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I started the car as Will continued to bitch about Delaney catching him fucking a stripper. I was largely tuning him out, my mind only able to think about Emmy and her safety.
“I feel like a fucking asshole,” Will grumbled, running his hand through his hair in agitation.
“Who gives a shit if she saw you banging some dancer? You’re not dating her,” I finally replied after his fifth sigh. Panic for Emmy was riding me, and Will’s bullshit gave me somewhere else to put my focus. “And call Anya. I need to know where Orlov is going every second.”
Will pulled out his phone to call Anya. “I know we aren’t dating, but I was kind of interested and she looked so fucking upset when she walked in on us.”
“Maybe you should stop having sex in public places,” I said. I didn’t care where he fucked, but if you didn’t want to get caught, at least go in the fucking bathroom.
“I didn’t think—Anya, do you still have Emmy’s signal?”
I looked over at him and he nodded his head. I released a deep breath as I got on I55 south.
“She said he got off the highway at Cicero Ave,” Will relayed.
I whipped my head toward him, my heart once again slamming in my chest. “Cicero? That’s near Midway Airport.”
“Fuck,” Will said suddenly. “She lost Emmy’s signal. It stopped moving at the exit. It’s been a couple of minutes and unless the car stalled or they ran out of gas, Orlov ditched the phone.
I punched the ceiling of the car. “Fuck!” I yelled, heading toward the Cicero exit, the speedometer hitting one hundred miles per hour. Will didn’t say a word.
I suddenly remembered I had Orlov’s number and pulled out my phone, tossing it to Will. “Here, I got Orlov’s number from Delaney. Give it to Anya and have her track it. He might still be using the same phone he used when he was dating Delaney,” I barked out.
“Got it. I can’t believe Delaney dated that fucker,” Will muttered. “Anya, I have Orlov’s last known phone number. Try and track them through his phone.”
Will hung up while Anya tried to pick up their signal through Orlov’s phone. I got off the highway at Cicero, not certain which way to go, but every instinct told me he’d be heading south—toward the airport.
“Hey, text Anya and have her also check airports for flights with Emmy’s and whatever the fuck name Orlov is using. He might just be trying to get out of the state, but I have a bad fucking feeling he’s headed out of the country.”
Chapter 33
Emmy
Ivan: Humor him. I’m coming.
I looked down at Ivan’s text again. Even though there wasn’t anything remotely sentimental about what he wrote, the fact that he seemed to know where we were filled me with such relief and gratitude, tears welled in my eyes. I could practically feel his urgency and determination emanating from the words he wrote. It put me as much at ease as possible, given the situation.
Humor him. God, if there was one thing I knew I had to do, it was to pretend that this guy didn’t terrify the shit out of me.
I looked over and found Orlov staring at my phone, a frown on his face. “That’s got to go. Even if you want to be with me, I don’t need Drago and his band of assholes trying to track you down for your sister’s sake. Pitch it out the window,” he said, staring down at me with his unblinking, dark-eyed stare. His tone was almost conversational, but there was a frightening intensity that was hard to ignore.
I reluctantly, and slowly, rolled down the window, waiting to see if the light might change to give Ivan a sense of the direction we were going, but Orlov seemed to be aware of my intention.
“Emmy,” he said in a much harder voice, his eyes staring holes into my skull. “Toss the fucking phone.”
I quickly pitched it out the window, wanting to weep as I stared at my one connection to Ivan in the side mirror as we drove away. I found myself hugging the passenger door, tempted to jump out the next stop light and wishing I hadn’t fastened my seat belt when I’d gotten in the car.
God, his eyes. Those dark eyes. In the photo, they were flat, cold—malevolent. The eyes looking at me now weren’t flat or cold. They were wildly intense as he continually shifted his gaze between me and the road ahead.
I needed to distract Orlov so he would stop staring at me so vigilantly—I was amazed that he could do it so often and also drive the car. “Um, where are we going?” I croaked, trying to sound casual, though my voice was hoarse with stress and anxiety.
“Ukraine.”
“Ukraine? Like in Europe?” I asked in disbelief.
He snorted. “Well, it’s not Ukraine, Indiana. Yes, the Ukraine in Europe. I have a lot of contacts there.”
I gulped. Holy shit, he had a lot planned out.
