“Ah.” She looks around at the guards and other passersby, most of whom are surreptitiously staring at us. “So this is strategic?”
“Partially.” I’m holding Yulia’s hand because I want to, but broadcasting our relationship to others is a definite bonus, especially since a few of the guards are eyeing her long, slender legs with obvious appreciation.
I glare at them, and they swiftly turn away.
Fuckers.
Yulia glances up at me and steps closer, all but pressing herself against my side as we walk. I give her an approving nod. She’s smart to publicly accept my protection. As soon as everyone on the estate knows she’s mine, she’ll be safe.
We pass by the guards’ barracks, and Yulia looks up at me again. “Where are we going?” she asks. “I thought Michael was staying here.”
“He is, but Diego told me he’s at the training field with him this morning. So that’s where we’re heading.”
“Oh, I see.” Yulia falls silent as we walk past a small group of guards. As soon as we’re out of earshot, she slows down and turns her head to look at me. “Lucas…” she says quietly. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“When we first returned, Dr. Goldberg mentioned you’d been injured recently. What happened? Was there some trouble on your trip?”
“Trouble?” With my free hand, I absentmindedly touch my ribs, which bother me less each day. “Yeah, you could say that.” And as we walk, I tell Yulia about the events in Chicago, from the nightclub assault on Rosa to the chase and its aftermath. I try to gloss over the more gruesome details, but even so, by the time I’m done, Yulia is ghost white, her hand icy in my grasp.
“You could’ve been killed,” she whispers in horror. “And Rosa… Oh God, poor Rosa…”
“Yes, about that…” We’re not far from the training field, so I stop and turn to face Yulia. “Why don’t you tell me about Rosa? I want to know how she helped you escape.”
Yulia’s hand stiffens in my hold before she relaxes it again. “What do you mean?” she says, her eyebrows pulling together in seeming confusion. Her expression is the perfect imitation of sincere cluelessness; if I hadn’t felt her hand twitch, I would’ve never known that my question gave her pause. “She didn’t—”
“No more lies, remember?” I interrupt. “We had an agreement.”
Yulia licks her lips. “Lucas, I…”
“You won’t be ratting her out, if that’s what worries you,” I say, releasing her hand. Stepping closer, I grasp Yulia’s chin, tilting her head up to meet my gaze. “We know what Rosa did, and we have the video to prove it.”
“You do?” Yulia’s slim throat works. “Did you— Is she okay?”
“For now.” I drop my hand but don’t bother elaborating further. “Now tell me exactly what happened. How did you escape?”
She stares at me, and I know she’s deciding whether she can believe me about the video. Finally, she says quietly, “On the day before your departure, Rosa came by and gave me a razor blade and a hair pin. She also told me a little bit about the guards’ schedules, including the fact that the ones at North Tower Two play poker on Thursday afternoons.”
“I see.” That explains why Yulia walked by that tower at that exact time. “And why was she helping you? Did your agency get to her?”
“No, of course not.” Yulia seems surprised. “How could they have?”
“I don’t know. But then why would she do this?”
Yulia hesitates again, then says slowly, “It was strange. She acted like she didn’t like me, so I didn’t understand at first, but then…”
“Then what?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue.
“Then she mentioned something about Nora,” she says, staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes. “It sounded like she asked her to do this. Rosa wouldn’t tell me why, though.”
Well, fuck. I want to punch someone.
Esguerra’s wife didn’t lie after all.
“Do you know why this Nora helped me?” Yulia asks, and I realize I’m just standing there, seething with silent rage. “She’s Esguerra’s wife, right?”
“She is,” I say grimly, turning to resume walking. “Unfortunately, she is.”
If she weren’t, she’d already be dead. But as things stand, unless Esguerra chooses to punish Nora, she’s untouchable, and if Rosa acted on her orders, the maid might be too.
38
Yulia
As we resume walking toward the training field, I sneak a cautious glance at Lucas, trying to see if he bought my story. So far, it looks like he has. His square jaw is taut with anger, his mouth set in a hard, thin line. He looks like he’s ready to murder someone, and to my surprise, I feel a tiny spurt of guilt for lying to him about Nora.
It’s as if I’m betraying his trust.
No. I shake off that ridiculous feeling. There’s never been trust between us. Lust, yes, and even some incongruous tenderness, but not trust. I may no longer be handcuffed, but with the trackers embedded in my body, I’m still Lucas’s captive, and falling for him didn’t make me blind. I know what kind of man he is and what he’s capable of. If Lucas knew that Nora told me to implicate her in my escape, it’s highly probable that the maid would be killed—which, I’m guessing, is why Esguerra’s wife took the fall for her. If she took the fall, that is. It’s possible the petite girl simply owned up to the truth, and if that’s the case, I didn’t lie to Lucas. I just didn’t mention Nora’s visit, which is a completely different matter.
Besides, when I think about what happened to Rosa, I feel sick inside. I know how horrible she must be feeling. The last thing I want is for her to be hurt more.
Thankfully, as we walk, Lucas’s anger seems to dissipate, and by the time we approach a large, grass-covered field, he appears to have gotten over it completely.
“Is this it?” I ask, looking around the field. It’s divided equally between a shooting range and an obstacle course. There’s also a flat-roofed building—an indoor gym, maybe?—on one side and what looks like a supply shed in the corner.
“Yes, this is the training area,” Lucas says as we walk past a few guards practicing mixed martial arts. “And I think that’s your brother over there.” He points toward a small cluster of men on the obstacle course.
Sure enough, my brother’s bright blond hair stands out like a beacon among the mostly Latino guards. He’s doing pushups on the grass next to a slim, brown-haired guard who looks to be only a few years older than him.
As we get closer, I realize they’re having a competition. The other men are standing in a semi-circle, cheering them on and placing bets in a colorful mixture of Spanish and English. Both Misha and the guy he’s competing against are shirtless and dripping with sweat, and I wonder how long they’ve been at it. Not that it takes much exertion to sweat in this weather; my own shirt is sticking to my back just from walking here.
“Looks like Michael is ahead,” Lucas comments, and I hear a note of dark amusement in his voice. “I’ll have to boost the new recruits’ training regimen. This simply won’t do.”
I shush him, not wanting to interrupt my brother’s concentration. Misha’s face is red, and his arms are shaking as if they’re going to give out. The other guard, however, is in even worse shape, and as I watch, the young man collapses on his stomach, unable to do another pushup.
“Go, Michael!” someone shouts, and I turn to see Diego clapping. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Turning to the other guards, he holds out his hand and says smugly, “Told you the kid could do it. Now pay up.”
While he speaks, my brother collapses on the grass as well. Panting, he rolls over onto his back, and I see a huge, bright smile on his face. He looks as happy as in those photos.
I hurry toward him, my own face split in a joyous smile. “Good job, Michael,” I call out, feeling like I might burst from pride. “That was amazing.”
He sits up, his eyes widening as he sees me approach. “Yulia?” he says in Russian. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m much better, thank you,” I respond in the same language. Then, cognizant that some of the other guards have started frowning, I say in English, “Glad to see you boys are having fun.”
Misha climbs to his feet, brushing off bits of dirt and grass from his shorts. “Um, yeah,” he says in English, casting an embarrassed glance at the others. “We were just, you know…”
“Yeah, she knows,” Lucas says, coming up behind me. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looks at the guards, and they quickly scatter, mumbling something about having a job to do.
Only Diego stays behind, a big grin lighting up his face. “We should hire him,” he says. “He’s already better than some of these new guys, and with a bit more training—”
Lucas holds up his hand, interrupting Diego. “Michael’s going to come with us for a bit,” he says. “I’ll call you when I need you.”