Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine Book 3)

by Anna Zaires

  His face crumples. “She’s still hemorrhaging. They thought they had it under control, but they must’ve missed something or the stitches tore after they sewed her up. Her blood pressure dropped again, so they’re going back in and—”

  “Dr. Cobakis.”

  My muscles lock up as I turn to face the unfamiliar male voice.

  It’s a security guard, accompanied by a baby-faced policeman. Their expressions are wary but determined, and the policeman’s right hand is hovering over his gun, as though he expects me to get into a shootout with him.

  “Dr. Cobakis, you need to come with us,” the security guard says, and I realize his blond goatee looks vaguely familiar. I must’ve seen him around the hospital. Not that it matters. Judging by the resolute look on his freckled face, I can expect no help or sympathy from him—or from the young policeman, who’s staring at me like I’m wearing a suicide vest instead of jeans and a sweater.

  “Now wait a minute—” my dad begins indignantly.

  “He’s not here,” I interrupt, raising my hands above my head to show my lack of weapons. I understand where their wariness is coming from, and I intend to do what I can to diffuse it. “I’m all alone, I promise.”

  Marsha, apparently recovering from shock, steps forward, frowning at the guard. “What are you doing, Bob? This is my friend Sara. She’s—”

  “We know who she is.” The young policeman’s voice quivers slightly, his fingers closing over the hilt of his weapon as he cautiously edges closer. “We don’t want any trouble, but—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, the girl’s mother is in surgery!” Agnes Levinson elbows her way past her husband and my dad to glare at the guard and the policeman from her full four-foot-eleven height. Her salt-and-pepper hair poofs out like a halo around her small face as she steps in front of me, hands on hips in a wrathful pose as she states, “My husband and son are both lawyers, and I can assure you, we will file harassment charges. Let the girl talk to her father, and then you can have your turn.” She turns toward me, her brown gaze softening. “Sara, dear, are you all right?”

  I blink and slowly lower my hands when neither Bob the guard nor the policeman make a move toward me. “I’m… I’m fine. Thank you.” The Levinsons’ friendship with my parents goes back almost two decades, and my parents have always said that Agnes and Isaac consider me to be the daughter they never had. Until this moment, I was convinced it was an exaggeration; I certainly never thought of them as anything more than a nice older couple who happened to be my parents’ friends. Agnes’s defense of me, though, is more like something family would do, and I find myself absurdly touched, especially when Isaac comes forward and starts haranguing my would-be arresters with all the legalese at his disposal, giving my dad a chance to grab my arm and pull me aside.

  “Quickly, darling, talk to me.” Dad’s voice is low and urgent as his gaze roams over my face before lingering worriedly on the half-healed scar on my forehead. “What happened? What did he do to you? How did you get away?” Before I can answer, he leans in and whispers in my ear, “We need to get you to a lawyer right away. I know you had to say those things on the phone, but they refuse to believe me. I overheard them talking about it, and they’re going to invoke the Homeland Security Act on account of his links to terrorism. We need to get you a good attorney or—”

  “Sara! Holy shit, girl, where have you been?” Marsha joins us, grabbing my arm like I’m about to evaporate into thin air. Her Marilyn Monroe curls sway wildly as she spins me to face her. “What happened to you? Where did you go?” Her blue gaze hones in on my scar, and she gasps. “What happened to your face?”

  Overwhelmed, I take a step back. “Marsha, please—”

  “Sara Cobakis.” The baby-faced cop somehow got past the Levinsons and is shoving Marsha aside, his hand once again on the hilt of his weapon. “You need to come with me right now.”

  I raise my hands again. “No problem. Please, I’m cooperating, I promise.”

  Now it’s my dad who belligerently steps forward. “She’s not going anywhere until she gets a lawyer and—”

  “Everybody freeze!”

  And as we all gape in shock, SWAT commandos swarm the room, face shields lowered and weapons drawn.

  11

  Sara

  “I told you, I don’t know where he is,” I repeat for the fourth time. “I don’t know how he got in and out of the country undetected, and I don’t know the man who drove me from the airport—I’ve never seen him before. I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you.”

  Agent Ryson stares at me, his eyes cold in his weathered face. “You might want to rethink that, Dr. Cobakis. You’re facing some very serious charges, and the less you cooperate, the worse it will go for you.”

  “I’m cooperating fully.” My nails cut into my palms under the table, but I maintain a calm tone. “I’ve told you everything I know. I was kidnapped and taken to a remote mountain in Japan, where I stayed for the past five months except for a brief sojourn to Cyprus, where my failed escape attempt resulted in a two-week stay at a clinic in Switzerland.”

  Ryson leans in, and I catch a whiff of stale coffee breath. He must’ve had to chug quite a bit to stay alert at this late hour. “How idiotic do you think we are, Dr. Cobakis? Nobody’s buying into your act again. One of Sokolov’s shell corporations owns your house and has for months. We have eyewitness reports of your meetings with him at Starbucks and in a club downtown several weeks before your so-called abduction—not to mention, the recordings of all your phone calls to your parents.”

  “I already explained all of that.” I’m holding on to my calm by a thread. “What I told my parents on the phone was an attempt to allay their worry about me—nothing more. As to my meetings with him, yes, they happened. After breaking into my house—when he drugged and waterboarded me, remember?—he disappeared for a few months, and then he returned and began stalking me. I reached out to you at that point and told you I felt like I was being watched. I asked you if he could possibly be back, and you assured me I was safe. But I wasn’t. He was there, watching my every move, and you had no clue. You failed to protect me from him, just like you failed to protect George, so don’t pretend like I had no basis to think that turning to you might be worse than useless.”

  The agent’s mouth thins as he leans back. “So you what? Decided to handle this psychopath on your own when he did show up? Do you really expect us to believe that?”

  My face burns at the derision in his voice. “In hindsight, it wasn’t the best decision, but at the time, I didn’t see a lot of options. He said he’d come after me no matter where you hid me, implying that more people could get hurt that way—and I believed him. I didn’t know what to do, so I went along with what he wanted, taking it one day at a time until I could figure out a better solution.”

  “Oh, really? And what was it that he wanted?”

  I meet Ryson’s accusing stare with one of my own. “What do you think?”

  He’s the first to blink and look away. Sighing heavily, he rubs his forehead in a weary gesture, and for a moment, I almost feel bad for him. If he accepts that I’m innocent, he’ll also have to accept that he failed at his job—that he allowed a monster to invade my life and snatch me away right under their noses. It would be so much easier if I were the villain in this story, if they could somehow prove that I plotted against them all along. Except the facts don’t really support it, and they know it.

  I’ve been here for over an hour, and for all their threats and posturing, they still haven’t charged me.

  A knock on the door is followed by a female agent poking her blond head in. “Agent Ryson? We need you for a sec.”

  He follows her out, leaving me alone in the small interrogation room, and I slump in my uncomfortable metal chair, exhausted. Then I recall that I’m likely being watched and sit up straight, trying to avoid looking at my pinched, pale face in the big mirror on the wall. I’m so stressed I’m on the verge of breaking,
but I don’t want them to know that. The interrogation, combined with the inevitable effects of jet lag and my worry about Mom, has taken everything out of me, and if I could, I’d collapse and sleep for the next eighteen hours. Unfortunately, I have to stay sharp and alert.

  I have to convince them of my innocence, so I can be there for my parents.

  After the SWAT team stormed the hospital and dragged me out, I decided my best bet is to answer the agents’ questions as truthfully as I can, omitting only what I’m certain I can get away with. Peter didn’t give me any instructions in this regard, so he must expect me to reveal everything and is already taking steps to mitigate the fallout—moving the team to a different safe house and so on. As for the Kents, I’m pretty sure they’re untouchable with all their wealth and connections, but I’m still playing it safe by not mentioning their names—there is no reason for the Feds to assume such details would be shared with me, a prisoner.

  The main thing I intend to conceal, though, is the current state of my relationship with Peter—and that he’ll come back for me soon.

  “Any news about my mom?” I ask Agent Ryson when he returns to the room a few minutes later, and he nods, taking a seat across from me again.

  “The surgery went well,” he says, and a giant knot of tension unravels between my shoulder blades. “They found the source of the hemorrhage and fixed it,” he continues. “It’s still too soon to pronounce her stable, but it’s looking more encouraging.”

  Despite my determination to remain stoic, I have to blink rapidly to contain an influx of tears. “Thank you.” My voice is thick with barely contained emotion. “I appreciate this.”

  He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Of course,” he says gruffly. “We’re not monsters here, you know. Which brings us to my next question, Dr. Cobakis.” He folds his arms across his chest and fixes a hard stare on me again. “If what you’re saying is true—if Sokolov stalked, threatened, and kidnapped you; if he kept you captive all these months—why would he bring you back now?”

  I push all thoughts of Mom aside and focus on getting through this interrogation. The sooner I answer Ryson’s questions, the sooner I can see her.

  “Sokolov got bored with me,” I say without blinking, having mentally practiced the lie on the drive over. “He tried to get me to warm up to him, allowing phone calls with my family and treating me fairly well in general, but I kept rebuffing his advances, and he finally got fed up. I suspect he might’ve found another unfortunate woman to fixate on, but that’s purely speculation on my part.”

  “Right.” The agent’s tone drips with sarcasm. “He got ‘bored’ with you just when your parents needed you most.”

  “No, he’d already begun cooling on me when this”—I touch the scar on my forehead—“happened. Afterward, he couldn’t even bring himself to touch me. Still, he kept me around until Mom’s accident gave him an excuse to get rid of me.”

  Ryson’s bushy eyebrows lift mockingly. “He needed an excuse?”

  “Don’t all monsters fancy themselves angels?” I keep my gaze steady on his face. “Even the worst criminals like to think they’re good people and just happen to be misunderstood—you, of all people, should know that. And Sokolov is no different, I can assure you. He convinced himself that he cared about me, and when he got bored with his new toy, he needed an excuse to throw it out. Mom’s accident provided it, and here I am, only a little worse for the wear.” I touch the scar again, as if bitter about the disfigurement.

  “Uh-huh.” Ryson stares at me without saying anything else, and I realize he’s waiting for me to say something to fill the increasingly uncomfortable silence.

  When I just keep looking at him calmly, he rises to his feet and gives me a stiff smile. “All right, Dr. Cobakis. My colleague informed me earlier that the lawyer your family engaged is already here, barking at our door. Since we have not yet formally charged you, you are free to go… for now. We’ll be checking out your story, and if it turns out you lied—and I do mean about anything—no fancy lawyer will save you.”

  “I understand.” I hide my relief as I follow him out of the room. As I hoped, my cooperation gambit paid off. On the way here, I considered lawyering up, but I decided it would be best to act like someone who has nothing to hide, even at the risk of accidentally incriminating myself by answering questions without a lawyer. This strategy might still come back to bite me, but for now, I’m free to do what I came here for: spend time with my parents.

  A tall, sandy-haired man meets us once we exit the interrogation area hallway. To my shock, I recognize him.

  It’s Joe Levinson, Agnes and Isaac’s son—and apparently, my attorney.

  Keeping a poker face, I shake Joe’s hand and thank him for coming. He smiles politely at Ryson, promises that I will not leave town without notifying them, and calmly leads me to the elevator. It’s not until we walk out of the building together and get into a cab that I let my astonishment show.

  “I thought you practiced corporate law,” I say, staring at the man who is, if not exactly a childhood friend, at least a very close acquaintance. “How did you—”

  “I was having drinks with clients downtown when my father called me,” Joe explains, grinning. “Naturally, I rushed over as soon as I could. You probably don’t remember this, but right after law school, I did a two-year stint at a human rights nonprofit, defending alleged terrorists’ right to trial and such. The pay was shit and, frankly, many of the clients terrified me, so I switched to corporate law. But the old skills and lingo are still there, so if you ever get accused of aiding and abetting a suspected terrorist and need a lawyer on an hour’s notice, I’m your man.”

  Peter is an assassin, not a terrorist, but I don’t bother arguing that point. “You’re right,” I say, smiling. “I remember that now. Your parents worried about you the entire time you worked at that place.”

  “Yep.” His grin widens for a second. Then his expression turns serious, and he says quietly, “I’m sorry about your mom. She’s an amazing lady, and I hope she pulls through.”

  “Thanks, me too.” My throat tightens, and I have to blink again.

  Joe considerately lets me look out the window at the night-dark streets until I regain control. Then he says gently, “Sara… Obviously, I’m not really your lawyer—your father will find someone much more qualified to handle your case—but I want you to know that you can still talk to me if you want. I don’t know what happened to you, and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to discuss it, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?”

  I look at him, at the earnestness in his blue eyes, and for the first time, I wish I’d made a different choice back in college. That instead of jumping into a committed relationship with George when I was barely eighteen, I’d taken things slower and paid more attention to the son of my parents’ friends… the nice, quiet one who’d always been on the periphery of my life. It’s true, he had never excited me, but maybe attraction would’ve grown with time—if I’d given it a chance.

  I grew up hearing stories about Joe, about his successes in school and how proud his parents were of him, but I never paid much attention. He’s seven years older, and that age difference seemed insurmountable when I was a teen. By the time I was in my twenties, it was nothing—but by then, I was married.

  We never had a chance to explore what might’ve been, and we’re certainly not going to get that chance now—not with a Russian assassin dominating my life and my heart.

  “Thank you, Joe. I appreciate it.” I keep my tone light, pretending like the offer meant nothing, like he didn’t just indicate a willingness to involve himself in the terrifying mess that is my life. I don’t know what my parents have told the Levinsons about my situation, but between the “suspected terrorist” comment and having to get me from the FBI building downtown, Joe must have some idea of what he’d be facing.

  He understands my dismissal for what it is and falls silent. For the rest of the ride to
the hospital, we don’t speak, and it’s just as well.

  There is no room in my life for Joe, and it’s not safe for him to think otherwise.

  12

  Peter

  We don’t return to Japan—with Sara in the FBI’s clutches, it’s too risky. Instead, we fly to Prague, where our safe house is in a small village some twenty kilometers from the city. It snowed overnight, and the place looks remarkably picturesque, with a pristine white layer covering all the roofs and bare tree branches.

  “Why couldn’t we have gone someplace warm?” Anton grumbles as he exits the car into a pile of snow. “Seriously, that safe house in India sounds fucking good right about now.”

  If I hadn’t just let go of the woman who is my life, I’d have laughed at the disgusted look on his face. But I’m not in the mood for Anton’s bullshit, so I just say tersely, “Because Eastern Europe is where we need to be.” Not that I need to say it—he knows as well as I do why we’re here. During the flight, I rescheduled the meeting with Novak, moving it up to next week.

  Henderson is still AWOL, and if I can’t spend time with Sara, there’s no point in putting the meeting off.

  “I like it here,” Ilya says, looking around the snowy landscape. We don’t have as much privacy here as we did at Japan, but the house is sufficiently far from the neighbors to give us at least the illusion of having a private winter retreat. “It’s pretty.”

  “I’m with Anton on this one. I’m sick and tired of the cold,” Yan says, heading toward the house. “At least we’ll be warm soon; I hear Esguerra’s compound in the jungle is nice and toasty.” He glances at me as he says this, but I don’t rise to the bait.

  At this point, no one needs to know what I’m really planning.

  It’s safer for everyone that way.

  It’s not until we’re unpacked and settled into the new house that I allow myself to think of Sara and feel the agonizing emptiness that is her absence in my life. It’s only been a day, but I already ache for her, want her so much it tears me up inside. The Americans are keeping tabs on her, so I’ll be getting daily reports, but it’s not enough. I want her here, at my side. I want to hold her, to see her smile and hear her laugh. To fuck her until she’s too hoarse to scream my name and the raw burn in my veins subsides.