I go to the computer and pull up Google Maps. “What’s the location?”
He tosses his phone down, and I locate the area, then I zoom in and turn the laptop so he can see.
“We go in from this way here, park, and go by foot. It’s the back way, and not from the town at the bottom or the highway. They’d never expect us.”
He nods slowly. “And if she’s not there? This is my sister, Ilya.”
“She’ll be there. It’s the smarter choice.”
“You could be wrong,” he says softly.
I look at him. “I could be. So we send Pavel to the warehouse. Pavel can handpick a crew who’ll pick off anyone before they see us coming. If she’s there, we’ll know before we’ve even left Chicago, and we can turn back.”
Demyan doesn’t answer for a few beats. Then he nods. “Okay. Let’s get everything in place and get the show on the road.”
We’re in position,our eyes on the cabin. The cars are a distance back, and Demyan, six men, and I are hiding, weapons ready, taking in the scene just below.
Pavel called as we were leaving Chicago. The warehouse was clear.
During the whole drive, my nerves thrummed and spiked, and the scenarios running through my head both terrified and debilitated me. Because if she’s not here, then…
Even now, looking down, I pray she’s there somewhere.
And alive.
Untouched.
Two men are outside, smoking. They’re armed, but they’re not alert. They don’t expect us.
It doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. It just means they’re not on high alert.
I scan the area.
There are three others farther down at the edge of the trees, their eyes on the road, watching for us. For someone.
As I listen, laughter drifts up from the cabin.
My blood starts to boil.
I move close to Demyan. “Melor.”
Another voice says something about how fine the day is in Russian.
“And I bet that’s Simonov,” mutters Demyan. “My men and I will be the distraction. You can sneak in through the back and see if Alina’s there.”
I nod.
There’s only one chance at this.
On the count of three, we go our separate ways. I force myself to take my time, treading carefully, so as not to alert anyone.
There’s no back door, but there is a big, partially open window that leads into the bathroom. I carefully pull it open more, and as a shout rises and gunfire starts, I climb in.
I don’t worry about Demyan. He does this shit all the fucking time. It’s like life blood to him.
Besides, my mind only has room for one person: Alina.
I land on the floor as softly as I can, catching the metal toilet paper stand before it crashes to the ground.
