Page 14 of Capture Me (Capture Me)

The Detainment

8

Yulia

Seven and a half hours.

The train was stuck in that tunnel for seven and a half hours. The relief I feel as the doors finally open at the next station is so strong, I actually shake with it.

Or maybe I shake from hunger and thirst. It’s impossible to tell.

Stepping out of the cursed train, I push through the herd of exhausted, stressed-out commuters and take the escalator upstairs. I need to call Obenko immediately; my handlers must be going mad with worry.

“Yulia? What the fuck?” As expected, Obenko’s furious. “Where are you?”

“At Rizhskaya.” I name the train station some twenty stops away from my destination. “I was on the Kaluzhsko-Rizhskaya line.”

“Ah, fuck. You got stuck because of that idiot.”

“Yeah.” I lean against an icy wall at the top of the stairs as people hurry past me. According to the last update from the train conductor, the reason for the delay was a hostage situation two trains ahead of us. A Chechen national got the bright idea to strap on a homemade bomb and threaten to blow himself up if his demands weren’t met. The police managed to subdue him, but it took them hours to do it safely. Considering the seriousness of the situation, it’s a miracle we were able to get off the train before nightfall.

“All right.” Obenko sounds a bit calmer. “I’ll get the team to return to the pickup location. Are the trains running again?”

“Not the Kaluzhsko-Rizhskaya line. They said it’ll resume running later tonight. I’m going to have to take a taxi.” I shift from foot to foot¸ my bladder reminding me that it’s been hours since I’ve had access to a bathroom. I need that, and food, with extreme urgency, but first, there’s something I must know. “Vasiliy Ivanovich,” I say hesitantly, addressing my boss by his full name and patronymic, “did the operation... succeed?”

“The plane was shot down an hour ago.”

My knees buckle, and for a dizzying moment, the station blurs out of focus. If it hadn’t been for the wall at my back, I would’ve fallen over. “Were there any survivors?” My voice sounds choked, and I have to clear my throat before continuing. “That is... are you sure the target’s been eliminated?”

“We haven’t received the casualty report yet, but I don’t see how Esguerra could’ve survived.”

“Oh. Good.” Bile rises in my throat, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Swallowing thickly, I manage to say, “I have to go now, find that taxi.”

“All right. Keep us posted if there are any issues.”

“Will do.” I press the button to hang up and lean my head back against the wall, taking in gulps of cold air. I feel sick, my stomach roiling with acid and emptiness. I have a fast metabolism, and I’ve never handled hunger well, but I don’t recall ever feeling this bad from lack of food.

Pale blue eyes blank and unseeing. Blood running down a hard, square jaw...

No, stop.I force myself to straighten away from the wall. I won’t allow myself to go there. I’m just hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. Once I address these problems, everything will be fine.

It has to be.

Before trying to catch a taxi, I head to a small coffee shop next to the station and use their restroom. I also get a cup of hot tea and scarf down three meat-filled pirozhki—small savory pies. Then, feeling much more human, I go outside to see if I can find a taxi.

The streets around the station are a nightmare. The traffic appears to be at a complete standstill, and all the taxis look occupied. It’s not unexpected, given what happened with the trains, but still extremely annoying.

I begin walking briskly in the hopes that I can get to a less trafficky location on foot. There’s no point in getting into a car, only to crawl two blocks in two hours. Now that the plane has gone down, I need to get to my handlers as quickly as possible.

The plane.I suck in my breath as the sickening images invade my mind again. I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about this. I’d known Lucas for less than twenty-four hours, and I’d spent most of that time being afraid of him.

And the rest of that time screaming in pleasure in his arms, a small voice reminds me.

No, stop.

I pick up my pace, zigzagging around slower-moving pedestrians.Don’t think about him, don’t think about him... I let the words echo in my mind in tempo with my steps. You’re going home to Misha... I pick up my pace some more, almost running now. Moving this fast not only gets me to my destination quicker, but it also keeps me warm.Don’t think about him, you’re going home...

I don’t know how long I walk like this, but as the streetlights turn on, I realize it’s already getting dark. Checking my phone, I see that it’s nearly six p.m.

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