“Hi,” I say, forcing a smile. “I made an omelet. Would you like some?”
The maid blinks, looking surprised. “Oh… Sure, thanks.” She accepts the plate and glances at it. “That looks great, thank you, Lucas.”
“You’re welcome.” I study her injuries, my stomach tightening at the sight. “How are you feeling?”
Her face flushes, and she looks away. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” I can tell she doesn’t want company, so I say, “If you need anything, just let me know,” and then I head back into the kitchen.
I need to eat my own breakfast before tackling the next task.
* * *
By the time Esguerra comes out of the house, everything is ready for him.
“I brought the cousin here,” I say when my boss steps out onto the driveway. “I figured you might not want to go all the way to Chicago today.”
“Excellent.” Esguerra’s eyes gleam darkly. “Where is he?”
“In that van over there.” I point at a black van I parked behind the trees farthest from the neighbors.
We walk toward it together, and Esguerra asks, “Has he given us any info yet?”
“He gave us access codes to his cousin’s parking garage and building elevators,” I say. “It wasn’t difficult to get him to talk. I figured I’d leave the rest of the interrogation to you, in case you wanted to speak to him in person.”
“That’s good thinking. I definitely do.” Approaching the van, Esguerra opens the back doors and peers into the dark interior.
I know what he’s seeing: a skinny teenager, gagged and with his ankles tied to his wrists behind his back. He’s the third guy, the one Nora knocked out at the club yesterday. I’ve already had a couple of guards work him over, and now he’s ready for Esguerra.
My boss doesn’t waste time. Climbing into the van, he turns around and asks, “Are the walls soundproof?”
I nod. “About ninety percent.” I can smell the urine and sweat inside the van, and I know these odors will soon be overwhelmed by the coppery stench of blood.
“Good,” Esguerra says. “That should suffice.”
He closes the van doors, locking himself in with the boy, and a minute later, the sound of his victim’s pleas and screams fills the air. I tune them out, letting Esguerra have his fun while I read the latest update from Diego and Eduardo. They found a record of the private plane landing in Kiev, so Yulia is definitely out of Colombia.
I forward Diego’s findings to the hackers, and when Esguerra is done, I wrap the teenager’s body in a plastic sheet and message the cleaning crew to come in.
* * *
Half an hour later, I’m walking back toward the house when my phone vibrates with another text from Esguerra.
New development. Need to expedite the departure.
My adrenaline spikes. Entering the house, I intercept Esguerra in the hallway. “What happened?”
“Frank, our CIA contact, emailed me,” Esguerra says, pushing back his wet hair. He must’ve taken a shower to get rid of the Sullivan kid’s blood. “An artist’s sketch of myself, Nora, and Rosa is being circulated in the local FBI’s office. It had to have come from the Sullivan brother who got away in that white SUV. I’m guessing it won’t be long before the Sullivans find out who we are, and given what I did to the other Sullivan brother in the club and the cousin just now…” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to.
Esguerra and I both know Patrick Sullivan will be out for blood.
“I’ll send Thomas to prepare the plane,” I say. “Do you think Nora’s parents can be ready to go in the next hour?”
“They’ll have to be ready,” Esguerra says. “I want them and the women away before we do anything.”
“How many guards should we send on the plane with them?”
“Four, just in case,” Esguerra says after a moment of deliberation. “The rest can stay to be part of our strike team.”
“All right. I’ll go tell the others and make sure Rosa is ready to go.”
* * *
We arrive at Esguerra’s in-laws’ house in full force, our limo followed by seven armored SUVs transporting twenty-three guards. The neighbors gape at us, and I feel a twinge of amusement at the thought of Nora’s parents trying to explain this to their suburban acquaintances. I’m sure the good people of Oak Lawn have heard rumors about Nora’s arms dealer husband, but hearing and seeing are two different things.
Predictably, the parents aren’t ready yet, so Esguerra and his wife go in to round them up. Rosa stays in the car, explaining to Nora that she doesn’t want to be in the way.
When we’re alone, I turn around and look at Rosa through the limo partition.
“Would you like some music?” I ask, but she shakes her head. She’s not speaking, just staring out the window, and I’m sure she’s thinking about what happened yesterday.
Not wanting to discomfit her, I roll up the partition and use the time to check on the plane. Thomas assures me that it’s ready to go, so I double-check my weapons—an M16 slung across my chest and a Glock 26 strapped to my leg. I’d like to be even better armed, but I’m driving. Fortunately, Esguerra has an entire arsenal in the back under one of the seats. I’m hoping we won’t need it, but we’re prepared in case we do.
Some forty minutes later, Esguerra comes out of the house, hauling a huge suitcase. He’s followed by Nora’s father with another suitcase, and finally, Nora and her mother.
Though there’s plenty of room in the back, Rosa comes to sit at the front with me, explaining that she wants to give the four of them more room.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asks, glancing at me, and I give her a reassuring smile.
“No, please have a seat.” I roll up the partition again, separating us from the main cabin, and start the car. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” Her voice is quiet but steady. I don’t press her for more, and we drive in comfortable silence for some time. It’s not until we pull off the interstate onto a two-lane highway that Rosa speaks again. “Lucas,” she says quietly. “I’d like to ask you for a favor.”
Surprised, I glance at her before directing my attention back to the road. “What is it?”
“If there’s ever a chance—” Her voice breaks. “If you ever get them, I want to be there. Okay? I just want to be there.”
She doesn’t spell it out, but I understand. “You got it,” I promise. “I’ll make sure you see justice served.”
“Thank you—” she begins, but at that moment, I catch a glimpse of movement in the side mirror, and my pulse leaps.
On the narrow highway behind our SUVs is an entire cavalcade of cars, and they’re gaining on us quickly.
I floor the gas pedal with a surge of adrenaline. The limo jerks forward, accelerating at a mad pace, and I lower the partition to meet Esguerra’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
“We have a tail,” I say tersely. “They’re onto us, and they’re coming with everything they’ve got.”
12
Yulia
“Bayu-bayushki-bayu, ne lozhisya na krayu…” My mom is singing a Russian lullaby to me, her voice soft and sweet as I snuggle deeper into the blanket. “Pridyot seren’kiy volchok, i ukusit za bochok…”
Her crooning is off-key and the words are about a gray wolf that will bite my side if I lie too close to the edge of the bed, but the melody is warm and comforting, like my mom’s smile. I bask in it, savoring it for as long as I can, but with each word, my mom’s voice gets fainter and softer, until there’s only silence.
Silence and cold, empty darkness.
“Don’t go, Mom,” I whisper. “Stay home. Don’t go to Grandpa tonight. Please, stay home.”
But there’s no response. There’s never a response. There’s only darkness and the sound of Misha crying. He’s feverish and wants our parents. I pick him up and rock him back and forth, the sturdy weight of his toddler’s body anchoring me in the sea of darkness. “It’s okay, Mishen’ka. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you. We’ll be okay, I promise.”
But he doesn’t stop crying. He cries all through the night. His screams get hysterical when the headmistress comes for him in the morning, and I know she did something to him. I saw the bruises on his legs when he came out of her office last evening. She hurt him somehow, traumatized him. He hasn’t stopped crying since.
“No, don’t take him.” I struggle to hold on to Misha, but she pushes me away, taking my brother with her. I come after her, but two older boys block my way, forming a human wall in front of me.
“Don’t do it,” one of the boys says. “It won’t help.”
His eyes are pitch black, like the darkness around me, and I feel myself spinning. I’m lost, so lost in that darkness.
“I have a proposition for you, Yulia.” A man dressed in a suit smiles at me, his hazel eyes cold and calculating. “A deal, if you will. You’re not too young to make a deal, are you?”