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“Tell me who’s dead,” I bark.
“Who is—Is that—” The man on the phone splutters.
“Yes, it’s Ivan,” Yasha says. “Skip the fangirling and tell thepakhanwhat you told me.”
The man clears his throat. “Every guard at the safehouse in Moscow is dead. No one had heard from them in a while, so I went to check. All three of them were goners. Smelled like they’d been dead for a few days already.”
The last message I received from the safehouse was a notice that Francia had arrived and would be “taken care of.” Usually, that would mean she’d be offered food, clothes, and a bed. In this case, it meant Francia was going to be bunking with the men who were deemed too unpredictable and reckless to live Stateside.
She was in for hell.
Or so I thought.
I look to Yasha as I ask, “And Francia? Where is she?”
“There’s no sign of her. She disappeared. We have men looking for her but—”
I don’t need to hear anymore. I run for my car and call Cora at the same time. I told her I’d make myself scarce while she had her dinner with Marcus, but this is bigger than that. Her safety trumps everything else. I need to hear her voice.Now.
The phone rings and rings and rings. Then her voicemail picks up.
“Fuck!” I roar.
Yasha is right behind me. “I’m calling Jorden to see if she’s heard anything from either of them.”
“If Jorden has heard from Francia, she’s already dead.”
Yasha’s jaw clenches, but there’s no point in sugarcoating the reality. If Francia is back, there’s only one thing on her mind: revenge.
I call Niles, but I’m not getting anything. My only hope now is that it’s a signal jammer. If it’s not, then they’re all—
I can’t sit and think about possibilities for another second. I need to do something. I need to get to Cora.
“I’m going to the mansion.”
“We have no idea what’s happening there,” Yasha protests. “Give me a second and I can—”
“I’ll call you when I know something. Or you call me when you know something. But I’m not leaving Cora alone right now.”
Yasha waves. “You go. I’ll see you soon.”
I hope like hell he’s right.
61
CORA
I need to run.
I need to scream.
I need to tell Ivan.
But there isn’t time for any of it. For a second, it’s like I’m back at the dinner last week. I’m having déjà vu. Francia hurls herself at me exactly like she did before.
The only difference is, no one is here to stop her this time.
There is nothing between me and Francia except empty space and she’s closing it quickly.
