by Anna Zaires
My parents love me, but they don’t need me as much as I once thought—or so I tell myself to soothe the guilt that inevitably accompanies my craving for Peter.
My perverse wish that he’d come and take me.
I’ve thought about it so often I can picture it like a movie in my head. I’ll enter my apartment one day, and he’ll be there, big and dangerous, as lethal and beautiful as ever. He’ll be there despite the police patrols outside, despite all of the Feds’ precautions.
He’ll be waiting to steal me away, and nothing I say will matter.
That’s probably the most shameful part of these fantasies: that I never have a choice in them… and that I like that. I want Peter to steal me away, to just come and take me over my objections. Then and only then will I be able to live with the knowledge that I once again disappeared from the lives of the people who love and need me, that I abandoned my family, my patients, my bandmates, and my friends.
I need Peter to be bad, so I can be at least somewhat good.
I have to hate him in order to love him.
I’m beginning to understand that about myself, to embrace the perversity within me, but what I don’t understand is why I’m still here if he wants me. It can no longer be about my parents, so it must be about something else—something he hasn’t told me.
I’ve racked my brain for what it could be, and the best I can come up with is something he said when we were parting. I asked him if I’ll be home until Mom recovers, and he started to say that he had to finish with something first as well. He didn’t disclose what it was, though, nor so much as hint at how long that something would take. The only thing I can imagine being that important to him is his vengeance, but I don’t know why that would keep him from me for so long.
He was hunting Henderson when we were together, and according to the FBI, that’s what he’s doing still.
Two months ago, right after I got Peter’s note, Ryson had me brought to their downtown office again. I nearly had a panic attack, thinking that the Feds somehow learned about the note, but as it turned out, Ryson wanted to question me because Peter and his men struck again, “interrogating” five more US citizens in their quest to uncover Henderson’s whereabouts.
“They were all in Charleston, South Carolina,” Ryson told me. “Once again, Sokolov got in and out of the country undetected. We need to know how he’s doing it, so we can stop him from wreaking havoc on people’s lives.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that,” I said truthfully. Peter never spoke much about his connections or how he does the impossible things he does. As awful as I feel about the people he terrified and tortured, I know nothing that can help the Feds in this regard.
Assuming I wanted to help, that is. If Peter was unable to get into the US, he wouldn’t be able to hurt more people. However, he also wouldn’t be able to retrieve me, and that perverse, contradictory part of me—the one that keeps me awake at night, thinking of that note with a mixture of joy and trepidation—can’t stand that possibility.
I need him.
I crave him so much it hurts.
Before that note, I was able to hold the pain in, to be strong as I told myself that it was over, but hearing from Peter—knowing he’ll be back—stripped away my fragile new defenses, plunging me back into that endless waiting mode.
“Come back,” I whisper, hugging a pillow to my chest as I stare at the TV screen. “Please, Peter, I need you. Come back for me and take me home.”
29
Peter
“You what?” Yan stares at me like I’ve sprouted a pair of tentacles.
“I contacted Lucas Kent about arranging a meeting with Esguerra,” I repeat, stirring the pasta sauce. “Hand me that basil, will you?”
Yan doesn’t move, so Ilya silently pushes the chopped basil toward me, and I sprinkle it liberally over the sauce. I’m making Italian food tonight—a cuisine my men feel quite neutral about, but Sara loves.
For you, ptichka. So I feel like you’re here with me.
I’ve started doing that this week, talking to her in my mind. It’s probably not healthy, but it makes me feel closer to her, as though she’s here with me instead of an ocean away.
Maybe it’s because I know I might see her soon, but I’ve been missing her even more than usual. Each day without her is fucking torture.
“I thought you were going to kill Kent,” Yan says, frowning in confusion. “For letting Sara crash.”
“And I still might, just not at this time.” I dip a long spoon into the sauce and taste it before adding a pinch more salt. “I need him to get me into Esguerra’s compound.”
Anton comes up to stand next to Yan. “So that’s your grand plan? To have Kent hand you on a silver platter to Esguerra? You do remember the guy swore to kill you, right?”
I give him a level look. “He won’t kill me if he wants the name of Novak’s asset.”
“Ah.” Yan’s expression smooths out. “So you’re going to pretend to double-cross Novak to gain access to Esguerra’s compound.”
“Precisely.” And then I’m going to double-cross him for real, I think, but I don’t say it. As much as I trust my guys, I have to operate on the assumption that Novak has eyes and ears on us at all times. It’s highly unlikely in the privacy of this safe house, but I can’t afford to risk it.
As it was, I barely managed to convince the Serbian to go along with my plan.
“You’re going to what?” He stood up, nearly knocking over the table when I informed him of my intentions in the café. In an instant, his goons appeared from their hiding place in the back, surrounding him like a human wall, their M16s drawn and pointed at me.
“So much for building trust, huh?” I said, amused, and Novak gave me a dark glare before ordering them to stand down.
I sat down and waited for him to do the same before explaining the gist of my plan. It took a while, but he finally understood why that was the only option… why, even with his asset in place, we wouldn’t be able to get into Esguerra’s compound by force.
“Even if your pediatrician is a tech whizz who manages to disable the drones and the electric fences that protect the compound, we’ll still have the guard towers to contend with. Which wouldn’t be a problem for my team except that Esguerra has generators and backup drones that would go online within a minute of the main ones being disabled. And then, while we’re dealing with the drones firing on us from the sky, Esguerra’s backup guards—over a hundred of them—will appear and take us out. The only way past them would be with an even bigger force—say, a couple of hundred mercenaries of our own—but a group that size has no chance of getting near the compound undetected. We wouldn’t even be able to enter Colombia without Esguerra hearing about it and intercepting us long before we get anywhere near his place.”
“So you plan to sacrifice my asset to gain Esguerra’s trust?” Novak asked, frowning, and I nodded, explaining that once I’m in, it won’t be all that difficult to get within grabbing distance of Nora—and once I have her as my hostage, I’ll have leverage over Esguerra.
He’ll give up his life to save her.
“My men will be waiting just outside the compound, so once I have Nora and the baby, I’ll disable the perimeter defenses myself and use the confusion of Esguerra’s death to make our escape,” I told Novak. “It won’t be easy, but it’s the only chance we’ve got.”
The pasta sauce is finally ready, so as we sit down to eat dinner, I relay the same plan to the guys.
“No fucking way,” Anton says when I’m done. “Hostages or not, you’re not going to walk out of that compound alive. You’re talking about a suicide mission.”
“Not necessarily,” Yan says softly, winding his fork in the pasta. His green eyes hold a strange gleam. “Esguerra has a weakness now: his wife and daughter. And we’re going to use it. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, exactly,” I say and remind myself to keep an eye on Yan during this mission.
&
nbsp; With everything so precariously balanced, the slightest unforeseen element—like one of my own double-crossing me—could bring it all crashing down.
30
Peter
The response from Lucas Kent comes almost immediately. He’s willing to meet with me, which is the first step to getting near Esguerra.
He proposes his wife’s new restaurant in London as a potential meeting place. It’s not exactly neutral ground, but I agree. I know what he’s thinking: that this might be a ploy to lure him out, so I could punish him and his wife for fucking up with Sara.
Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t have been wrong. The image of my ptichka in that hospital, her delicate face pale and bruised, still features in my nightmares. Someday, Kent will pay for letting her escape and crash, but for now, I need him.
He’s my best shot at reaching out to Esguerra.
Of course, if he turned me down, I had a backup plan. I know Nora Esguerra’s email, having communicated in the past with her about my list. However, Esguerra is not exactly rational about his tiny wife and might take it the wrong way if I contact her after all these years.
It’s better to go through Kent—Esguerra might be more willing to listen in that case.
Kent’s wife, the beautiful Yulia, is nowhere in sight as I enter the stylish restaurant and make my way to a booth in the corner, where Kent’s blond head is visible above the partition.
He stands up to greet me, his hard face wary as he extends his hand. “Sokolov.”
I shake his hand, squeezing his fingers with slightly too much force. “Kent.”
His eyes narrow, but he releases my hand without retaliating. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again,” he says as we take a seat and open the menus. “How is your Sara these days?”
“Who? Oh, that.” I catch the waiter and tell him to bring me an unopened Guinness bottle with an opener on the side. Kent requests a cup of Earl Grey for himself. I wait for the waiter to leave before telling Kent, “I have no idea how she is. I let her go last year and haven’t seen her since.”
His eyebrows rise. “Really?”
I shrug. “What can I say? It was time.”
“Right.” He doesn’t seem to believe me, but he turns his attention to the menu and scans it before looking up to ask, “Do you know what you want?”
“I’m not hungry, thanks.” Given what happened with Sara and what I’m about to tell him, I no longer trust Kent or the food in his wife’s restaurant.
His mouth curls in a dry smile. “I see.” Closing the menu, he waits for the waiter to set our drinks on the table and then says, “Why do you want to meet Esguerra? He still hasn’t forgiven you for the incident with Nora, you know.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” I used his wife as bait, letting her get kidnapped in order to find out where a terrorist group was holding him at the time. Back then, I knew he’d be pissed about Nora’s involvement, but his rage didn’t really make sense to me—after all, it was the only way to save his life.
Now, however, I understand his reaction better. If anyone endangered Sara like that, I wouldn’t care about the reasoning behind it.
My life for hers would never be a fair trade.
“I had a very lucrative offer come my way,” I tell Kent, opening my Guinness. “As a result, I’ve come into possession of some information Esguerra might appreciate.”
Kent frowns and picks up his cup of tea. “Oh? And what information is that?”
“There’s a traitor in his compound,” I say and take a large swig as Kent’s frown deepens. “A traitor who’s supposed to aid me in my assignment.”
Kent puts down his tea. “Someone hired you to carry out a hit on Esguerra?” At my confirming nod, he asks sharply, “Who?”
I open my mouth to tell him, but he reaches the correct conclusion on his own.
“Novak,” he spits out, pushing the tea away. His jaw flexes violently. “Of course. Who else would fucking dare?”
I take another swig of my beer. “A hundred million euro is his offer, but I’m willing to let Esguerra match it—if you bring me to Colombia to talk to him. I want bygones to be bygones. Well, that and a hundred million,” I clarify, lest he think I’m all about making peace.
Kent stares at me, eyes narrowed. “You know he might not go for it, right? Now that we know there’s a traitor, we’ll figure out who that is. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Sure. But time matters—especially when a vulnerable newborn is involved.”
Kent’s face turns to stone. “What the fuck do you know about newborns?” His voice is dangerously soft. “Because if you’re trying to imply that—”
“Lizzie is in danger? I’m not implying, I’m telling you. Novak knows all about the recent addition to Esguerra’s family, and he has plans for her.” I’m taking a risk revealing so much, but I can’t afford to pussyfoot around.
I have to get Esguerra to listen to me.
My future with Sara depends on it.
The waiter approaches to take our order, but Kent shoos him away with a curt wave. “What if Esguerra just wires the hundred million to you?” he asks, picking up his tea again. “A hundred million for a name, all at zero risk to you.”
“No go,” I say and finish my beer. “I don’t need to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for Esguerra to carry out his revenge on me. He either hears me out in person, or I take the job. It’s up to him.”
Getting up, I walk out of the restaurant, my stomach rumbling at the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen.
If all goes well, I’ll eat here for real one day… with Sara by my side.
31
Peter
I don’t have to wait long for Esguerra’s answer. His email is in my inbox by the time I get back to my hotel.
Tonight at seven, the message reads. Lucas will pick you up.
Seven is only a half hour away, so I swiftly notify my guys and get ready.
Kent shows up at my hotel room promptly at seven. I’m not at all surprised that he knows where I’m staying; I knew I was being tailed from the second I left the restaurant.
Kent’s face might as well be hewn from granite. “No weapons,” he says, and I lift my arms, letting him frisk me from head to toe.
He finds the knife in my boot, the two knives in my pockets, and the small revolver tucked into the inner pocket of my leather jacket. However, he doesn’t notice the razor blade in the hem of my jeans or the coil of wire sewn into my jacket collar.
Camp Larko taught me well.
“Let’s go,” he says when he’s satisfied that I’m clean, and I follow him out of the hotel and into an armored limo.
The ride to the airport passes in silence. I expect Kent to deliver me to Esguerra’s private plane and take off, but he goes in with me.
“You’re piloting?” I ask, and he nods curtly.
“Esguerra requested that I bring you myself.”
He doesn’t sound too pleased about that, and I smile as I take a seat on the cream-colored leather couch in the cabin. Kent being pissed about the disruption to his routine is a bonus as far as I’m concerned.
I can’t yet kill him for letting Sara crash, but I can certainly enjoy screwing up his plans.
I spend part of the eleven-hour flight napping and the rest emailing with my team. They’re on their way to Colombia too, and will be waiting for me outside the compound as per our Novak-approved plan. If all goes well, I won’t need them, but if things go sideways, they might be able to help get me out.
Assuming I’m still alive to get out, that is.
Esguerra’s enormous estate is in the southeast part of Colombia, right on the edge of the Amazon rainforest. It’s night when we land on the small airstrip inside the compound, and the humid air is warm and completely still as we step off the plane.
I recognize the driver of the car waiting for us. He was one of the guards here when I was in Esguerra’s employ.
“Hey, D
iego,” I greet him, and he grins, white teeth flashing.
“Sokolov. Never thought I’d see you again, man.” His Spanish accent is not as thick as I remember, but still quite noticeable. “What have you been up to?” Then he notices the blond man at my side. “Hey, Lucas. Where’s Yu—”
“Just drive,” Kent snaps, getting into the car, and I follow suit.
Looks like we’re dispensing with the niceties. Oh, well.
Instead of bringing me to the mansion where Esguerra and his wife reside, Diego takes us to a shed on the outer edge of the compound. I recognize the place—it’s where I once helped Esguerra interrogate his enemies—and despite myself, a chill roughens my skin.
There’s nothing to prevent the Colombian arms dealer from stringing me up and trying to torture the name of the traitor out of me.
Nothing but the fact that Esguerra knows me—and hopefully realizes I won’t be easy to crack.
He steps out of the shed as Kent and I get out of the car, and as the headlights of the car illuminate his face, I see that he still has his movie-star looks, even with the artificial eye that replaced the one gouged out by his enemies. I haven’t seen him since that time—I knew he’d be pissed over the method of his rescue, so I left before he could have me killed—but he’s the same as I remember.
Still dangerous as fuck and lacking all empathy… except when it comes to his wife.
And now possibly his infant daughter.
“You’ve got balls,” he says softly, stopping in front of me. His English is of the American variety, without a trace of a Spanish accent. His mother was American, I recall—a model of some kind.
“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.