Page 97 of The Game

Fabian writes on the notepad that’s still on the countertop:

We should search Anna’s computer while we’re here.

I nod. I take Fabian through to the study Anna showed me that first fateful day when I was supposed to stay with her, and he sits down at the computer and sets up his laptop. All this second-guessing and trying to work out what’s going on is making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It reminds me so much of the Celine fiasco, and something I can’t quite grasp flashes across my mind and is gone before I even know what it is. A familiar yawning dread grips my chest: All the endless unanswered questions, the looking for a solution or some clue to the truth. I never would have said I’d become addicted to the truth, but now I am.

Mila appears in the doorway.

“What are you up to?”

“A search. Why? What are you doing?” Fabian asks.

“You’re searching her computer? Going through all her private stuff?” She jerks her chin at me. “And you said the other side was worse.” Her eyes narrow. “Don’t think I won’t tell her about this.”

“Be my guest,” I growl at her. “But when you tell her everything we’re doing, feel free to mention the bug on your phone and just be sure you’re not putting her in more danger yourself.”

35

ANNA

The low, murmured conversation between one of the players and a coach drifts across the icy night air as I head out of the tennis stadium into the darkness. I’m training hard and spending as little time as possible within reach of Konstantin or anyone else he might want to put me in front of.

Fabian told me not to come here at all. But after looking at Adam’s tousled toffee hair when I woke in his bed at dawn this morning, I knew I couldn’t throw what he and I have away, pretend to be his friend when I want so much more. I have to keep him out of it—this is my problem to solve, not his or Fabian’s. I have to fight like I’ve fought for everything else. My father’s words drummed into my head: “Never back down from a fight, Anna!” Konstantin will use every opportunity to remind me that I haven’t escaped his clutches, and until I can pry my parents out of Russia, maybe I’ll have to put up with his manipulations.

Midmorning, a text message appeared on my phone:

The chase always makes the prize so much sweeter, don’t you think, my beautiful Anna?

So, I’ve stayed on the indoor courts as long as possible this evening,coaching late into the night, to the delight of all the coaches and the tennis hopefuls. But I’d forgotten the creeping sensation of being watched, the prickle on the back of my neck. Everyone here is on his payroll. What are they doing to these young people? I shouldn’t have come back, but ultimately, I’m not sure I had much of a choice.

We’re eight hours ahead here, and Adam’s messages and calls started at about 2 p.m. today, but I can’t bring myself to talk to him. Being back here is making my skin crawl, and I can’t face having a normal conversation with a normal person, or even explain to him why I came. I just want it over and done with and to get back home. My New York home. My only real home.

Why did I so willingly accept a relationship with Pietr? It’s hard to remember that frightened young girl. Although that word,accept: It was never a choice. Chills shiver through me. I was so naive, flattered by what I thought was the attention of a rich older man. Away from home, I had no one to pull me aside and give me advice. I was even grateful for the buffer he provided from Konstantin. Grateful! What a nightmare it was. How controlling Pietr was. He treated me like an immature little girl, and I was, I really was, but Lord knows I lost that naivete fast.

My eyes scan over the teenagers heading toward the buses to take them back to the hotel. The coach wraps an arm around a boy as he talks to him, and I look away. Could I ever do anything about all this? God knows how much danger we’d all be in if I did.

I messaged Pietr before I left, telling him I was coming here and asking whether he would be in St. Petersburg. I don’t know why I did that. Because he’d expect it? There’s still some part of me that’s concerned about his reaction. He’s less of a threat than Konstantin because I have ammunition on him, but he’s still terrible in his own way.

And Mila. Konstantin’s focus on her has never waned, though she’s never wanted to talk about it. I think she’s always resented that I got Pietr, despite the fact he is his own kind of evil.

I glance at my watch: 10 p.m. What would I be doing if I was home on a Friday evening? Thank God the tournament is tomorrow, and my flight isbooked out of here tomorrow night. But as I step onto the bus, my phone buzzes with a message:

Tomorrow, we are having breakfast together, my little one. In the hotel restaurant overlooking the water. 8 a.m.

Konstantin. I turn and scan the parking lot. Is he watching? I put my hand over my pocket. I brought another phone with me and got an additional SIM at the airport. It’s something Mila and I started when our phones were confiscated at an early camp and we felt trapped. Mila got us a couple of small handsets, and after a few years I replaced mine with a tiny Android smartphone I can almost hide in the palm of my hand.

Did one of the coaches tell Konstantin we were finished? What a game of cat and mouse. When I scroll back up the messages on my phone, there’s a message Pietr sent earlier saying he’s going to be here this evening. I send a text back:

I’m eating with Konstantin at 8 a.m. tomorrow. Join us?

His answer comes through as I’m settling into my seat:

Already arranged.

Something cold shivers down my spine. I thought there was some bad blood between them, but they’re clearly talking to each other on some level.

What with the time difference and the fact I had next to no sleep on the plane over and then went straight into a day’s coaching, I wake late, blinking up at the hotel ceiling. I take the fastest shower and clothing change in history and head down to find the restaurant, which turns out is all plush banquette seating and white tablecloths. I’ve put on a dark suit to appear businesslike, my hair drawn back into a tight bun. When the hostess walks me over the thick brown carpet to a table tucked away in a corner alcove, Konstantin is sitting with twoother men. His henchmen, no question. They’re always around.

He stands up and leans over, kissing my cheek. “Anna,” he murmurs. “I heard the practice went well yesterday.”

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