Page 188 of Lethal Legacy

Plan. Prepare. Think everything through a thousand times, then think it through again. Even if you don’t end up running, the plan is in place.

I’d like to think there’s a chance I won’t have to run.

But Darya Petrovsky is literally itching to get on the road. She’s replaying Lance Ryder’s words, and images of that Borovsky safe.

She’s remembering the way Roman couldn’t meet her eyes.

She’s thinking of kill orders and dead eyes.

Darya is in my head and my gut, telling me I might already have left it too late.

The airport is only ten minutes by taxi from the Russian Cultural Center, where tonight’s ball is. A ballroom is a perfect opportunity. There’s no better place to disappear than in a crowd.

“Lucia.” Abby still has her hand in mine. “Are you certain this is the only option your...friend... has?”

Clearly, attempting to mislead her about who is running hasn’t worked.

I just hope she doesn’t say anything to Dimitry.

I think of the life growing inside me.

My littleBorovsky.

I think of what it will do to the children, not to mention to Roman himself, if he decides to execute me or hand me over to the Orlovs.

It will kill any chance they have of being a family.

I won’t have that on my conscience.

This is the best thing, for all of us.

“I don’t have a choice, Abby.” I blink back tears. “The children... I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to them.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me fiercely. “Then promise me you’ll be safe, Luce.”

But I can’t promise that. It isn’t a promise I can keep.

Instead I hug her tightly, trying to silently convey all I can’t say.

Abby strokes my hair. “I know, Luce,” she whispers in my ear. “I know.”

56

ROMAN

The lab is humming, tech heads rattling away on their keyboards, staring intently at screens. Two of them have been throwing a ball one-handed back and forth for the past hour while simultaneously working with their other hand.

Mickey is hunched forward, his fingers moving lightning fast across the keyboard. Three other tech heads are standing around him, leaning over his shoulder.

“That’s it,” one of them is urging. “Yep. Yeah. Mick, you’re close. Go, go,go—yeah!” They all punch the air, then just as quickly, tense again. “Oh.”

I watch the drama in total confusion. “What the fuck is going on there, Pavel? Tell me Mickey isn’t gaming on Mercura time.”

Pavel gives me a look that’s as close to contempt as he probably dares. “The trojans change shape when you try to unpick them and track their location. I told you Mickey took the first one apart, traced it back to Andersson in Sweden. Mickey’s the fastest of us at decoding them, but Andersson is on the other end of the keyboard, and he’s faster. But only just.” He nods at the tense shoulders in the next room. “These guys are watching the equivalent of an Olympic race, with Mickey currently in second place.”

“There’s more at stake here than a fucking gold medal.” I’m not in the mood for geek Olympics.

Pavel’s eagerness slips a little at my tone. “If Mickey can make sense of the patterns he’s finding, or track Andersson himself, we might understand what Andersson is trying to do here.”

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