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Then she lifted the napkin and retrieved his cell phone.
Please,please—
She headed to the pink bathroom and shut the door. Turned the lock.
No try run. But maybe try call.
She sat on the deep shelf of the window, leaning in, and flipped open the cell. Grimy, with one button missing, the phone had seen better years.
But it sported two bars.
That should do.
Please, please. She dialed Ned’s number. Please have an international plan—
Ringing. She closed her eyes. More ringing.
Please.
The phone went to voice mail.
Ned!She pressed redial.
Ringing.
Outside, she heard the door open to her room with a slam.
Please.
More voicemail.
Ned!C’mon.
She hung up and pressed send again.
Again, dialing, and then ringing. Banging on the door outside the bathroom.
“Zhenshina! Otkroi dver!”
Ned, please—
“What!”
The sound of his voice jerked her for a moment—
“I don’t want what you’re selling.”
“It’s me! Ned, it’s me!”
A beat, and now Slava was kicking the bathroom door. It shuddered.
“Shae? Oh my—Shae!”
“Listen, Ned. I don’t have time—I’m in Russia.”
“What—”
“I think it’s northern Russia, maybe near the Finnish border—I was driven here. It’s a big estate—”
