by Anna Zaires
“I wanted to talk to you in a secure location,” I say, meeting his piercing blue gaze without flinching. I’m not afraid, though I probably should be. Julian Esguerra is one of the cruelest men I know, a true sadist. I’ve seen him skin men alive and take great pleasure in it, and I’ve often wondered how his young wife handles that aspect of her husband’s nature.
He loves her, but I doubt he spares her.
“Why?” he asks in that same lethally soft tone. “Why would you want to come here, of all places?”
“Because I want to make a deal with you,” I say calmly as Kent walks over to stand next to Esguerra. “And I’m certain Novak doesn’t have eyes and ears here.” As I say this, I’m cognizant of Diego sitting in the car with the motor still running—likely to produce enough noise to drown out our conversation.
It looks like Kent is the only person my former employer fully trusts.
“You think Novak doesn’t know you approached Lucas?” Esguerra says, his mouth twisting derisively. “That he wasn’t notified the moment my plane took off with you on it?”
“Oh, he was.” I smile coldly. “In fact, he knew about my plan all along.”
Neither Kent nor Esguerra blink, but I can sense their surprise. “He knew you were going to double-cross him?” Kent asks, frowning.
“Yes. I told him that as soon as he disclosed the name of the asset.”
Esguerra’s jaw flexes. “You told him you were going to betray him?”
“Not exactly. I told him I was going to pretend to betray him in order to gain access to your compound. He knows about the deal I told Kent I want to make: peace with you and a hundred million for the name of Novak’s asset.”
Kent’s frown deepens, but Esguerra tilts his head, regarding me thoughtfully. “The deal you told Kent you want to make,” he says slowly. “Which, I presume, is not the actual deal you’re after.”
“Correct.” I become aware of painful tension in my neck and shoulders and consciously relax those muscles. “Or at least, it’s not the full deal.”
Esguerra folds his arms over his chest. “What is the full deal, then?”
“I will give you Novak’s asset inside your compound… and I’ll deliver to you Novak himself, so you’ll never have to worry about him again.”
Esguerra’s eyes narrow. “In exchange for what?”
“The peace and the hundred million I already mentioned—and just one other thing.”
“What thing?” Kent asks, not bothering to hide his curiosity.
“Amnesty,” I say, looking from the Colombian arms dealer to his partner and back. “I want global amnesty for all crimes of which I’m being accused, as well as immunity from further prosecution. I want to be taken off all the wanted lists—and I want you to make it happen.”
32
Sara
I dream of him again that night. He comes to me like a phantom, shrouding me in his darkness, holding me tight as I weep and struggle to free myself. I don’t know if I’m fighting him or my own craving, but either way, before long, I lose.
I meld into him, let his darkness surround me, chasing away all loneliness and light.
He takes me then, driving into me with punishing fury, and I embrace him, screaming his name as my body convulses with torrid pleasure, with bliss so agonizing and exquisite it threatens to tear me apart. We make love over and over again, until I’m drained and sore.
Until I have nothing more to give and he leaves.
Leaves because he no longer wants me.
Because he’s bored with me.
I wake up with my pillow drenched with tears and my sex slick and throbbing with need. I know the dream was just a manifestation of my fears, that none of it was real, but I still feel shattered, destroyed by Peter’s rejection.
By the return of the terrible loneliness that’s my companion at night.
Getting up, I find my handbag and fish out the note Peter left for me. It’s getting worn around the edges, so I smooth it out as I open it and read the words, repeating them to myself over and over again.
Remember, ptichka. For as long as we’re both alive.
I bring the note with me and put it under my pillow before going back to sleep.
Peter is coming. I have to believe that.
One way or another, he’ll be back for me.
33
Peter
Esguerra stares at me, as if unable to believe his ears, then lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Amnesty and immunity? For you?”
Kent remains silent at his side, but I see the comprehension in his gaze.
He knows what this is about.
He and Yulia have seen me with Sara.
“Actually, for me and my guys,” I tell Esguerra. “They’re not as popular with the law enforcement, but they’re still on their shit lists. You get your CIA friends to get us off those lists, and you can forget about Novak for good.”
“Really?” he says, still chuckling. “Assuming I could even perform this miracle for you, since when do you give a fuck about being hunted?”
Kent could answer that, but to my relief, he keeps his mouth shut as I say, “That’s none of your business. This is the deal I’m offering. Take it or leave it.”
All traces of humor disappear from Esguerra’s face. “Fuck that. You’re going to tell me who the traitor is, and you’re going to do it now.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “And in return, you’ll grant me a quick, merciful death?”
Esguerra’s smile is razor sharp. “That’s the best deal you’re going to get. You know I’m going to get that name from you one way or another.”
“I know you’re going to try—and eventually, you might even succeed. But it will cost you.”
His eyes narrow. “How so?”
“Long before you get that name out of me,” I say softly, “my team will activate the asset. Maybe they’ll succeed in the assignment without me, or maybe they won’t, but that’s a risk you’ll be taking. How old is Lizzie now? Eight, ten days? Maybe you’re not that attached to her yet, but Novak has plans for Nora, too. Big plans—”
Esguerra is on me before I finish speaking, his perfect features twisted in a feral mask of fury. He often trains with his guards, so he’s fast and lethal, but I was expecting the attack. At the last instant, I twist, and his fist grazes my cheekbone instead of crushing my nose. However, there’s no way to avoid his other fist, and the blow reverberates through my solar plexus, knocking the air out of my lungs.
If I hadn’t trained for this, I’d be bent over, wheezing. However, I know how to push through the pain. Instead of fighting for air as my body demands, I shut out all awareness of the discomfort and go on attack, coming back at him with my own series of blows.
We’re evenly matched in size and strength, and he’s good at this—maybe as good as my guys. But I have the cooler head in this fight. Each of my strikes is calculated to disable and deflect, whereas he’s acting on instinct, letting his rage guide him.
I evade most of his blows, but the few that land hurt like hell. Ignoring the pain, I pummel him back, and after a minute, I manage to knock him off his feet. The fucker doesn’t give up, though. Instead of trying to get up, he catches my foot and yanks on it, dropping me on top of him.
At the last second, I twist, so my elbow lands on his ribcage. My arm explodes with pain, but he grunts, so I must’ve cracked a rib. In the next moment, however, something shiny flashes in my peripheral vision, and I react on instinct, grabbing his wrist to catch the blade coming at me. He uses the moment of distraction to land a blow to the side of my face, but I keep my focus on the knife and twist the wrist, determined to—
“That’s enough.” Strong hands grab me from behind, pulling me off Esguerra before I can break his wrist. My instinct is to lash out at the new attacker, but I retain enough presence of mind not to struggle.
Killing either Kent or Esguerra would be counterproductive to my goal.
Esguerra is on his fee
t before Kent releases me, but he doesn’t attack again. Instead, he wipes the blood trickling from his nose and says in a guttural voice, “What fucking plans?”
Of course. He wants to know the specifics of the threat to Nora.
“Novak wants to use her to control all your assets,” I say as Kent lets me go and comes around to stand next to Esguerra. My face and elbow are throbbing like a son of a bitch, and my mouth tastes like copper, but I ignore it.
Given the knife Esguerra pulled from fucking nowhere, it could’ve been much worse.
“How?” Esguerra demands, and I’m pleased to see that one side of his face is already swelling up. “How the fuck does he think he’ll accomplish that?”
“By marrying her. How else?” I spit out the blood pooling under my tongue. “He waited until your daughter was born, so he’d have failsafe leverage over Nora. He wants them both, you see—your wife for his own, and your daughter as a tool to control your wife. Who at that point would be his wife, but you get the picture.”
For a moment, I’m convinced Esguerra will fly at me again, but he restrains himself this time. Barely. Not that I can blame him.
If someone tried to take Sara from me, I’d chop his balls into little pieces and feed them to the local wildlife.
I strongly suspect Esguerra is tempted to do just that with me, so I say, “I can get Novak for you, and I can do it quickly. I know you’re capable of dealing with him on your own, but it will take time for you to track him down and get through his defenses—just like it will take time for you to get the name of his asset from me… assuming you’d even succeed in that. In the meantime, your wife and daughter are in danger. If my team fails, Novak will find someone else to come after you, some other way to get through to Nora and the baby. I’ve met the guy—he’s not going to stop. He wants what you have—everything you have, Nora included—and he’ll keep coming until you kill him. Or until I do it for you—something that can happen as soon as the end of this week.”
Esguerra is all but vibrating with rage, but he must see the wisdom in what I’m saying because he remains in place, hands flexing convulsively at his sides. I can sense the war going on inside him, but finally, he says harshly, “Fifty million. And I want Novak brought to me alive.”
My pulse leaps, but I keep my tone even. “Seventy-five. It’s the best I can do.”
Actually, I’d accept zero—Sara’s happiness is worth everything to me—but at least this way, I can compensate my teammates for the upcoming dissolution of our business.
Once I’m no longer a fugitive, we won’t be carrying out hits.
“Deal,” Esguerra says between clenched teeth. “Seventy-five million, and I do my best to get you and your men immunity in exchange for both Novak and the traitor.”
“You get us immunity,” I correct. “No immunity, no deal.”
“You’ve been on a fucking global murder spree for years. I can’t guarantee any—”
“Yes, you can. Our crimes are no worse than what you and Kent”—I nod toward the blond man silently observing the proceedings—“do every day, and no one touches you. Make it happen, Julian. Call in whatever favors you need to, and I will give you Novak on a silver platter.”
Esguerra stares at me, fingers still twitching. “All right,” he says after a moment, his tone noticeably calmer. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Now tell me who the traitor is.”
I assess his expression and make a split-second decision. “Bring me to Nora, and I will.”
Esguerra’s face hardens, and Kent noticeably tenses—likely getting ready to restrain him.
“Why?” Esguerra grits out. “What the fuck does she have to do with it?”
“Nothing… except she might like to know,” I say evenly. “And once she knows, I think she’ll have a problem with you killing me despite the deal we just made.”
His nostrils flare. “You calling me a liar?”
I shrug. “You’d do anything to protect your family, as I would mine. In any case, I haven’t forgotten that it was your wife who came through with my list, not you. Take me to see Nora, and I’ll tell you both what I know. On that, you have my word.”
And I wait, muscles coiled for combat, as Esguerra makes his decision.
34
Peter
I’m frisked from head to toe five more times, twice by Kent and Diego, and once by Esguerra himself. On the third search, they find the razor blade and the string, so I’m left truly weaponless—if one ignores my body and its capabilities, that is.
The ride to Esguerra’s mansion passes in explosive silence, and I know it would take the tiniest spark to set off my host. He’s as edgy as I’ve ever seen him, the violence inside him on the verge of boiling over.
A contingent of twenty-some guards meets us at the white, colonial-style mansion and follows us into the tastefully decorated living room. Esguerra leaves me and Kent with them and disappears upstairs—presumably to wake his newly post-partum wife.
With a traitor on the loose, he couldn’t wait until morning.
For a couple of minutes, all I hear are the guards breathing and shifting from foot to foot. Then a baby’s cry pierces the silence, the sound strong and sweet and so familiar my heart clenches in my chest.
Pasha used to wail like that when he was an infant. It was his hungry cry—a demand for food that was always met within minutes.
The grief that hits me is as sharp as in the beginning, during those dark days when rage was the only thing that kept me going. For a second, I can’t breathe from the pain of it, from the agony so acute it feels like a blade through my spine.
My son. My little boy who never got the chance to grow, to go from toy cars to the real thing.
If I had any qualms about what I’m doing, they evaporate in this moment. I’m double-crossing a client, but it’s worth it. Even without the deal I made with Esguerra, I’d never hurt that helpless baby.
Not with Pasha’s face fresh in my mind.
It takes a couple of minutes before the crying stops and nearly a half hour before Esguerra returns, his arm wrapped around a petite, dark-haired girl dressed in a thick terrycloth robe that covers her from head to toe.
Esguerra’s very own obsession.
Nora, his wife.
Her small face lights up when she sees me. Unlike her husband, she bears me no ill will for the rescue that endangered her—nor should she, as it was her idea.
“Peter!” She makes as though to come forward to greet me, only to be restrained by her husband’s possessive grip. Sheepishly, she stops and smiles instead. “How have you been?”
“Fine, thank you.” Despite the guards all around us and my face feeling like a giant bruise from Esguerra’s pummeling, I can’t help smiling back. It’s hard to believe someone this young and delicate-looking could be a mother—or survive someone as ruthless as Esguerra. “Congratulations on the recent addition to your family.”
Her smile widens. “Thank you. I’d introduce you, but you know…” She glances up at her husband, whose thunderous expression grew even more forbidding during our exchange.
Sure enough, he’s reached the end of his patience. Tucking his small wife tighter against his side, he asks with lethal softness, “Are you going to tell me who it is or not?”
This is it. Time for me to give up my trump card. Despite Nora’s presence and the deal we made, he might still order me killed as soon as he learns the name.
Oh, well. No risk, no reward.
Meeting Esguerra’s icy gaze, I say calmly, “I don’t know her name, but it’s your pediatrician. She is Novak’s asset.”
35
Sara
“You know, Joe’s been asking about you,” Mom says, smearing the honey I brought from the farmer’s market on her toast. “You haven’t heard from him recently, have you?”
“Mom, please.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes like an overgrown teenager. For whatever reason, our Saturday morning breakfast is when this topic inevitably
comes up. “He’s just being nice, that’s all. There’s nothing between us, I promise.”
“But why not, darling?” Lines of concern crease Mom’s forehead as Dad sighs into his coffee. “You’ve been back for almost nine months, and you have yet to go on a single date with anyone. You don’t owe that criminal anything. You know that, right? Clearly, whatever you two had is over, and you have to move on. He won’t be back.”
He will, judging by that note, but I can’t tell my parents about that. Despite my best efforts to convince them that I was with my abductor voluntarily and the whole FBI manhunt was a big misunderstanding, Peter will always be “that criminal” to them. I don’t know if it’s because they somehow caught wind of my official story to the FBI, or they just have a normal law-abiding citizens’ distrust of anyone on the outs with the authorities, but they’re convinced that Peter is evil and whatever feelings I had for him were of the Stockholm Syndrome variety.
Not that they’re all that wrong—at least, they wouldn’t have been wrong nine months ago. My attraction to Peter was unnatural and toxic, and I fought against it with everything I had. I fought up until the very end, when I nearly lost my life in that crash.
No. That’s not entirely true.
It was up until he put my needs above his own and let me go. That was the true turning point for me, though it’s only recently that I’ve let myself think about that… about the fact that I’ve somehow managed to accept the feelings I’ve developed for my husband’s killer, that when I think about him now, he’s “Peter” in my mind.
The man who loves me, not the man who murdered George.
My parents don’t know about that last part—at least I hope they don’t—but they still hate Peter for keeping me away from them for so long. They think he’s as dangerous as the FBI say, and it makes me sick to think how upset they’ll be when Peter steals me away again.