said into her ear, “we haven’t heard from Frank in too long. Check on him.”
Ava tossed the paper towels into the trash and motioned to the woman. “Why don’t we finish looking at that album, then my friend can do his presentation?”
When the knife appeared in the woman’s hand, drawn from the top of the cane, all Ava could do was blink. “She has a knife!” she hissed in English.
“Your friend is out of commission for now,” Ms. Tunicova said.
Ava could hear the agents scrambling in the background, the earpiece picking up their shouts and orders.
“Ava?” the voice said. “We’re coming. Just hold on, help is on the way.”
Spotting the bloodstain on the knife, Ava stumbled backward. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing he didn’t deserve for lying to me.” She shook the cane at her. “I should blow you all up.”
“Put the knife down, please,” Ava said, her voice low, doing her best to keep her cool. “You don’t need that.” And Frank? What had she done to him?
“On the contrary, my dear Ava Jackson, I very much need this knife. Nicolai has promised me my pound of flesh and I intend to get it.”
She’d seen through her disguise and knew her name. The woman had been playing them from the time she opened the door. “But why?” she whispered. “What did I do to you?”
“Not you. Your father.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s dead, you know that.”
“Is he?”
The woman’s strange smile sent goose bumps pebbling her skin. “And soon you will be too.” She shook the fist with the cane piece once more. “One way or another.”
“There are federal agents all over this property,” Ava said, proud of herself for keeping her voice calm. “They’ve been listening in on everything and know you’re here and they know you have a knife. So, why don’t you put it down and save us all a lot of trouble?”
The woman screamed and charged at Ava, the knife aimed at her face.
Ava ducked, swung her arm around to land on the woman’s wrist—just as her father taught her. Ms. Tunicova released another scream as the knife flew from her fingers and skidded under the table. She dove after it and Ava scrambled from the kitchen and into the sitting area. “Frank!”
The agent still sat in his chair, but blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He blinked and tried to say something. Ava ran to him, heard agents at the front door.
She turned to see Ms. Tunicova coming at her once more, eyes wild, mouth twisted in a soundless snarl, the knife held firmly and once again aimed at Ava.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
The gunshot echoed through the room and the bullet whizzed past Caden’s cheek and struck the woman. He swung his weapon up to the scene in front of him.
Nicolai’s aunt had stumbled backward, but still held the knife above her head.
“Put the knife down!”
She gasped and spun, her arm lowering.
“Drop it! Now!”
He noticed the bright red stain spreading across her shoulder and down her arm. The knife tumbled from her fingers and hit the carpet with a dull thud. Caden darted forward, his weapon on her. Other agents rushed inside. “Take care of her,” he said. He kicked the knife away while she leaned heavily on the cane with her good arm. Her other arm bled, but the bullet was a through and through, as it was now buried in the doorframe. She’d live.
She said something, but he didn’t understand her words. Probably condemning them all to Hades. He hurried to the wounded agent while the others dealt with Ms. Tunicova. She didn’t fight, just clutched that cane like it was her lifeline, refusing to let it go. “I need for walk,” she said in English. “I need for walk.” He wondered absently how many other English words she understood and spoke.