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The sea breeze whipped around her as she scanned the horizon for other cars. An SUV blew right past her, followed by a van, then an eighteen-wheeler. Cars of every shape and size went by, sometimes slowing down momentarily, only to whizz off again without stopping. Some people honked at her. Others leaned out their windows and catcalled her. The young woman was totally alone, at the mercy of the uncaring world around her. Annika’s faith in humanity was swiftly fading, along with her hope of ever making that flight.
She checked her phone, whose battery was dangerously low, to find that time was running out. Annika was already achy from sleeping in a car the past few nights, and now her legs were starting to hurt from walking. The sun burned her face. The wind tangled her hair and gave her goosebumps. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She could hear another vehicle approaching, but she didn’t even lift her eyes to look at it this time, assuming they would simply pass her by too. But to her surprise, she realized that the car was slowing down, pulling to the shoulder of the road.
Annika stopped and stared in amazement. The black sedan had dark-tinted windows, and she could barely see the man behind the wheel, but she knew better than to question the only opportunity she had seen thus far. She hoisted her backpack over her shoulder and rushed to the passenger side. The driver pushed the door open, and Annika happily slid inside with a big smile on her pretty face. She tossed her backpack in the back seat, and the car was moving again before she could even put on her seatbelt.
“Thank you so much. I was starting to think I’d be out here forever,” Annika gushed to the driver, who was a sturdy-looking man in his twenties.
He gave her a smile that didn’t touch his eyes and said, “Lucky I found you.”
Annika went on, “So, anyway, I don’t know where you’re headed, but I have a flight to catch at the Arcata airport. It’s kind of a dire situation, to be honest. I’m sorry, but I don’t even have any money to offer you. Is that okay?”
The driver nodded and replied, “Don’t need your money, sweetheart.”
Annika’s shoulders relaxed. She leaned back in the seat, gazing out the window as the fields rolled past. “Beautiful area, isn’t it? Do you live around here?” she asked idly.
“Yes,” he said, presumably to both questions.
“I’m from out of town, myself,” she continued. “I’m actually about to move to New York, believe it or not.”
“Is that so?” the man said.
Annika nodded. “Yeah. It’s kind of a long story, but—”
She trailed off when the car made an unexpected turn, heading east. She looked at the driver quizzically and asked, “Shouldn’t we have stayed on that road? I mean, it basically leads straight to the airport.”
“I’m a local,” he replied. “You can trust me.”
“So it’s, like, a shortcut?” Annika pressed.
“Something like that,” he said shortly.
Something in his tone made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Annika swallowed hard and began to inch her phone out of her pocket surreptitiously. Her heart skipped when she saw the time. Her flight was due to start boarding within the hour. As the minutes ticked by, Annika realized that they weren’t getting any closer. In fact, they seemed to be driving in the opposite direction.
“What’s going on? Where are we going?” she demanded to know.
The driver didn’t even glance at her. He said nothing.
Starting to panic, Annika burst out, “Please! I’m going to miss my flight!”
She flung her hand out to grab the door handle, as though she was simply going to jump out of a moving car. At this rate, she was desperate enough to try it. But the driver deftly locked the doors and slammed his foot on the gas. The engine roared as the car picked up speed, the landscape flashing by so quickly it made Annika dizzy. She stared in horror at the driver, wondering who the hell this guy was and where he was taking her.
One thing was for certain: she wasn’t going to make that flight.
CHAPTER5
MIKHAIL
Seagulls chirpedand waddled around the parking lot in front of the Silver Sand Motel. They pecked at a discarded container of French fries, flapping their wings at each other in their haste to grab a fry. The birds were accustomed to treating the motel like a drive-thru. The people who checked into the Silver Sand tended not to be especially conscientious about their littering. They didn’t come here to enjoy the atmosphere and leave it better than they found it.
The motel itself didn’t exactly inspire greatness in its tenants. It wasn’t the sort of place that asked you to care about it. The motel was cheap, had little competition out here in the countryside, and offered a small degree of discretion, but the list of benefits pretty much ended there. The place was old and rundown, with years of proximity to the ocean accelerating its age. The Silver Sand was only a couple minutes’ drive or a leisurely walk to the coast, where the asphalt rather unceremoniously concluded in a dead end, with the water’s edge only feet away. The sea air and the guests themselves had done a number on the motel. The walls, once sunny yellow and cherry red, were faded to a dirty beige and orange. Many of the doors were scuffed to the point of hanging slightly crooked in the frame. There were punctures in the walls, some indicating a kick or even a stab. Even the concrete walkways showed signs of erosion. The drive from the road to the parking lot was bumpy, mostly gravel and disheveled concrete chunks. Tiny intrepid weeds poked through the cracks in the cement as nature did her best to reclaim it.
The moth-eaten shutters were drawn shut in every single room except for one on the second floor, which overlooked the parking lot and the dark lapping waves in the distance. With the curtains pulled to each side, one could see the hulking dark shape of a man pacing slowly back and forth in front of the window. The late afternoon sun was intense. It broke through the window in shafts of glaring light, illuminating the humble motel room. Apart from the man, there was also a black duffel bag on the bed. A shiny handgun lay next to it, along with a length of rope, cuff ties, and bandanas, which were almost certainly not there for fashion purposes. These dangerous toys looked oddly out of place against the cheesy tropical print of the bedspread. The lamp on the nightstand, which was patterned with seashells, flickered like it might burn out at any moment.
Mikhail stopped pacing for a few minutes and stood squarely in front of the window. He had a scowl on his handsome face and his hands clenched at his sides. He drew in a deep breath, his calculating eyes rooted to the road. He watched a couple of trucks roll by before getting impatient and resuming his pacing. The analog clock on the wall, off by an hour and several minutes, ticked loudly behind him.
For the past few days, time had definitely not been on Mikhail’s side. He thought back to that fateful stroll across the Sokolov Estate with his father just days earlier. Everything had seemed so normal then. All was unfolding according to plan. Sure, Mikhail had been a little taken aback by his father’s decision to unite the Sokolovs and Baranovs with a wedding. It wasn’t a bizarre idea—diplomatic marriages had a long and storied past. It wasn’t unheard of within the organization. But to spring the idea on him so suddenly, at such a crucial point in the succession process… Well, Mikhail had his doubts. He didn’twantto marry the Baranov girl, whoever she was. But as soon as his father revealed his decision, Mikhail had fallen in line. After all, Vasili may only have had a short time left to live, but he was still the Pakhan. For now.
But learning the girl had escaped? That had been unexpected, as was his father’s reaction to the news. Mikhail had felt anger, disgust, annoyance, maybe even the faintest edge of panic. But Vasili, eternally a step ahead and above it all, simply chuckled.
