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His head is knocked sharply to the left by my hit. Gingerly, he rubs his jaw. His eyes settle on me with the same amusement as before. I don’t scare him at all. “Look over there.” He points to one side. Following along, I notice my mother is in the kitchen doorway. She’s trembling, hands over her mouth, but she’s not watching us.
She’s staring at the red beam of light on her chest.
“Mom?” I whimper.
“You see,” Yevgeniy says patiently, his tone sickly sweet, “I didn’t come here alone. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I needed to take precautions.”
I swallow nervously. Someone is aiming a gun at my mother.
Yevgeniy taps my shoulder to get my attention before indicating the window over the kitchen sink. “You can’t see him, but he can see us. Now listen closely, moya dorogaya doch. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re useful to me. But as for Katya … she finished her usefulness years ago.” He turns to her. “But you remain just as beautiful as I remember. Perhaps even more with the passing of time.”
The terror in me is all-consuming. I hated Yevgeniy before, or I thought I did. Now I know what the word hate actually means.
“Don’t hurt her,” I whisper. “I’ll do what you want.”
“That’s my good girl.” Patting my head, he stands to his full height. “Let’s go outside. Our ride is waiting for us.”
Remaining on the floor on my hands and knees, my arm wraps around my middle, protective of my baby. Careful, don’t let him notice. I eye Yevgeniy with worry. He can’t know about the baby. “Where are you taking us?”
“Less questions, more doing as you’re told.”
“Let me at least pack some things.”
He smirks knowingly. “I’m not letting you bring your phones. Katyusha?” My mother stiffens when he says her name. “Go and pack some clothing for you both. Do it quickly, and no tricks.”
Mom shuffles out of the room after a brief, apologetic glance at me. She’s on the edge of a heart attack. Yevgeniy is right to choose her for that task; I’d definitely try to slip a phone or weapon along for the trip. My mother is acting like a scared child. She won’t dare disobey his orders.
Yevgeniy’s shiny shoes enter my eye-line.
“Up,” he instructs. Carefully, I rise while willing my knees not to shake. Mom might be terrified—I’m scared too—but I have too much pride to show it. He focuses on me with new interest. “I’ve watched you for a long time. You’ve grown so much, my child.”
I grimace openly in disgust. “You’re not my father. I don’t know you.”
His voice is tender, but his eyes are sharp as razors. “We’ll have all the time in the world to change that.”
My mother clings to me in the back seat of the car. The small backpack she loaded with clothing is cradled in her lap, bumping me with every shift of the car.
Yevgeniy rides up front in the passenger side while a man with a double chin and ham-sized shoulders drives. I hear Yevgeniy call him Osip, but the driver himself hasn’t spoken a word to any of us. He barely looked at me when we got into the car, and now, half an hour later, that hasn’t changed.
What’s going to happen? I rub my mother’s back. She’s terrified, unable to lift her eyes from the floor. I think back to how she froze up at the house.
Yevgeniy ... he’s the reason.
Glaring at the back of his head, I replay the way everything went down. It didn’t matter if Mom did call for help; he had us surrounded. He knew we couldn’t escape. How did he find us? Where did we mess up? Josh and Audrey have been extremely cautious. The burner phones, fake identities, no visitors other than the doctor—the safe house should have been secure!
The car jostles as we roll over a rougher section of road. Peering out the window, I see that we’re on gravel. It’s a long strip that curves around some trees, hiding the two-story house until we’re nearly on top of it. The sky above is packed with gray clouds. Even the weather wants me to know this place is grim.
“Here we are,” Yevgeniy says, “your home away from home.”
Before I can open my door, someone else does; he’s a thin man with wavy brown hair down to his shoulders and a precisely shaped mustache. “Out, now,” he says in a harsh grumble. When he grabs for me, I slap his hand away.
“I’m coming,” I say coldly. Taking my mom by the elbow, I ease her out behind me. Together we stand in the chilly morning air. I’m wearing the same thin tights under a blue shift dress as I was earlier. I hope Mom packed me something warmer in her bag.
The man in front of me twists his lips into a sneer. I’m not cowed; I stand taller, eyeing him calmly.
“It’s okay, Fyodor,” Yevgeniy chuckles as he exits the car. “They won’t try to run. They’re smarter than that.”
My hackles rise like a wary cat’s. Resisting the urge to respond, I hold my tongue, studying the house instead. The roof is a sharp peak, dark sienna shingles slanting over the top level. The pale yellow paint is faded, the closed curtains behind the many windows hiding the interior. Next to the large front door stands a pair of men openly wielding shotguns. One of them has a leash in his hand—the muscular pit bull on the end watches us with its mouth hanging open. Its fur is the same color as the foreboding sky.
