Page 93 of Cruel Demands

I start so badly that the page slips from my fingers. Mikhail stands in the doorway. For one second neither of us moves. Then his eyes drop to the paper and something changes in his face. Not much. That somehow makes it worse.

“Where did you get that?” His voice is quiet.

I look at the page on the floor. “It was in the benefit folder.”

He crosses the room. There’s nothing hurried about him, but by the time he reaches my desk, every instinct in my body is telling me I’ve done something wrong.

He picks up the paper. “Which folder?”

I point.

He opens it, checks the remaining pages, then looks at me again. “Did you copy this?”

“No.”

“Photograph it?”

“No.”

“Send it to anyone?”

I stare at him. “Jesus. No.”

His jaw relaxes slightly. I don’t.

“What is Orlov Transport?”

“A company.”

I blink. “I gathered that.”

His eyes meet mine, and I wait. Nothing.

“You are very bad at answering questions.”

“I answer the questions that require answers.”

“That one requires an answer.”

“No. It does not.”

I fold my arms. “Why was this mixed in with government paperwork?”

“It should not have been.”

“That is also not an answer.”

“Taylor.”

There’s a warning in my name. Normally, this would make me want to push harder. Tonight, something about the paper in his hand makes me reconsider. I glance at it again. “What is Lyubertsy?”

“You know what Lyubertsy is.”

“I know where it is. I’m asking why it’s on that page.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Is this political?”