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“Yes.”
Her jaw dropped. She was embarrassed she hadn’t noticed someone tailing her. I wanted to ask so many questions in that moment, but reminded myself there was only one that mattered.
“Do you work for him?” she asked.
I frowned. “Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Are you a Fed?”
“No.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Every day of my life.”
“Let me see your identification.”
“The last time you made that request, my balls ended up in my throat.”
“I won’t knee you again.”
Eyeing her like a venomous snake, I took a step back, then produced my driver’s license, even though I knew she was smart enough to know that my ID could have been easily forged—just like the other two in my duffel, the ones in my safe room at my house, and in my safe deposit box, and in Astor’s office ...
Unimpressed, Sophia sniffed and folded her arms over her chest. “Ask me your question and get out.”
“Where is Kusma Petrova?”
Her jaw clenched. “Do you work for him?”
“You’d know if I did, wouldn’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I released a long sigh and glanced at my watch. “Miss Banks, I couldn’t care less that you are an informant for Black Cell. All I need from you is—”
“What?” She gaped at me, then shook her head as if it were all too much to process. “I have to get out of here.”
She breezed past me, but I caught her arm.
“Not until you tell me where Kusma is.”
“I don’t know—let me go. Ihaveto go.”
“Why are you running?”
“Because if you found me, they can too. And if you’ve been asking questions about the Cell, trust me, they know.” She grew more agitated, more panicked. “You have to get out of here. He will kill you. He will kill me. He’ll kill us both.”
“Drop the cover. Stop lying and just tell me where he is.”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
Sophia jerked out of my hold, fuming now. “I don’t know, all right? You’re wasting your time here.”
“You’re really starting to piss me off.” I yanked her to me, nose to nose, as her breath hitched and her lips parted. “You will not leave this house until you give me the information I need.”
“I don’t know where Kusma is,” she hissed, inches from my face. “You can torture me to death—actually, be my guest. At least I won’t have to run any—”
