Page 158 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Kathryn sits on the rug with Mikhail tucked against her side, one arm around his middle while he lines up toy cars on her knee. Cara is on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders, her shoes kicked off, her hair loose around her face.

Lidiya sits on the floor near Cara’s feet and folds the edge of the blanket over her ankles each time it slips. Anna kneels beside the coffee table with a glass of water, a cup of tea, and a small medical kit.

Mikhail sees me first.

“Dmitri!” he says, scrambling up. “Look. Mommy bringed blue back.”

Cara closes her eyes for a second.

I kneel because he’s already running toward me.

“He raced well,” I say, my voice rough.

Mikhail points at the table. “Blue crashed but came back.”

“Yes,” I say, reaching into my coat pocket.

I slowly take out his red car and place it beside the blue.

Mikhail leans close, thrilled. “Red and blue.”

Cara opens her eyes. The corner of her mouth trembles.

“They can win all the races together,” I say, keeping my voice serious for him.

Mikhail shakes his head hard. “All of them.”

Cara looks at the two cars, then at me. Her hand moves over Mikhail’s hair, and mine rests beside the cars on the table. We came back. Both of us.

38

CARA

Mikhail puts the red car on Dmitri’s knee and the blue car on mine.

“Blue has to rest,” he says, patting the scratched roof with one finger. “Blue had a hard race.”

Dmitri sits on the nursery rug with one leg bent, his big hand resting near the track Mikhail has built from books, blocks, and one upside-down slipper. He looks strange there, all black clothes and bruised knuckles, letting a four-year-old decide road rules.

Mikhail is in his dinosaur pajamas, inside out because he’d had opinions after bath time and Kathryn had chosen survival over principle. A stegosaurus seam now runs down his stomach.

“Red can guard,” Dmitri says, moving the car beside mine.

Mikhail laughs. “Cars don’t guard. Cars race.”

Dmitri glances at me.

He keeps doing that. Every few seconds, his eyes find my face, checking for a nod, a smile, any sign that I’m inside my own skin and not somewhere back at the hotel.

I try to smile back, but my face won’t move. My head feels packed too tight, pressure building behind my eyes. Patrick is on the floor again every time I blink. Eyes open. Mouth red. Hand reaching for a deal, for a phone, for me, for anything that would keep him alive another minute.

Mikhail makes an engine sound and bumps red into a wooden block.

Dmitri plays along, but his gaze cuts back to me.

I stand before I know I am going to.

Mikhail looks up. “Where’s Mama going?”