Page 31 of Stricken

"Let me know if you need anything. Chico will be right outside."

They leave. Now, it's just me and Sergei with his guys.

"Dai mne minutky," I ask him firmly, knowing he'll attempt to put up a fight.

"Pahan, ia ne doveryau etim pazanam," he grits out.

"I need to think," I explain in Russian. "Just wait outside."

The three of them step out of the room and stand just beyond the door next to Chico.

As soon as I'm alone, I move toward the window and study it. There's a thirty-foot drop when I look down. Not possible that asshole came this way.

I glance around, assessing all corners and various possibilities. The only reasonable explanation is that it was the front door. Which means?

Betrayal or oversight?

Was he disguised as the compound's help or was he posing as one of the guards?

My brain keeps on spinning and spinning as I pace around the room that doesn't seem quite right anymore. Less than an hour ago a man died here, on this floor that my feet are rubbing raw presently.

Ivan was right to be cautious, but I won't be calling him just yet. No need to raise more panic.

Instead, I find my permanent phone and pull up my contact list.

My hands shake as I punch in my little brother's number. The line rings once, twice. Each second stretches into a mind-dumbing eternity.

What if something happened?

What if this was a coordinated attack?

"Vlad?" Sasha's voice, groggy with sleep, floods me with relief.

"Alexander."

"Do you know what time is it?"

"Sorry." I pause, needing to gather my thoughts and calm my breathing. "Are you safe?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. I meant to ask something else, something not as severe, but I'm still in shock after what happened.

"What? Yeah, we're fine. Logan and I are still in Santa Barbara. What's going on?"

I continue pacing the room, my free hand running through my hair. "Nothing. Just... checking in."

"At 4 AM?" Sasha's tone sharpens. His British accent makes him sound sterner than he actually is and for a moment I pretend I'm the younger sibling. "You're lying, Vlad. Is that your fever talking? You sound sick? You caught a cold?"

I sigh, leaning against the window frame. The first hints of dawn tinge the horizon as I glance over the curving hills. "Yeah, yeah. I'm a little sick." I grab onto the lie, not wanting to worry. "Couldn't sleep."

"Bloody hell. You do sound out of your mind."

"It will pass. It always does."

"Sure."

"How are you doing? Really?"

There's a pause. "I'm... good, actually. Logan and I are just heading up the coast. Checking out all the small towns between LA and San Francisco. After that, we'll hit Portland and Seattle. Maybe go to British Columbia for a while."

"Is he treating you well?" I pose the most important question. When your twenty-three-year-old brother is in a relationship with an ex-cop turned private security who is eleven years his senior, naturally, any older brother will have reservations. But apparently love and affection don't come in any specific size. Sometimes, they happen between the two unlikely people.

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