Page 61 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

“And after Mister Kyrylo set up a rescue mission, you went where?”

“To the hospital for several weeks. After that, we went to St. Bart’s, where we stayed for thirteen weeks.”

“Under assumed names?”

“Yes.”

“And then to Brazil?”

“Yes,” I say, sighing heavily again. “I am tired.”

“We understand,” Agent Rodriguez says. “Can you just tell us how you came to be shot by Sasha Gusev? You were found in the ditch at the edge of a road in Brazil by two locals, at least forty miles from where federal agents found Mister Kyrylo.”

“I called my father to meet me. I asked him to let me go, to let me live my life with Vasily. He said no. I was forced into a car, taken to a swamp, shot by my father, and left for dead. I crawled until I couldn’t crawl anymore.” My voice has taken on a tone of harsh annoyance. “Are we done?”

A dam is about to break and I sure as hell do not want these emotionless robots to see it happen. I want to grieve for Vasily alone. I want to grieve for myself.

“We got your father, Miss Gusev,” Agent Rodriguez says.

This gets my attention.

“Your boyfriend made phone calls alerting agents to his location. He sent texts and location pins. That’s how agents found him. And it’s how they found your father. He was about to board a private jet and leave the country. Your blood was on his shirt.”

“Good,” I say, nodding. “That’s good, at least.”

The agents stand in unison, as if they practiced their timing.

“We’ll get you into witness protection, Miss Gusev. We will need your testimony as we build and try our case against him. Lord knows, there are many reasons to prosecute Sasha Gusev, but attempting to murder his own daughter ought to close the book on him ever walking free again,” Agent Wright says.

“So I now go into protection, and I am in another prison, never to make a decision for myself again? Never to go out without being watched? Never to live a normal life?” I hate this idea and shake my head furiously. “No. I will not do that again. I will take my chances.”

“Miss Gusev,” Agent Rodriguez interjects, “Your father still has lieutenants, henchmen. They will scatter for a bit but believe me when I say they will come for you. You need protection.”

“Just…think about it,” the man says.

I wave them off and they leave their business cards on my tray table. I stare at the cards, eyes watery with tears.

As they leave, the doctor clears his throat. I forgot he was in the room.

“That all sounds…very traumatizing,” he says.

“An understatement,” I say, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

“I am sorry about your boyfriend,” he says.

“Me too,” I sniff. “He asked me not to go, not to try to work things out with my father. I should have listened.”

“Would you like for me to send you a chaplain? Someone to talk to? Pray with?”

I shake my head. “No but thank you. Can you grab those agents, though?”

He stands and scurries out the door, only to return with the two agents.

“Can you get me a horse farm?” I ask. “It doesn’t have to be huge or fancy. Just some pretty land, a livable house, and some horses to manage?”

“I’m sure we could work something out, for your testimony,” Agent Rodriguez says. I nod and she nods back. “We’ll do what we can.”

As soon as the room is empty, I weep.

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