Page 130 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“Of course you can,” I say.

Hope flashes across his face. I let him have it for one second.

Then I look at Dima. “Lock him down. No one knows we have him. Make him useful.”

Dima glances at Pavel. “And Sidorin?”

“Same.”

Pavel goes pale. “You can’t.”

“Watch us.” I push the chair back and stand.

“Congratulations,” Dima tells Oleg, patting his cheek once. “You found new employment.”

I leave the transfer point with the hotel name, the courier channel, and proof that Patrick is alive because Morozov needs what he knows. We suspected it before. Now Oleg has said it on tape.

Near evening, I return to the estate. In a service washroom, I clean my hands twice, though there is nothing on them. The water runs clear. My fingers keep closing and opening until I force them flat against the sink.

Mikhail’s red car is in my coat pocket. I don’t remember putting it there.

The north wing is warmer than the rest of the house. A folded blanket sits over the back of a chair. Someone has left a half-finished cup of tea on a side table. The guards stand farther from the nursery door, and staff cross the corridor with their eyes down.

Somewhere ahead, a child laughs once, then Kathryn answers with tired patience.

I head for Cara’s door expecting anger, strategy, or both. Raised voices reach me before I knock, Kathryn first, then Cara. My hand stops near the wood.

Oleg led me through Moscow, Patrick’s courier channel, and Morozov’s hotel. None of that helps me open this door.

31

CARA

Kathryn sits on the edge of the nursery couch with her bag still packed at her feet, and I stand by the door, half angry with her for choosing this moment to throw me off and half furious with myself for not seeing how badly she was falling apart.

Her eyes are red, and I don’t know what to say. My throat feels scraped raw.

Mikhail is somewhere beyond the sitting area, busy with his games. Everyone in the north wing keeps their voices low around him. He’s been scared, and he doesn’t know enough to ask the right questions yet. Somewhere in the argument, we forgot that.

Kathryn wipes under one eye with her thumb. “Say it,” she says, her voice rough. “Say the part you keep swallowing.”

I fold my arms around myself and straighten. “I survived by staying one step ahead.”

She sits rigidly.

My eyes drop to the floor because saying it to her face feels harder. “I stayed alert. I made myself the person in the middle of every emergency, and I did most of it alone. That included building routines and codes. I learned the neighbors, the preschool moms, the delivery times, and every person who got close to him.”

Kathryn presses her dress flat over her knees. “You learned about me.”

“I trusted you,” I say, taking one step toward her. “With Mikhail, I trusted you more than anyone.”

Her mouth twists.

I lower myself onto the mat in front of her. “I needed someone, Kath. I couldn’t trust my own family.”

My voice breaks on the last word.

Kathryn gets off the couch and kneels beside me, and when she wraps both arms around me, I fold against her.