Page 136 of Emerald Vices

My heart constricts when I think about Andrey in the thick of that violence. But I can’t let myself dwell for long.

My son needs me.

“Here!” Misha calls quietly. “Over here.”

I join him behind one of the sheds, all of which have doors but no windows. “What is it?”

“I thought I saw someone over there,” he whispers, pointing to a small shed two doors down from where we’re hiding.

Then, like a sign from God, I hear it: a high-pitched cry that I recognize immediately.

“Grigory.”

His cries are coming from the shed that Misha just pointed out. My heart is thrumming hard against my chest, but I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Come hell or high water, I’m getting Grigory out of here. Or I’ll die trying.

“Misha, get ready.”

We pull out our guns together, our eyes meeting at the same time.

“So do we just go in there?” he asks, his skin blotchy from the heat of the sun.

“No. I do.”

His eyes bulge. “You want to go in there alone?”

“No one will be expecting me,” I assure him. “In any case, I’m going to need you to drive one of Andrey’s jeeps back to the little gate. That way, when I get Grigory, we’ll have an exit strategy in place.”

Misha’s eyes narrow. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

“I’m trying to get us all out of here alive.”

“We don’t know how many men are in there!” Misha says. “You might need backup!”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Honey, if we’re both taken, no one will know that we’re here until it’s too late. You need to get out of here.”

“I can’t leave you alone.”

“They won’t hurt me,” I assure him. “Worst case, I’ll be used as leverage, and you’ll be on the outside, able to tell Andrey what happened. He’ll come for us.” Misha opens his mouth to protest but I talk over him. “Please, Misha. This is helping.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but we don’t have a lot of other options. “O-okay, I’ll go…”

I grab his face and press my lips against his forehead. “I love you.”

He stumbles back and starts running. I don’t have the luxury of watching him go. Flicking off the safety of my gun, I inch closer to the cabin. Grigory has stopped crying, but I already know which one he’s in.

“I’m coming, baby,” I mutter under my breath. “Mommy’s coming.”

I inch towards the entrance, trying to suss out how many men I’m dealing with.

As it turns out… just one.

The man has his back to the door. He’s bending over a large wooden crate resting on top of rotten table legs. He moves a few inches to the left, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping.

My baby.

Through the tiny gaps in the slats of the crate, I see Grigory. And leaning over him…

Is his uncle.

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