Page 40 of Capture Me (Capture Me)

And here it is: the true reason he’s being nice to me. He’s playing good cop to the Russians’ bad one, the savior to their villain. It’s so close to my fantasies that I want to cry. Except he’s not interested in saving me; he wants to get answers—answers that I can’t and won’t give.

“What happened that day?” I ask instead. This question has been plaguing me ever since I learned that he and Esguerra are alive. “How did you survive?”

Lucas’s jaw hardens, and the desire in his gaze fades. “You mean with the plane crash?”

“So therewasa plane crash?” I hadn’t been sure, though I figured his desire to make me pay meant thatsomethinghad happened.

Lucas leans forward, his hands crushing his empty paper plate. “Yes, there was a crash. Didn’t your superiors keep you informed?”

I fight the urge to flinch at the renewed fury in his voice. “They did, but I thought they might’ve had wrong information.”

“Because we survived.”

I nod, holding my breath.

He stares at me for a second, then stands up and walks around the table. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my arm again. “We’re done here.”

And dragging me back to the living room, he ties me up in the chair and leaves again, the front door slamming loudly behind him.

23

Lucas

As Esguerra discussesthe latest transportation concerns with our Hong Kong supplier, I sit silently, my attention only partially on the video call. I don’t understand how one young woman can tie me into knots like this. One minute I want to take care of her, get her strong and healthy, and the next I’m torn between fucking her and killing her on the spot.

A child prostitute.

That’s essentially what they made her. They took her at eleven, trained her, and set her loose in Moscow at sixteen with instructions to get close to the highest circles of Russian government.

Just thinking about it makes me sick. I don’t know what infuriates me more: that they did this to her, or that she was involved in the plane crash that killed forty-five of our men and left three more burned beyond recognition.

How is it possible to hate someone and want to avenge the wrongs done to her at the same time?

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Chen,” Esguerra says, uncharacteristically polite, and I see the wizened old man on the screen nodding as he parrots back the words. It’s important to observe the niceties in that part of the world, even when dealing with criminals.

As soon as Esguerra disconnects, I get up, impatient to get back to Yulia. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, and he nods, still working on his computer.

“See you,” he says as I walk out.

It’s dark when I step outside—dark, warm, and humid. Esguerra’s office is a small building near the main house, which is a bit of a hike from the guards’ quarters, where I reside. I could’ve driven here, but I enjoy walking, and after sitting still for two hours, I’m eager to stretch my legs and clear my mind.

Before I take a dozen steps, I hear a woman calling my name and turn to see Esguerra’s maid, Rosa, hurrying across the wide lawn. She’s holding what looks like a covered pot against her chest.

“Lucas, wait!” She sounds out of breath.

I stop, curious to find out what she wants. I vaguely recall Eduardo talking about her. He might’ve been dating her at the time. From what he said, she was born on this estate; her parents worked for Juan Esguerra, my boss’s father. I’ve seen her around and exchanged greetings with her a number of times, but I’ve never really spoken to the girl.

“Here,” she says, stopping in front of me and handing me the pot. “Ana wanted you to have this.”

“She did?” Surprised, I take the heavy offering. The aroma seeping through the lid is rich and savory, making my mouth water. “Why?”

Esguerra’s housekeeper occasionally sends some cookies or extra fruit to the guards, but this is the first time she’s singled me out like this.

“I don’t know.” For some reason, Rosa’s rounded cheeks turn pink. “I think she just made some extra soup, and Nora and the Señor didn’t want it.”

“I see.” I don’t see, but I’m not about to argue with what smells like a delicious meal. “Well, I’ll gladly eat it if they don’t want it.”

“They don’t. It’s for you.” She gives me a hesitant smile. “I hope you like it.”

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