Page 60 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

“That’s fine,” I say.

They turn on a small recording device and set it on the bed next to me before Agent Wright asks me how I came to be in Brazil.

“My boyfriend and I had just arrived that morning. We flew in on a helicopter from St. Bart’s.”

“On falsified passports and under assumed names?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Agent Rodriguez asks.

“We were running from my father.”

“Your father, for the record, is?” the woman asks.

“Sasha Gusev.”

“And why were you on the run from Mr. Gusev?” Agent Wright asks.

“It is a long story,” I say.

“Why don’t you tell it to us?” Agent Rodriguez asks. “From the beginning.”

I sigh, head back against the pillows. And I tell them my story. About my mother. About moving the US after she died. About being watched constantly. About my dance career and my lack of freedom. About the fact that I hadn’t seen my father in years.

I tell them about how I met Vasily, about how he saw my bodyguards shove me in a van for simply taking a run outside. I tell them how we snuck around, how we fell in love. I tell them we were going to run away together when I was taken by Baranov’s men.

“Where were you taken?” Agent Wright asks.

“Somewhere in Pennsylvania,” I say. “A farm there, where they kept women before trafficking them.”

“Were you assaulted while you were there?”

“No,” I shake my head. “It was made clear that I was only to be touched by Ilya Baranov. He made threats, but he left so nothing happened to me. I just worked on the farm. The other woman, Elena…she was sexually and physically assaulted, though.”

Agent Rodriguez frowns at this.

“How did you get away?” Agent Wright asks.

“Military men stormed the farm from the tree line. They killed a bunch of Baranov’s men and got me and Elena out. I got shot running away.”

“Who hired the military men?” Agent Wright asks.

“Vasily,” I say. I touch my hand to my chest at the painful loss incurred by saying his name. “Is he okay?”

“Vasily Kyrylo was shot in Brazil, presumably by the same man who shot you,” Agent Rodriguez answers.

He’s dead, I know he is.

My throat threatens to close up as new tears prick at my eyes.

“Can you tell us why Mister Kyrylo would have broken a large list of federal laws just to send men to a farm in Pennsylvania? He worked for a Senator, did he not?” Agent Wright asks.

“He did it because my father would not pay my ransom. And because he loved me and wanted me safe.”

“So you were taken by Ilya Baranov in order to get a random from Sasha Gusev?”

“Yes.”

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