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Supposed to be here… Maybe there’s traffic…
I heard the killers say that, but for some reason, I didn’t put two and two together, didn’t realize they were talking about me, waiting for me.
“I don’t understand.” I’m shaking again, trembling with a chill that has nothing to do with the AC inside the car. “Why would anyone want me dead? I haven’t done anything, I don’t know anyone, I’m just—just me.”
Nikolai’s expression shifts, a strange pity entering his gaze. “No, zaychik, I don’t think you are.”
“What?” I push against his bizarrely hard chest again—and nearly faint from the fresh explosion of pain in my arm. His face swims in front of my eyes, and I’m still fighting not to pass out when a startling realization filters in.
That hardness is a bulletproof vest.
In the next moment, however, I forget all about it because Nikolai asks, “Does the name Tom Bransford mean anything to you?”
The syllables don’t make sense at first. “You mean… the presidential candidate?” As soon as the question leaves my lips, I realize how absurd it is. He can’t possibly be talking about the California senator who’s all over the news these days, the one they’re comparing to JFK. I must’ve misheard or—
“That’s the one.” His eyes gleam like antique gold. “Unless there’s another Tom Bransford with the resources to hire professional assassins, erase security tapes, and alter police records.”
“Police records? What—”
“I’ve gone through all the files relating to your case,” he says gently, “and there’s nothing about the masked men at your mom’s apartment—nor the black pickup that nearly ran you over. In fact, according to the official record, it was a neighbor who discovered your mother; you never even showed up to identify the body.”
“That’s not true! I went to the station and—”
“I know.” His gaze darkens. “And there’s more. Your emails to the journalists never reached their destination. Someone with a very specific set of skills made sure they’d be blocked or marked as spam—and they also got rid of whatever proof there was of your story, like traffic cam recordings and security tapes that would’ve shown you getting attacked.”
I feel like a sinkhole is opening underneath me. “How do you know all this?” My voice shakes, my thoughts spinning like twigs in a tornado. I don’t know what to think, what to believe, and the throbbing pain in my arm isn’t helping. “How did you—”
“Because I also have resources. Including some that Bransford doesn’t.”
Of course. That’s how he found me so fast today—and why I’m completely screwed if he intends to harm me. My heart thuds painfully, a cold sweat drenching my shirt as another wave of dizziness attacks me, making black dots dance at the corners of my vision. Blood loss, I realize dimly; that must be what’s causing this. Desperately, I suck in air, but it only helps a little, and my voice sounds like it’s coming from far away as I ask shakily, “Why did you come after me today? Why—” I drag in another breath. “Why are you bringing me back?”
His eyes return to their bright, savage tiger hue. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Because I ran, I think woozily. Because you’re most likely a psychopath incapable of real feelings. Because none of this, especially you and me, makes any sense.
I end up giving the only reason I can, one that weighs on me heaviest of all. “Because if you’re right about Bransford, you and your family are in even greater danger.” My voice wavers as another wave of lightheadedness crashes into me. Still, I persevere. “You have to let me go. Now. Before it’s too late.”
A dark curve touches his sensuous lips, a glimmer of wry amusement kindling in his gaze as he gently cups my cheek. “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it, zaychik,” he says softly, “but my family and I aren’t exactly strangers to danger. In fact, we’re well acquainted with it.”
