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So very sorry I couldn’t make the baby shower. Wishing you warm congratulations on your impending new arrival.
Ivan
She made a sound of disgust and returned the card to the bouquet. The nerve of the man. Annie must have invited him to the baby shower, which made sense given that the only people who knew about Ivan’s earlier betrayal of Lyon were Kira, Alek, and Rurik.
She would dispose of the flowers later, when she wasn’t seeing double from lack of sleep.
She placed a hand on Rurik’s arm as he started down the hall. “I’ll make coffee and some breakfast.”
“You should sleep.” He was, as always, a man of few words.
“I will,” she said, “after we eat.”
He fell in reluctantly behind her.
Annie was already awake and sitting at the table in pajamas, and she jumped up to wrap Kira in a hug.
“Oh, my god,” she said. “You poor thing. You must be so exhausted.”
“I am,” Kira said. “And hungry.”
“Let me make something.” Annie pulled away and started for the kitchen.
“I’ll do it,” Kira said. “I’ve been sitting for hours. I need to move. Sit, Rurik. I’ll get you some coffee.”
She busied herself starting the coffee — a pot this time, not the single cups they used most days — and pulling ingredients from the fridge for French toast and eggs.
Her mind was awhirl with everything that had happened in the past few hours. Lyon had left the hospital with the men shortly after they arrived, but he’d waited until Rurik could join them so Kira had protection. He didn’t know what was going on — no one did — and they needed more information to find out.
She’d stayed with Tasha Morozov, Bud’s wife, while the doctor had seen her husband, trying to ease the other’s woman’s mind, bringing her coffee and food, and keeping her company.
By the time Rurik had driven Kira home, she was both exhausted and strangely wired. She needed a big breakfast and then a nice long sleep.
“Where did you get off to last night?” Zoya said, entering the kitchen. She was already dressed and looking like she’d been up for hours, her hair pulled back into its tight gray bun.
“There was a problem with one of the men,” Kira said. “Well, more than one actually.”
She filled them in as she cracked eggs into two different bowls, one for the French toast and one for the scrambled eggs she would make to go with the bacon. Here, she didn’t have to worry about confidentiality. The people in this room were among her most trusted allies, and she knew no one would say a word outside of this circle.
“I don’t understand,” Annie said when Kira was done. “If Musa and Vadim are dead — and we know they are — who could be behind these attacks?”
“That’s the question Lyon and the other men are trying to answer,” Kira said.
She’d hated saying goodbye to him at the hospital, had hated the subtle slope of defeat in his shoulders that was probably invisible to everyone but her.
She flashed back to their bath the night before. Had she imagined the moment of hesitation when she’d asked him how he was feeling? As if he might be close to opening up to her about the trauma he’d suffered at the hands of Vadim’s men?
She’d been patient, giving him time to come to her when he was ready, letting him use sex to avoid talking about his feelings.
But she didn’t intend to let it last forever. They had to talk — really talk — before the baby came, as much as Lyon clearly wanted to avoid it. If he didn’t confront the trauma that still woke him up at night (he thought she didn’t know), it would eat away at him, a poison with the power to undermine the closeness they’d fought so hard for and the family they were building together.
This newest problem wouldn’t help matters. It would only allow Lyon to bury himself in work, in what could be a very real threat to all he’d built.
She let her mind wander while she melted butter on the cooktop’s built-in griddle and watched Rurik try to concentrate on the paper while Annie prattled on as if he were listening.
“That one’s going to get a bullet in the brain if she doesn’t shut up,” Zoya muttered as she unloaded the dishwasher.
“Stop it!” Kira hissed, swatting at Zoya’s arm.
