He gives my shoulder a squeeze before walking off.
“Oh, my,” Mom gushes. “That man is perfection. Could he be any more wonderful?”
Great. Now she’s in love with the idea of Alex and me. I bite my lip. What if things don’t work out? She’ll be so disappointed, and I can never tell her the truth.
“What’s with the long face?” she asks, taking my hand.
I shake myself out of it. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll be home before you know it.”
I blow out a shaky breath, not telling her there’s a good chance I may still be in Russia at that time. “Just enjoy the time you have left here. You deserve it.”
“I have to admit, this feels more like a vacation than a treatment. I’m having so much fun with the other patients, and then, of course, there’s William.”
I nod. “He wants us to meet his children in Florida this summer.”
Concern plays over her face. “Are you okay with that?”
“Of course.” Again, provided I’ll be back in the States. I push the disturbing thought aside. “He seems serious, but he told me he won’t rush you into anything.” My experience with Alex makes me say, “Promise me you won’t make any rash decisions.”
“You know me.” She lets my hand go with a squeeze and pulls the juice closer. “I may be impulsive, but I take my time before committing to anything.”
I don’t want her to think I’m against her having a long-term relationship with William. “I only want you to be happy.”
“I am,” she says with an easy smile. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you too, Katie. I’m truly happy you’ve finally found your match.”
Avoiding answering, I take the juice she poured and hide my face behind the glass.
When it’s time to go, she sees us off. We say our goodbyes, my mom hugging both me and Alex and making him promise not to work too hard. She waves until we turn the corner.
It’s then that the emptiness hits me.
It’s then that I think that maybe I should’ve run when I had the chance.
28
Alex
We fly to a small private airfield in northern Idaho, where I leave a disgruntled Katerina on the plane with enough men to guard her. I don’t tell her where I’m headed or about the contract I’m about to sign with Nikolai Molotov. If I did, I’d have to tell her why I’m not taking her, and I don’t want her to worry about the fact that I don’t trust Nikolai. Though I’ve been working with Konstantin for months and have no reason to think his brother wishes me harm, I don’t put my faith in anyone I don’t know personally.
I don’t leave until we’ve set up perimeter alarms and Igor has satellite surveillance running on his laptop. A secure connection feeds the information to my phone. No one besides me, Igor, and the pilot knows our flight schedule. It’s unlikely that anyone will come looking for us here, but I repeat my instructions, commanding the men to guard Katerina with their lives. Igor assures me he’ll follow protocol the minute he picks up any movement close by, meaning he’ll send a reconnaissance team to find out who’s on the way. The pilot is ready for takeoff in case of an emergency. His order is to leave immediately if there’s any threat. I can always find my own way back. I know how to take care of myself.
The drive to the compound is tense. Yuri is behind the wheel and Leonid rides shotgun. It’s a cold, gray day with fog hanging thick in the air. I can barely see ten meters ahead.
As we get higher into the mountains, I call Igor. “How is she?”
“Still angry,” he says in his gruff voice.
“She’ll get over it.” Even though I can see for myself on my phone, I ask, “How about the surveillance?”
“Everything is running smoothly.”
The words don’t reassure me. I don’t like being away from my kiska.
Leonid glances at me from the front passenger seat when I end the call, his beefy face pulled into a frown. He doesn’t like the fact that I’m practically keeping Katerina prisoner. My men respect her. They’ve taken a liking to her. Well, tough luck. I’m not taking risks with her safety. Leonid and everyone else can go fuck themselves.
I address Yuri in a terse tone. “How much farther?”
He shoots a quick look at the GPS. “Ten minutes.”
The road zigzags up the mountain. Exactly ten minutes later, we arrive at a stately metal gate. At our approach, the heavy gate slides apart, revealing more dense woods and a narrow, unpaved road.
Why would Nikolai Molotov hide out here in the middle of nowhere? I suppose the isolation allows for heightened security measures, even more than my St. Petersburg residence. Maybe I should build myself a compound in the middle of nowhere too and keep Katyusha there. For her safety.
Yuri pulls up to a modern house. The lights shine golden through the vast windows. All those windows give me an uneasy itch that crawls between my shoulder blades. With no blinds or curtains, the occupants are sitting ducks, an easy target for any stalker or assassin. If Nikolai Molotov’s reputation for being a mistrustful son of a bitch is true, the glass is bulletproof. Still, I’ve never liked feeling exposed.
The front door opens, and Molotov himself steps outside.
Leonid gets my door. He follows with Yuri as I make my way over and shake Molotov’s hand.
Molotov ushers us inside and invites my men to have refreshments in the kitchen while he and I go to his study.
“In here,” he says, standing aside for me to enter.
The vista behind the window is hidden by the fog. A few floodlights color the footpaths of the garden with an emerald light. The view must be spectacular on a clear day.
“Sit,” he says, leading me to a round conference table near his desk.
When I’m seated, he takes a bottle of vodka from an ice bucket and pours two shots. “I believe you have an assassin on your tail.”
I regard him from under my eyelids. “News travels fast.”
“In our circles.” He places a glass in front of me and takes the chair behind the desk. “Are you making headway in finding the man who wants you dead?”
Inhaling deeply, I exhale through my nose as I consider him. Like I said, I don’t trust anyone, not easily. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
When I don’t elaborate, he asks, “And who is this person who wants you dead, if I may ask?”
My smile feels flat. “You may not.”
“May I ask why then?” He traces the rim of his glass. “Power?”
“Power is always a good motive for killing.”
A grin slides onto his face. He knows I’m not going to tell him anything. “What’s with the evasiveness?”
Impatience slips into my tone. “What’s with the curiosity?”
“I like to know with whom I’m doing business.” Leaning back, he studies me with an inquisitive look. “Not so long ago, you were parading a woman around New York City, a woman you took to Russia with you. Katherine Morrell, am I right? It was all over the gossip magazines.”
I tighten my grip on the glass. “If you value your life, you won’t speak her name again.”