Page 177 of Nine Months to Bear
“That’s a bad coincidence.”
“The safe house that got raided? She arranged the lease.”
“She arranges all our leases.”
“The meeting with the Italians that went sideways? She set the location.”
I want to argue, to defend her, but the pattern is too clear now that he’s laying it out. “Why?” I ask finally. “Why would she flip?”
“Money? Threats? Who knows?” Taras drains his milkshake and sets the glass down hard. “Maybe she’s been Zakharov’s from the start. Eight years is a long time to play the long game, but…”
But it would explain so much.How our enemies always seem to be one step ahead lately. How every move we make gets countered before we can execute it.
And it would make sense. The way her face fell when I rejected her… the coldness when she saw me with Olivia instead…
Taras sees my stricken gaze and nods grimly. “That’s why I called the way I did. If Mikayla’s turned, then Olivia’s not safe. None of us are.”
I stand abruptly, coffee untouched. “We need to?—”
“Stefan.” Taras grabs my wrist. “We can’t just confront her. If she knows we know, she’ll run. Or worse.”
He’s right. Mikayla’s too smart, too dangerous to approach directly. But every second she’s out there is another second she could be feeding information to our enemies. Another second Olivia could be in danger.
My phone vibrates. Then Taras’s phone does, too.
We both look at our screens at the same time.
“Fuck,” Taras breathes.
The security alert is simple:Dr. Aster - Safonov Holdings - Executive Floor.
Olivia’s at my office…
… where Mikayla is.
“Stefan…”
But I’m already moving.
We burst out of the diner into the harsh afternoon sun. My mind races through possibilities, none of them good. Why is Olivia there? I told her I’d be back for dinner. She was supposed to be at her clinic or with Babushka, somewhere safe, not walking into a nightmare.
If Mikayla’s really working with Zakharov, if she’s been feeding him information this whole time, then she knows exactly how to hurt me.
And Olivia just handed herself over on a silver platter.
I jump into the driver’s seat of my Maybach. Taras barely gets his door closed before I’m peeling out of the lot.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” he says, but his white knuckles gripping the door handle say otherwise. “Could be that Olivia just wanted to surprise you with lunch or?—”
“When has anything in our life ever been nothing?”
The streets blur past. I take corners too fast, run yellows that are definitely reds by the time I clear them.
“What’s our play?” Taras asks.
“We get Olivia out. Then we deal with Mikayla.”
“And if Mikayla’s already?—”
