Page 189 of Nine Months to Bear
The crude words make me flinch. But worse is the kernel of truth in them. Ididknow. On some level, I always knew Stefan was dangerous. I just told myself it didn’t matter.
I think about his face when they cuffed me. Was the desperation real? The pain? The anguish?
Maybe I misjudged everything.
Maybe the real danger was never Stefan.
Maybe it was thinking I could walk away from him without consequences.
The SUV pulls into the driveway of a two-story colonial that looks like it belongs in a real estate catalog. White picket fence, rose bushes, the works. The kind of place where soccer moms host book clubs, not where federal agents take their prisoners.
“Home sweet home,” Medina says, getting out first.
The driver comes around to my door, opens it, grabs my elbow. He guides me up the sidewalk and through the front door.
The house smells like candles and furniture polish. There’s a floral sofa in the living room, throw pillows arranged just so. A bowl of fake fruit on the coffee table. It’s all so aggressively normal it makes my skin crawl.
“Sit,” Medina says, gesturing at the sofa.
“I want to call my lawyer,” I say again.
“Yeah, about that.” He loosens his tie and tosses his jacket over a chair. The driver does the same. They look less like FBI agents now and more like… I don’t know. Tired men doing a job they don’t particularly enjoy. “We’re not actually arresting you.”
I stay standing. “What?”
“The warrant, the whole production back there—that was just to get you out of the house. Away from Safonov.” The driver heads to the kitchen and starts making coffee like this is all perfectly normal. “Want some? It’s gonna be a long night.”
My stomach twists. “Why am I here?”
“Because someone wants to talk to you. Someone who’s been very interested in your situation.”
“Who?”
“She’ll be here soon.”
“‘She’?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps scrolling through his phone.
I finally sit because my legs are shaking and I hate that they can see it. The handcuffs are still on, metal warming against my skin. “This is illegal.”
“Lots of things are illegal. Doesn’t mean they don’t happen.” He glances up at me. “You should know that better than anyone, considering who you’ve been sleeping with.”
“I didn’t know?—”
“Save it, sweetheart. We don’t actually care about your sex life. We’re just following orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“The person paying us.”
The driver brings in two mugs of coffee and sets them on the table. I look at the coffee, then at him. “How much to let me go?”
Medina laughs. “You think you can outbid our client? With what money? Your clinic’s broke, remember? And Stefan’s assets are about to be frozen. Every last fuckin’ dime. By morning, he won’t be able to buy a cup of joe, let alone your freedom.”
“Mikayla,” I whisper. “Is that who’s coming?”
“Who?”
