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If he doesn’t expect an attack, then that’s his problem.
Thrusting forward with my good leg, I kick the front door open. It bangs off the inner wall, bouncing back toward me, but I’m already through. Turning to my right, where the TV is on, I aim my gun as I check for any attackers.
Nothing.
A quick turn, and I scan the other half of the main room. The lights are on, showing a small foyer laid out with white furniture and a shelf for stacking shoes. Above it is a coat rack built into the wall. There are two jackets and an umbrella draped on the pegs, the only sign that anyone lives here.
With my blood pounding in my veins, I rush toward the hallway. I’m halfway toward the base of the stairs when I spot movement in my periphery. I turn and point my weapon at the source of the motion.
And find a small boy with a mop of dark curls staring at me in fear.
He’s dressed in plain jeans and a red shirt. It hangs to his knees on his thin frame. “Who are you?” he asks me. “What are you doing in my house?”
Freezing in surprise, I glance from side to side nervously. Why is there a kid here? Did I get the wrong house? Is that even possible? No, Galina confirmed the address. This is the place!
He blinks like an owl, saying, “I’m Ruslan. Are you a friend of Papa’s?”
I lower my gun slowly. The boy stares at it like he’s only just noticed it, his eyes widening further. My mind warns me of something. It’s an odd feeling … but he seems … familiar. The tilt of his eyes, or the angle of his mouth. I can’t place it, but it feels like I’ve met him before.
“Of your papa’s?” I ask harshly.
He recoils, picking up on my tone. “Yevgeniy Grachev. Do you know him? Are you also here to see Mom?”
Mom?
It’s a struggle to keep my face emotionless as the realization hits me like a train. A hurricane of emotions consumes everything inside of me. I feel chunks of my heart break free, swirling in my stomach until all my innards are a mess in my chest.
It has to be a lie.
It has to be!
He rocks from side to side anxiously, his hands folding together in his long shirt. “Papa said someone was coming here to help find my sister. She’s missing. Are you here to help me?”
I’m not ready to tell him anything until I know what the hell is going on. Working to keep my voice calm and failing badly, I crouch to his eye level. A terrible sensation settles in my blood. It presses on me heavily until my neck bends and my shoulders hunch. I lift my gun, balancing it on one knee. Ruslan can’t tear his attention away from it. I should holster it, but his comfort pales next to my need to protect myself.
“Where is your papa now?” I insist.
“Why?”
“Just tell me!” I bellow.
Ruslan starts to shake. His bottom lip pokes out, pink and wet. He puts his hand on the banister of the stairs, his foot inching to the bottom step. I notice he’s not wearing socks. The house is warm enough that he doesn’t need them. Whoever left him here, they haven’t been gone for long.
“You’re not here to help me find her,” he gasps. “You’re not Papa’s friend. You’re the bad man he warned me about!” He clears four stairs before I react.
“Wait! Ruslan!” I shout, barreling after him. I shove my gun under my jacket, using both hands to grip the banister so I can climb the stairs faster. Ruslan is just ahead. I’m panting heavily, everything throbbing, pushing my body past its limits. If I wasn’t injured, I could catch him for sure.
But maybe I still can. Maybe I can do it.
When he throws himself into a room at the top of the stairs, slamming the door, my heart sinks.
My weight pushes on the door. Jiggling the knob, finding it locked, I punch at the wood with my fists. “Ruslan! Open up!” Shit, what do I do? There’s too much going on for me to think beyond my need to catch this kid. He has answers.
I’m here to find Katya! Where is she? Where did Yevgeniy go? And if this kid is his son, why leave him behind unguarded like this?
Through my hard pounding, I make out the sharp vocals of Ruslan’s shouts. He’s talking to someone. Is he not alone in there?
“Help!” Ruslan screams. “Someone broke in! I need help, please!”
