Then again, Sasha hadn’t fostered friendships at Richter, nothing lasting.
She didn’t foster friendships anywhere. She wasn’t sure if she could classify Reed in the friendship pool. Colleague, confidant . . . someone she could count on.
She shivered.
Sasha lay on her bed. The open window allowed the cool night air to filter into the room. The card AJ had placed in her hand had just a phone number. No name.
She recited the number several times, committing it to memory, and then reached into her bag and removed a lighter.
In her private bathroom, she flicked the lighter to life. Flames licked up the single card until it was too hot to hold. Once it was all but ashes, Sasha turned on the water and removed the black soot from the white porcelain sink.
AJ’s words echoed in her head. “Do you have siblings? If they suddenly ended up dead, wouldn’t you want to know why?”
She thought of the brother she never had a chance to know. When Fedor had ended up dead, she’d stopped at nothing to find out why. Their biological father had killed him. Nearly killed her, too.
She was robbed of the only blood relative she had.
Sasha didn’t want to care. Shuffled around from foster home to foster home, she didn’t root in anywhere nor with anyone before her years at Richter. Her entire life had been a series of disappointments, especially when she thought she could depend on someone other than herself. Her life had taught her to depend on no one.
Ever.
She had three phone numbers memorized. Reed, Trina, and now AJ.
Sasha looked at her reflection in the mirror. Hands poised on the edges of the counter while water ran down the drain. Long sheets of black hair framed her face in a sight very few ever saw.
Dark eyes stared back at her.
She considered sending a message to Reed. AJ Hofmann. That was all she’d need to give him, and she knew, instinctively, that Reed would look up the name.
Was that depending on another human being?
Probably.
How secure was Richter? Would her message even meet its mark?
Keep your actions close and your thoughts even closer. Sasha knew she wouldn’t reach out to Reed or Trina while at Richter. As firewalls went, the school had one with a pretty deep vault.
She finished in the bathroom and returned to bed. Familiar noises, or more to the point, familiar silence offered a sense of peace in the base of her skull. She closed her eyes and attempted to push the stranger at the bar from her head.
Her breathing slowed and the steady beat of her heart followed.
It was time to unplug and recharge.
A brief sense of panic had her reaching under her pillow.
Her fingers grazed the hard edge of the knife she kept within reach. She sighed and forced her heart to slow once again.
The library housed a smattering of students, mainly those at the college level who still attended Richter. The high school kids were in class, or so it would seem. And the primary school kids almost never spent time in the library during the day.
Sasha greeted the librarian by name when she entered the stately room. “Hello, Ms. Arnold.”
The sixtysomething-year-old woman was the poster version of every librarian out there. Reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a bun, the extent of makeup was a nude gloss on her lips. Or maybe it was some kind of balm to ease the dryness.
“Ahh, Miss Budanov. I heard you were here. How are you?”
“Did the headmistress send out a memo?” The question was a joke. The silence it was met with confirmed that Lodovica had done just that.
“I don’t recall you visiting me many times while you were a student. What brings you to my domain now?”
“I find myself at a crossroads, as I’m sure the headmistress has implied. I’m not sure what direction to take and thought it might help to see where some of my classmates ended up seeking employment. I wanted to start by looking over the old yearbooks.”
“You didn’t keep yours?”
Sasha shook her head. “I didn’t see the need. Until now.”
Ms. Arnold walked around the desk and led Sasha through the library. They zigzagged through the stacks until they reached the location of Richter alumni.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for here.”
“Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
“How about an Internet password?”
Ms. Arnold blinked several times, smiled, and finally said, “Of course.”
She walked away and returned a few minutes later with a card that had a written password on it. “The service here hasn’t improved much over the years. All access to social media is restricted, much like when you were a student.”
“I remember.”
“Brilliant. Well, I’ll leave you to your search.”
Sasha pulled two familiar yearbooks out of the stacks, and another for the year following her last one at Richter.
The massive oak tables in the center of the library had a generous number of notepads, pens, and pencils. Sasha set her supplies aside and opened the book that marked her last year.
Pictures of familiar faces in various forms of activities stretched out before her. Cameras weren’t allowed in any of the basement activities. And cell phones simply weren’t allowed on campus. Recording the sins of your youth was not tolerated at the school. During her time at Richter, it seemed unjust, but in reality, it probably saved many students from lost job opportunities in their futures.
Sasha moved through the pages quickly and slowed down when she found the pictures of students on the obstacle course. She recognized her own image as she scaled the wall, one leg in the air, her arms wet with perspiration. Her face was hidden from the camera, but that didn’t keep anyone from knowing who it was at the time.
She’d nailed the best time for any female student in her junior year of high school and then kept beating it, if only by a few seconds, for the next four years. How would her time be now? Sasha rolled her shoulders and turned the page.
The class pages started with the college students. There were only a couple dozen of them at that age. Most of the kids left after high school to go on to universities all over the world. The ones that stayed were often like Sasha. Their absent, dysfunctional families paid to keep them enrolled at Richter for their own good. Some students were hardened by military families and didn’t do well without strict rules.
Sasha’s gaze found the image of one of the male students she’d gotten to know in her last two years at the school. They’d been lovers, if you could call it that at that age. Russell Visser. He’d been kicked out of two boarding schools before he reached Richter in tenth grade. He’d tried to get kicked out of Richter, too. Only that wasn’t an option. The headmistress never expelled students. She put them in solitary instead. It was the most effective way to keep students from crossing the line. In society if you can’t follow the rules, and get caught, you’re put in prison. Richter had its own version. And instead of hardening the students, it made them focus. When they broke the rules, they did it on purpose, and often it was immaculately calculated to avoid getting caught. A standard goal of any student, Sasha remembered, but at Richter, those who broke rules on epic levels became school legends. It wasn’t until graduation that the offenders, or heroes of these legends, let themselves be known.
Sasha remembered listening to Russell speak in the ten minutes he had onstage during their graduation. Russell had been caught many times in his early years, but by the time he left Richter, he hadn’t spent one night in solitary for two years.
She smiled when she thought of the scroll he’d unraveled to read from.
“The missing lion paperweight from the headmistress’s office that was later found duct taped to the hood of her car; junior year.
“The entire supply of gym towels taped to the ceiling of the girls’ locker room; senior year.” Sash
a had been a part of that stunt.
Russell was the physical joker, where Sasha took pride in a different type of prank.
She’d hacked into the mainframe security at the school and spent hours recording film of uneventful days and nights. Once a month, for her last year in school, she’d uplink her footage and cut the live feeds in order to break into various classrooms. She picked locks, hacked computers to display naked pictures of strangers on home screens. Those pranks aged quickly, and she moved on to placing hidden cameras and recording conversations she’d later pipe into the PA system at the school.
When Sasha had left Richter, she’d owned up to about half of her self-entertainment. All the talents she’d managed in those final years helped with her escape and trip to the bar her senior year.
She’d called the headmistress on purpose.
Why? To show off? To prove she could? A little of both, she supposed.
Sasha flipped through pages.
She wrote down the names of several students. Classmates that she remembered going on to criminal justice careers. Whispers of government agencies recruiting on campus were a constant buzz in those final months. Only the elite were offered interviews, and those students were not always vocal about where they went.
Sasha found Amelia Hofmann’s photograph. Instead of writing down her name, Sasha searched for other photos of the girl to see who she spent time with outside of class. When her search came up empty, she opened Amelia’s senior yearbook. She found a picture of Amelia in her room with two roommates.
She wrote their names down.
The hair on Sasha’s forearms stood up seconds before a girl pulled out a chair opposite her and sat.
Sasha closed the book and looked up.
“You’re the Sasha Budanov.”
“I didn’t realize I had a title.”
The girl reminded Sasha of herself at eighteen . . . maybe seventeen. Stern expression, eyes without emotion, set jaw. It was hard to read the girl’s thoughts with her guard so clearly raised like a wall around her.
“You do here.”
“What is your name?”
“Claire.”
“You’re American.”
Claire shrugged her shoulders. “I saw you yesterday in Ms. Denenberg’s class. Impressive.”
“I was taught by the best.”
Claire leaned forward on her elbows. “Do you use it? Outside these walls?”
“You’re asking if I fight?”
She gave a single nod.
“Why do you want to know?”
Claire scooted her chair back and stood. “Fine, don’t tell me.”
Sasha stopped her with one word. “Yes.”
Claire made eye contact and held it.
“How long have you been at Richter?”
“Two years.”
“You’re what? Seventeen?”
“Eighteen. I graduate in May.”
“Are your parents keeping you here, or are you going elsewhere for college?”
Claire looked away. “My parents are gone.”
The words I’m sorry hovered over her lips but didn’t come out. “So the decision to be here is yours.”
“Sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
Claire pointed at the faculty bracelet that scanned every door to open it. “I don’t have one of those, so yeah . . . sometimes.”
“You agree to the rules and conditions when you step on campus.”
“Yeah, I know.” She paused. “Did you choose to stay here for college, or did someone force you?”
“I had a benefactor who would pay for this school so long as I was here. I didn’t see the need to finish my education outside these walls.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “You’re not like the other people here.”
“I’m not?”
“No. You didn’t ask about my parents. Didn’t offer sympathy.”
Sasha placed both hands to the sides of the book she had been looking at. “I’m not very nurturing. Besides, if you wanted me to have details of your parents, you’d have told me. The loss of a parent isn’t always something to be sorry about.”
“How so?”
“When my father died, I cheered. My mother was gone before I had a chance to know her. Wasting emotion on someone’s assumed life is rather pointless, don’t you think?”
“Richter taught you that.”
“Richter taught me many useful things.”
Claire turned her head away. “I guess.” She sighed.
Sasha gathered the yearbooks and stood. “It was nice meeting you, Claire.”
The girl didn’t offer the same. “Are you staying for a while? Joining the staff?”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”
“That’s fair, I guess.”
“What about you? Are you going to stay for college?”
Claire lifted her chin. “I haven’t decided.”
Sasha smiled. “You have a few more months to figure it out.”
The girl shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll see you around, then.”
As she walked away, Sasha categorized the conversation with the girl as a completely new experience. Young women never sought her out and they certainly didn’t ask about her education or school years.
After returning the books to the stacks, she checked out a laptop from Ms. Arnold and returned to her room.
Chapter Five
“Have you found any answers?” Linette interrupted Sasha’s thoughts as she approached with her question.
She stood in one of the many archways of the outside halls surrounding the school’s courtyard. Students were leaving their classes and going back to their rooms to get ready for dinner. The schedule of the school hadn’t changed in twenty years.
“Good afternoon, Headmistress . . .” Sasha’s address to the woman faded. “Linette.”
“I was told you were in the library today.”
Nothing happened at this school without the woman’s knowledge, and oftentimes, permission.
“Examining old yearbooks. Trying to remember where my fellow classmates ended up.”
“And did you turn up anything promising?”
“I found very little, actually. Seems many of the students left Richter and disappeared. I tried looking them up online and only found a few people working in the private sector.”
Linette tilted her head down the corridor. “Follow me.”
Sasha fell into step beside the woman and waited for her to speak.
“What would I find if I were to look up your name?” she asked.
“In a general search? Probably nothing.”
“What about a detailed one? Like the kind we taught you in your final years here?”
“I’ve used an alias many times since I left Richter.”
“To escape your father’s attention, I can assume.”
“Yes.”
“I doubt you’re the only student to pretend to be someone they’re not. We taught you to go unnoticed when you want to, to stand out when you need to. Did you ask yourself why we did that?”
“You said it was to protect us. Considering Richter has educated senators’ sons, dictators’ daughters, and I’m sure many equally high-profile families in between, your explanation was sufficient.”
Linette guided her to the dining hall and toward the back elevators.
“Would it surprise you to learn that the names of some of the students here at Richter were aliases from the beginning?”
She hadn’t considered that possibility.
“Take yourself. Sasha Petrov.”
“I never had my father’s name.”
Linette stopped at the elevator, waved her armband over the lock, and called the lift.
“Have you ever seen your birth certificate?”
“Of course.”
“You mean the one your benefactor meant for you to have when you left Germany. The one Alice Petrov knew you needed in order to escape your father’s
notice.”
The certainty Sasha felt a moment before about her birth name faded. “She lied to me.”
“She protected you. Your mother, on the other hand, wanted to outsmart your father and stupidly gave you his name.” They exited the elevator and took the stairs to the last subterranean floor.
“Then why was I not sent to him when my mother died?”
They passed the soundproof doors leading through the firing range, and around a corner.
Linette unlocked the administration room and then proceeded into yet another space, hidden behind a false wall. There was no way to see the room from the outside.
“I would appreciate that you keep this room to yourself. Very few members of the staff even know it’s here.”
“Why show me?”
Linette hesitated before crossing the threshold. “Perhaps because I feel I owe you an explanation so you can better understand why we do things the way we do here at Richter.”
Sasha followed her inside.
“These are the archives of students such as yourself. I took the liberty of pulling your dossier when you showed up yesterday. For many reasons, I cannot show you any other files than your own.” She crossed to a table and handed Sasha a folder. “The files never leave this room. There are no cameras in this room where, say, a crafty student could hack into the system and learn the secrets hidden here.”
She smiled at the crafty student reference. She opened her file. A childhood image of her on her first day at Richter stared back. “I was only nine years old.”
“Actually, you were eight.”
“But I—”
“By the time Alice Petrov enrolled you here, your birth certificate had been doctored twice. Both copies are in the file, along with the original.”
Alice Petrov had been Sasha’s benefactor at Richter and in life. Sadly, Sasha hadn’t made the connection when Alice was alive. Cancer had robbed Alice of her life, and Sasha of one of the only people on the planet who cared if she was alive or dead.
Sasha flipped through the first few pages and found them.
Say It Again (First Wives) Page 4