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I dial my guy at HR. “I need to know what security booth O’Shea is working right now. If he is.”
He gives me the info, and my heart starts pumping as I head to the road that goes around the resort, circling past post 43, the Eastside entrance.
The sun is rising, and I’ve already worked up enough sweat, jogging up the hill and toward the eastern post. I narrow my eyes on the checkpoint at a distance, then keep my eyes down as I approach at a light jogging pace, then cry out loudly and stop, holding one of my knees with both hands.
“Shit,” I murmur and stand bent over for a moment until I hear slow heavy footsteps.
“You alright, miss?”
I raise my eyes.
That British accent. Jacob O’Shea. Age thirty-seven. 5’6.
Looks and sounds about right.
Tactical pants, duty belt, vest over a black t-shirt, sunglasses that disguise his eyes. Though, unlike his file picture, he has a several-day stubble.
“Just… Something with my knee,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
I straighten up and wave my hand at him with a smile and start walking. “It’s just—”
I cry out, faking pain.
“Blin, shto za fignia,” I curse in Russian, rubbing my knee.Dammit, what the hell. “It’s a pain, you know?” I roll my eyes at him.
Slowly, he tips his sunglasses onto his forehead, his eyes locked on mine, smile fading. “What was that?”
“What?” I smile broader.
“You just said something.” He takes a step closer, his eyes drilling into me with more danger than I’d like to see.
I frown. “Nothing. My knee. It’s a pain in the ass, you know?”
The guards don’t have cameras on their phones. He can’t snap a picture of me.
As per the timeline, Milena Tsariuk was in the States when he was in Russia. Pictures and reality are two different things. You strip makeup off a doll, and no one will recognize her in real life. And Milena Tsariukwasa doll. If this guard thinks I can speak Russian, it only plays in my favor. If he has any connection to Aleksei Tsariuk, he’ll try to find me.
“How long have you been on this island?” he asks, taking another step closer, giving away his interest. And obviously not in my injured knee. “Haven’t seen you before.”
I’m reeling him in, and my heart pounds at the thought that I might’ve hit the jackpot.
“Oh, you know. Too long for my patience. I don’t like to be out in public much,” I say.
“Why is that?”
His friend is getting interested too, taking slow steps toward us. I’m not sure if it’s Cunningham, his buddy he joined Ayana security with or not. I need to check his schedule.
“I don’t like people prying,” I say, then feign concern and look around awkwardly, still rubbing my knee. “Have a good day.” I straighten up and start walking away, then only several feet away, trip over gravel on purpose and murmur, “Tshiort.”Dammit.Loud enough for them to hear.
“Hey!” he calls, making me turn. “What’s your name again?”
I shake my head and look away.
But when I look back a minute later, the two guards still stand in the middle of the road, watching me.
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