Page 82 of Dance with Death

There’s a cell phone in his palm. One of those small, prepaid things you can grab and pay cash for on your way through the checkout lane.

“I take a big risk for you,” Kostya says in his thick Russian accent and broken English.

I realize then that I’ve never really spoken to this man. He’s just kind of existed in the background.

My eyes dart between the phone and his face, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s doing andwhy.

“We have many of these. Paid in cash. Business done this way. I stole two.”

“Two? You stole two phones? From who?”

“Khozyain.”

There’s a Russian word I’ll never fucking forget.

He stole them from mymaster.

“Why?”

He sighs, setting the phone down on the ottoman. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and turns his head to look at the door with urgency.

“You do not tell him.”

“I won’t tell him,” I affirm, my heart thumping harder. “Is this a way out?”

He shakes his head. “Not for escape. Do not call the police. They will not come here. Mikhailovs pay for silence.”

Well, fuck.

I know he’s not bluffing. I’d be surprised if Nikolaididn’thave the local police in his pocket—though local would probably be a relative term considering how far we are from anything even resembling civilization.

“Then what is this for?”

“I give one to Anya at the Leblancs’. One phone. One battery. I do not think she can charge it. But I give it to her.”

“Butwhy?”

“I make promise to Nikolai long time ago. Keep her heart beating even if he hurt her. Stop him from killing her when he lose control. I know she will hurt self again if she does not talk to you.”

My heart stops.

“I can call her on this?”

“No,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “No, you cannot speak. Only text. You cannot risk the phones being found. Keep silent. You understand?”

I nod though I’m stunned into silence. .

“She sent text, ten minutes ago. You should reply soon.”

“She texted?”

He nods, taking a backward step.

“Keep it silent. Keep it hidden. He finds it and I will say you stole it.”

I reach down, lifting the small, black phone from the ottoman as if it were a precious, fragile jewel. “Understood.”

He turns and walks toward the door, but I stop him just as he grips the knob.

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