Nikolai slips back to my side without expression.
I look at him. “You’re terrifying.”
He shrugs. “I know.”
Back in my room, I lock the door and stare at the number on my screen for a full minute.
What do I even say?
Hello, I think my father may be involved in the attack that nearly got you killed?
Hello, I stole your number from my sister with help from our children?
Hello, I still can’t stop thinking about your mouth?
No. Absolutely not.
I type, delete, type again, delete again. Finally, I settle on the only thing that matters.
I need to see you. It’s about the shooting. Don’t call.
I look at it once more.
Then I send it.
27
ROMAN
I knowit’s her the second I read it.
I need to see you. It’s about the shooting. Don’t call.
My heart does something stupid and immediate in my chest, the kind of reaction I would mock in another man and deny in myself if anyone were foolish enough to ask. It isn’t just relief, though there’s some of that in it. It’s the fact that she reached for me at all.
I lock the screen and put the phone face down on the desk.
Across from me, Mikhail is still going through the notes from Bay Fourteen, talking about routes, names, which customs men are suddenly nervous and which ones are pretending not to be. I’ve heard enough to follow it. Not enough to care properly while that message is in my pocket.
He notices before he says anything. “You with me?”
“Yes.”
“No, you’re not.”
I lean back in the chair. “Go on.”
He closes the file instead. “That bad?”
I think about the wording again. Don’t call. That means she can’t talk freely where she is. Or won’t risk it. Probably both.
“It’s Katerina,” I say.
That gets his attention. “She texted you?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
