Her hand steadied on the rusty door handle, but at the sound of a bullet piercing a target—she halted.
“Back away from the door and don’t fucking move.”
Hands in the air, she turned to find Gromov’s lifeless body close to her feet.
“I’m leaving this place.” He circled the bodies. “If you don’t want to die, I suggest you get away from the door.”
The escape route. She couldn’t let him leave.
Her gaze darted to the black metal peeking out from the side of Gromov—the second gun.
One was empty. One was loaded.
But she had no idea which one Teteruk had . . . if she went for the firearm, and she was wrong—it’d be game over.
And so, she watched as the murderous son of a bitch disappeared out the door, and only then did she drop to the ground to grab the gun.
In a rush, she jerked the exit door back open, unable to see anything but darkness . . . and she fired.
An empty click like before. And now Teteruk was gone.
Her shoulders slumped in disappointment, but at the sound of the other door opening behind her, she spun around, the adrenaline coursing hard and fast through her veins.
“Easy. It’s me.”
She let out a broken sob and fell to her knees at the sight of Owen. He holstered his weapon and ran toward her, and she dropped her empty gun to the ground.
“Are you okay?” He gathered her in his arms, holding her tight.
“I let him get away.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, and he cupped her head. “What are you talking about?”
“Teteruk,” she cried. “He’s gone.” But before she could say more, the room flooded with Russians with guns.
Angry shouts were flung in their direction, and rifles were aimed their way.
“It’s okay.” He reached for her hand, but a booted foot stepped between them, kicking his hand away from her.
“Stop!” a voice called out, a familiar voice she was damn grateful to hear. She lifted her eyes to see Jessica standing with two armed FSB officers—Russian FBI agents. “They’re with me.” Jessica patted the air, motioning for the men to lower their weapons.
Owen helped Sam up a moment later, and she watched as the FSB agents crouched to check Alexander’s pulse, and then Gromov’s.
“Teteruk killed Gromov, but before that, Gromov killed Alexander. He was going to set up the Kozaks for everything to turn everyone against each other. He was doing it for money, but under the guise of justice,” Sam said in a daze. She noticed that Owen’s face was covered in ash as if he’d gone through hell and back to get to her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner,” Jessica said apologetically.
“Sooner?” Sam asked, confused.
“Something was bothering me about the hack, so while you guys were inside, I took a deeper look and discovered the money trail leading from the Kozaks to Cheng was too on the nose,” Jessica explained, and it had Sam taking a deep breath.
“Gromov was the one who paid him off.” Sam looked back at Owen. “I tried to stop Teteruk, but I couldn’t.”
“Everyone’s okay. That’s all that matters.” Jessica gave a reassuring nod. “Your dad told security he lost you in the crowd, and once the device was deactivated, I turned comms back on and let Owen know what’d happened.”
“I should’ve gone right instead of left,” Owen said under his breath as they began walking down the hall.
“Did you get all the bad guys?” She sniffled.
“Yeah,” Owen replied.
Except Teteruk. “Are the Russians mad?” Sam whispered her question from behind the agents.
“You mean about what the president said tonight?” Owen asked. “Too early to tell.”
But they had a plan for that, and God, she hoped the plan worked.
“You could’ve died back there,” Owen said once they’d climbed the stairs and were in the charred hallway. “I shouldn’t have left you.”
“It’s not your fault.” She tried to stop walking and face him, but the agents behind her nudged her along, anxious to get her out of the building, apparently.
“I’m sorry,” Owen said once they were outside. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”
Before she could respond, her dad whisked her into his arms, clutching her tightly, and she squeezed her eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” he cried into her ear, showing emotion for the first time in years. “I’m so sorry.”
She tried to find the words to say, but then she spotted Laszlo Kozak in the crowd, falling to his knees at the sight of his son’s body being carried out.
Alexander Kozak may have been the Grim Reaper in the military, but he hadn’t been responsible for the night’s events.
Laszlo Kozak had lost his wife, and now he had lost his son to his traitorous best friend. Sometimes the world just wasn’t fair.
“I love you,” she said to her dad, even though she still clung to a fraction of anger about his lie. But he was a good man, despite his faults, and she could’ve died tonight without letting him know she still loved him.
“I love you, too,” he said into her ear.
She pulled back to scan the crowd once more, noticing Owen was nowhere in sight.
When her gaze fell upon Asher alongside Jessica, she hurried toward them, only one thought in mind. “Asher. Jessica!”
“Hey.” Asher wrapped a hand over her shoulder. “You okay? You were pretty damn brave back there.” His dark eyes thinned. “What’s wrong?”
She skimmed the crowd of guests mixed with police and firefighters, searching for Owen one last time. “It’s Owen.” She exhaled a deep breath. “I think he’s gone.”
“Gone?” Jessica asked.
“Yeah.” A hard knot fisted in her stomach. “I think he went after Teteruk.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Emily extended a cup of coffee her way, and her eyes followed the swirl of steam drifting lazily above it. “I bet you’ve barely eaten since you’ve been home. Am I right?”
“I only got here an hour ago.” Sam rolled her eyes, but her stomach grew angrier by the minute with each passing hour without food—because Emily was right, only she’d barely eaten since Owen had disappeared.
Where the hell are you? She toyed with the chain around her neck, smoothing her thumb over the cross.
Thirty-six hours without a word from him.
Emily shifted her gaze toward Sam’s front door, where two bodyguards—two guys from Owen’s team she hadn’t met before today—were stationed outside. Luke and Jessica, as well as her father, had insisted she remain protected until the dust settled.
She’d invited them in, but they’d said they’d prefer to stay visible outside as a deterrent to any possible enemies.
Two Navy SEALs on guard should’ve made her feel safe, but nothing would ease what felt like a bullet wound to the chest until she saw Owen again.
“I still can’t believe everything that happened,” Emily said with a shake of the head.
“That my desire to bring peace between Ukraine and Russia nearly led to war?” She faked a laugh. “Just a normal day at the office.”
“Funny. You can’t hide behind humor.” Emily’s espresso browns narrowed. “Not with me.”
She decided to finally take the cup of coffee from Emily, and a triumphant smile touched her friend’s lips. “How bad was the Russian inquisition? They didn’t strap you to a chair and interrogate you, right?”
“Just barely.” She’d spent twelve hours at the Russian FSB office, answering the same questions over and over again.
Thank God for Jessica and her ridiculous number of contacts—contacts she’d worked with before under the guise of the Scott & Scott alias—or they’d probably never have gotten out of there.
“I guess we shouldn’t assume the worst about people.” The Kozaks hadn’t been bad people—they were victims, the same as Brad and Jason.
“Well, you
can’t assume the best about so-called good people, either,” Emily pointed out.
“No more assumptions, period, I guess.”
Emily took a sip of her coffee. “I can’t believe the Sven Group has been behind similar attacks in the past.”
“Creating conflict and chaos to drive up weapons demand and stock prices.”
Emily tucked her long legs beneath her and shifted to better face Sam on the couch. “It’s crazy, though, right?”
“Hm?” Sam looked at her, still in a bit of a daze.
“If Viktor Gromov hadn’t been friends with the Kozaks, and you hadn’t had a connection to them, it’s possible the attack would’ve been successful.”
“Doesn’t that make it worse?” She blinked, trying to understand.
“Gromov could’ve just planted a bomb at the event and blamed some Ukrainian militant, but instead, he went through this elaborate plot to set up the Kozaks, which led you to Owen and his people.”
“So, you’re saying this isn’t my fault?” She placed her free hand over her chest.
Emily leaned forward, her browns sharp on her. “Is that what you think?”
Sam nodded.
“You helped put a stop to this. Your desire for the truth—and thank God, you didn’t listen to me—is the reason why a bunch of people didn’t die,” Emily said softly. “Gromov’s plan backfired because he didn’t expect for you to be so strong and brave.”
“No, Owen’s team . . . they’re the brave ones.”
Emily wrapped a hand around her forearm.
“And you’re not supposed to know most of this, by the way.” Sam forced a smile, but it quickly dissolved. “I’m sorry again you got dragged into this with Blane.”
“I’m used to tragedy in my dating life.” She faked a shrug as if it was no big deal, but Sam knew her best friend was simply sporting a mask. She was pretty good at that, too.
“If only I had shot Teteruk Owen would be here now,” she said a moment later.
“You tried.”
She frowned. “I should’ve tried harder.”
“He’ll come back to you.” Emily set her coffee down.
“He has to. I can’t lose him.” Before she could say more, the outside doorbell buzzed.
“It won’t be Owen,” Emily said softly as Sam approached her security camera. “He’d call the second he could to let you know he’s okay.”
Her heart pounded in her ears as anticipation built, and then her lungs quickly deflated at the sight of Luke and Jessica outside her building. Only them.
She flung open her door, waiting for them to come upstairs, hoping to hell they had news.
But the second her eyes connected with Jessica’s dark look from down the hall, she stumbled back into her apartment. “No.” No. No. He has to be okay.
She flashed back to the day the Navy SEAL stood outside her college dorm room and told her Brad had died, and she started to tremble.
“Where’s Owen?” Emily asked from over her shoulder when Sam couldn’t get her voice to work.
Jessica and Luke nodded hello to their teammates in the hall, but they didn’t come inside.
“We think he’s alive,” Jess began, “but—”
Sam took an immediate step toward the doorway, her eyes widening. “You think?” She stared into Luke’s eyes, searching for answers.
“Can we talk in private?” Luke looked at Emily, who instantly sidestepped Sam.
“I’ll be out in the hall.” Emily waited for Luke and Jessica to enter before she left.
Sam’s mind raced, panic creeping into every crevice of her mind.
Luke closed the door behind him, and Jessica bit into her lip—something Sam had never seen her do.
“What’s going on?” She shook her arms out at her sides, trying to regain feeling in them.
Luke dragged a palm down his face, and his shoulders arched forward a hair. “We think the Russians have him.”
“I don’t understand.” She clutched her stomach as it tucked in.
“We don’t have any specifics, I’m afraid. Owen didn’t contact us after he disappeared,” Jessica explained, and her blues drifted to the floor as if she couldn’t make eye contact.
“But you think the Russians got to him? Will they keep him to retaliate against us for what they learned?” Sam took quick shallow breaths, trying to wrap her head around it all.
Owen being held captive.
Tortured in some old Soviet cell.
Her hands went to her knees as she struggled to breathe.
“The good thing is, we think he’s still alive.” Jessica’s words had her lifting her chin to find her eyes. “My contacts in Russia informed me this morning that someone matching Owen’s description was brought to the president at zero six hundred.”
“The president?” She stood upright and swallowed, her hand sweeping to her chest. “Like, the president of Russia?”
Jessica nodded. “The problem is that our group doesn’t technically exist, and in this situation if one of our people is ever captured . . .”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t tell me that you can’t try and get him back.” She spun away, on the brink of losing it as she looked for her cell phone. “I’ll call President Rydell. He has to do something.”
Jessica gently grabbed her arm. “The president’s working on the deal with the Russians as planned—as Owen suggested.”
“But does that deal now involve getting Owen back?” she asked, desperation in her tone.
“You know we’ll do everything in our power to save him,” Luke said in a low voice. “Regardless of the rules.”
“You promise?” She rubbed her arms, trying to kill the goose bumps, to not crumple to the floor and totally break down.
Jessica looked her square in the eyes. “Knowing Owen, he’ll get himself out of there before we have a chance to try and look like heroes.” She smiled. It was the same kind of D.C. smile Sam plastered on at work. “Trust me. Owen has a way of always landing on his feet.”
Sam touched the chain around her neck. “But he’s not wearing his necklace.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“In a surprising turn of events,” the reporter began, and Sam turned up the volume on the TV, “President Rydell has decided to drastically reduce the tariff rates for China. We’re not sure what led to his decision, but we’re still investigating the sudden change in his policy.”
“It worked,” Sam said under her breath. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs.
“In other news, the video President Rydell released seven nights ago, which exposed the truth about a joint CIA and Navy SEAL operation over ten years ago, continues to spark controversy and public outcry from leading officials. They want to know how many times the U.S. has interjected themselves into foreign affairs. We reached out to the Kremlin, but they’ve yet to offer any kind of statement . . .”
The rest of the reporter’s words became white noise at the sound of her buzzer.
Owen? But Emily’s words came back to mind. Owen would call her the second he could, right?
She crossed the room with slow steps, hating herself for clinging to the idea that it could be him, even if, as the rational part of her brain told her, he was still missing.
She dropped her head and closed her eyes as she pressed down on the intercom. “Hello?”
There was a pause and then, “It’s me.”
Quick breaths had her clutching her chest.
Seven agonizing days since she’d seen him.
Owen York.
Alive.
Outside my building.
Tears filled her eyes as she buzzed him in, unable to speak. Unable to do anything but run to the door.
“Wait,” the guard outside called after her, but she pulled free of his grasp and went to the stairs—knowing Owen would take the stairs to get to her faster.
She rushed down the steps.
“Miss McCarthy!” one of the guys—Wyatt, maybe—calle
d after her as she shoved open the door to the lobby.
The area was empty, though, and the elevator was on her floor.
Shit. “He’s upstairs,” she sputtered, bumping into Wyatt as she headed back into the stairwell.
Once on her floor, she captured a breath of air at the sight of Owen outside her door, talking to his other teammate.
He turned, his arms at his sides as if anchored to the ground.
Forgetting Wyatt trailed behind her, she ran toward Owen.
There was a limp as he moved, but it didn’t seem to stop him from grabbing her, from gathering her into his arms, from pulling her off her feet and tight against him.
She looped her arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life, never wanting to let go.
“You’re alive,” she cried. “But you look hurt.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, and she could tell he was hiding a wince. He lowered her to the ground a moment later, and he brushed his thumb over her cheek and found her eyes. “I would’ve called first, but no one would let me near a goddamn phone.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist and peeked at Wyatt still behind them. She needed to be alone with Owen, damn it.
“You okay, man?” Wyatt asked Owen, his gray eyes narrowing, worry crossing his face.
“Yeah. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.” He shifted his gaze toward the other guy now heading their way. “You can go. Thanks again.”
“Be in touch, brother,” Wyatt said, and the guys exchanged a few more words before Owen and Sam headed toward her place.
She took purposefully slow steps, knowing Owen wouldn’t want to fess up to whatever pain he was in.
“The second the president let me leave the White House, I rushed straight here.” Once they entered her place, he stood with his hand perched atop her breakfast bar, his eyes on hers.
Just how severe was his injury?
“I’m okay,” he said as if reading her thoughts.
“Why don’t you sit?” She swiped at the tears on her cheek and gestured to the couch.
“What I have to say . . . I think I need to stay standing if you don’t mind?” His eyes fell to the floor, and her shoulders shook from a sudden chill.
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