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“That guy? I barely even got a look at him, and we hardly even talked.”
My head was spinning, forcing my mind to scan back to that awful day when Yuri had lured me out of my school and forced me into his car. Shaking off the memory of Yuri’s leering, bloated face, I attempted to remember any identifiable characteristic of the guy driving the car but came up with nothing.
Ivan’s emerald eyes bored into me. “Well, he got a long look at you. You said you hardly talked. What did you say to each other?”
I shook my head, trying to remember exact words when the only thing I recalled about that ride was the waves of terror crashing through me, convinced I was going to be raped and murdered.
“Emmy, you’re shaking,” Ivan said in a much softer voice, sliding his rough hand around the back of my neck and squeezing. “Look at me.” My panicked eyes found his steady gaze. “Breathe.” I took some deep breaths and my trembling body immediately relaxed under his strong, comforting touch.
Tension ebbed from my body, the physical connection between us stabilizing me. This was exactly how his touch had felt that night. How he made me feel every time I’d heard from him—relaxed, safe, protected. “Now, think.”
I took a deep breath, calm enough to focus on what the driver—Orlov—and I had discussed. “Okay, Yuri was on the phone, and I was searching for a way to escape while he was distracted. There was another guy there, but he was on his phone, too, and wasn’t really paying attention to me, either. I was looking around and trying to see how fast we were going, where we were, that kind of thing. I thought…I thought if I could get the door open, or even the window, I could maybe jump out and get away.”
Ivan’s hand tightened on my nape and his lips thinned in anger. “Continue.”
“I was stuck in the middle and it looked like we were going pretty fast, so I looked up to the front, wondering if maybe I could get out that way since the divider thing was down. It was a ridiculous idea, but I was pretty desperate. When I looked up there, I saw the driver staring at me. Well, he looked like he was staring at me. He was wearing sunglasses, but it seemed like he was looking at me—by the tilt of his head, you know? He took the opportunity to speak because Yuri was distracted. He said…” I frowned. I had forgotten his conversation completely in the aftermath of everything.
Ivan gave my neck another gentle squeeze. “Go on.”
“He said he wouldn’t have done it this way. He wouldn’t have grabbed me, that it was a bad move. He shook his head and said it was a bad strategy—kidnapping me and then Katya. I remember being worried that Yuri was going to shoot him or something. That other guy, he told the driver—Orlov—to shut up, that the plan was solid. That Katya would come willingly because they had me. But he just shook his head and looked at me, giving me this small smile, and said, ‘you understand me, right?’ I might have nodded, or said yes, but I don’t remember. I thought the whole conversation was weird, but I had other things to worry about at the time. Then he just smiled and nodded his head but stopped talking because Yuri got off the phone.”
“Is that it?” Ivan asked.
I started to nod my head, then remembered something else—the music. A discussion of Mozart's concerto. It was playing while I was in the car, and I hadn’t been able to listen to it since.
“There was another thing. Orlov was playing classical music. Mozart. He suddenly turned the music down and asked if I knew the song. I was confused at first but then he told me I’d been humming along to it, which I didn’t even realize. I told him I played it on my harp.”
“What did he say?”
“He gave me a big smile and said, ‘You play the harp?’ Then he told me the harp was a beautiful instrument, very beautiful. Which…that sounds nice, but the way he said it was sort of creepy. Then he said…God, I forgot all about this. He said, ‘Maybe this was the right play.’ Before I could reply, he started barking something in Russian to Yuri. I have no idea what they were talking about, but it definitely sounded like some kind of argument. By then, we were at Katya’s house, and everything went down.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
Ivan looked grim but nodded his head. His hand slid away, and I felt the loss immediately.
“Why are you even asking about him? I mean, even if he did say something about me years ago, he’s obviously not around now.”
“We thought we killed him, but we never found his body. We don’t know where he is.”
My brain had no interest in latching on to the panic that was threatening to fire on all cylinders. It went straight into denial mode. “That fire was months ago, and nothing has happened.”
Ivan stared at me, his expression intent. “Are you sure nothing has happened? You mentioned in your emails people trying to meet up with you after your concerts. Anything like that still going on? Anything weird?”
I stared at him, shaken to realize something weird had been happening, but I never considered it was anything like this.
Ivan’s eyes zeroed in on my face, as if analyzing every micro-expression. “What? What are you remembering?”
“A couple of things. I get flowers after shows sometimes, but I’ve been getting a dozen roses, from the same person, for years now. At my last concert at the end of June, I got three dozen roses. I sometimes get flowers after shows, but never anything like that. I just assumed it was some overly enthusiastic music lover.”
Ivan scowled ferociously. “Strange men send you flowers? You have men wanting to meet you after shows and sending you things?”
“Yes, sometimes, but I suppose some of them could be from strange women,” I said, looking to lessen the severity of his irritation.
His jaw tightened. “What the hell, Emmy? Why would your mother let that continue? You don’t let strange guys give you things. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
I stared at Ivan. His argument was just so irrational. “What am I supposed to do? It’s a common occurrence for performers, Ivan.”
