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“What about you? Can he hurt you?”
I take his hand and kiss the inside of it, then hug him. “No, sweetheart, he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”
Lev knocks on the door that I’d left ajar, pushing it open all the way.
I straighten, keeping hold of Josh’s hand, and watch Lev process what he sees. I study him, seeing how tightly his jaw is set and the furrow between his eyebrows.
“Pasha’s doing well,” he says, then turns to Josh. “He said he’ll be making you marshmallow pancakes again in no time.”
I look down to see Josh smile, and he’s just a normal little kid again. “I love marshmallow pancakes.”
We walk back out into the bedroom where Lev switches on a cartoon for Josh.
“Pasha’s really okay?” I ask.
“Yes. He wanted to make sure you knew, and he also apologized.”
“Apologized? For what? He almost died for us.”
“He wanted you to know he felt bad about leaving you and Josh to go to the hardware store.”
“I hope you told him not to be silly.”
“I did. But he’s right. He shouldn’t have left you.”
“Lev—”
“We need to discuss other things, though.” His expression darkens. “Where’s your new phone?”
“In my purse,” I tell him, getting it out of my bag. I hadn’t even looked at it. This is the one Alexei had given to Lev. “Here.” I hand it to him.
Lev takes it, fingers quick as he types something in, then holds it out to me. “I just programmed Alexei’s private number.” He holds up the contact under AX. “If anything happens to me—”
“What?”
“If anything happens to me, or we get separated, or you can’t get in touch with me for any reason, you call him. He’s the only one you call. Do you understand?”
“We’re not going to get separated. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“Shh.” He glances at Josh. “I don’t want Josh getting upset.”
“But—”
“Just a precaution. That’s all. Nothing is going to happen to me, Kat.”
I take the phone and push it into my back pocket.
“Is everything okay? Did something happen on your call? Is there something new and that’s why—”
“We need to get on the road. I want to put more distance between us and Vasily. I’m going to run to the store and buy some things we need.” He gestures to my hair. “You’ll need to color your hair. It’s too recognizable.”
I touch my hair. “Josh is used to me like this. I don’t think we should change—”
“The important thing is to keep Josh safe, and that means to keep out of sight. We’ll find a way to explain it.”
“He wants to go home.”
“Yeah, well, he can’t do that right now, and neither can you, so stay focused, Katerina.” This is a different side to Lev from the tender one of last night and the fatherly one of this morning. This is the sharper, edgier side. And I realize something. Something I’ve known all along but never consciously acknowledged.
He’s a trained killer.
He watches me as I think this, and I know he knows what’s going on in my head. I see it on his face. But he doesn’t try to soothe me or fill my head with pretty, meaningless words. This is reality. He and I both know it.
“Did you only talk to Pasha?” I know he didn’t. I heard him say Alexei’s name, and I get the feeling he heard something he didn’t like.
“No, I spoke with my cousin too.”
“Did something else happen? You seem more anxious.”
“Of course, I’m anxious, Kat. How do you expect me to be?” he snaps but catches himself, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”
“What did he tell you?”
“What do you need me to pick up for Josh at the store?” he asks instead of answering my question, and something in his expression tells me I’m on to something.
“Um…he has some clothes from Talia but probably needs some more things, jeans and sweaters, underwear, socks. And maybe some toys? Just some trucks or toy cars. Do you remember the cereal he likes?”
Lev nods. “What about you? What do you need?”
“Nothing I can think of. Well, maybe…Can’t we come with you?”
“It’s better if you stay here. They’ll be looking for the three of us.”
Shit. I knew this, didn’t I?
“What do you need me to pick up?”
“Tampons.”
He nods, and if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he walks me into the bathroom and closes the door. From the back of the waistband of his jeans and under his shirt, he pulls out a small pistol and holds it in the palm of his hand.
I back up a step and shake my head.
“It’s not exactly the same model you pulled on me but similar enough.”
“I don’t want that.”
He steps closer, puts the pistol on the counter behind me and pulls me to him, rubbing my arms.
“You won’t need it,” he says, “but I’d feel better if you had it while I’m not here.”
