After nearly an hour on the road, I finally pull up to the hole-in-the-wall cantina and notice Jae’s Infiniti already in the lot. Doing my best to ignore Lance parking a few spots down, I hurriedly get out of the car, open the glass door to the restaurant, and duck my head inside. It doesn’t take me long to find Jae in a back corner booth, and when I see the promising smile on her face, illuminated by the computer screen already set up on the table, I add a little pep in my step and hightail it over to her.
“Did you find something?” I ask, the hope in my voice evident as I drop down on the bench next to her.
With the news of Emerson’s death, I’ve spent the time I’m not at odds with my parents at the local FBI office, lying to federal agents about what all I know about the Russians. The fact they’re now aware of who has her scares me more than anything, and I hope to God Raze knows I’m not how they found out. I eavesdropped on one of Lance’s phone conversations yesterday, so I know for a fact they’ve raided several of the Kabinov homes in Southern California, looking for her, but have come up empty. And what concerns me the most is they’re either going to get hasty in the whole lure-Vincent-Ricci-to-her-and-kill-him plan, or they’re going to make her disappear. Permanently.
“Maybe,” Jae replies quietly, glancing up to take note of where Lance settles across the room at a table by the window. Once she’s convinced he’s out of earshot, she drops her chin to her chest in order to prevent lip-reading and continues. “I’ve been working on zooming in with this one satellite all day, and I’ve definitely found a road that’s being used about a hundred and forty miles northwest of Truckee, up in the Cascades. And the interesting thing is, I can’t tell where it leads. The forest gets too thick to see below.”
I stare at the image she’s got pulled up on the screen—a satellite snapshot taken and stamped with this morning’s date and time—and sure enough, there is a road with what looks like fresh tire marks that leads from a mostly deserted highway into the mass of trees limbs and dying foliage. I’m not sure, but it could be it, and I tell her as much. We look through some of the other aerial footage taken in the last few days of that spot, hoping to get a speck of color on the road that could be Raze’s truck, but we aren’t so lucky. She agrees to continue to monitor it, as well as look for other possibilities.
Once the computer is put away, I swing around to the other side of the table so that we’re not doing that awkward side-by-side in a booth thing, especially since we aren’t a couple, and we make small talk about the funeral and the lack of any updated news over enchiladas and a Corona. Just as I’m getting my wallet out to pay for the meal, my second phone, which I’ve got tucked away in the inner pocket of my jacket, begins to vibrate. Startled, I initially jump to reach for it, curious about who in the hell is contacting me via that line, but then remember I’m being watched.
“I’m going to check it out in the bathroom,” I murmur to her. “I’ll be right back.”
She nods as I excuse myself from the table, and as soon as I’m safely inside one of the cramped stalls, I dig the cell phone out and stare at the message on the screen from Raze’s number.
Raze: Things are moving faster than expected. Be on standby in Reno by tomorrow morning. Bring the cavalry with you. I’ll give you instructions then.
I SIT DOWN ON THE couch with a freshly poured cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, just as I do every other normal morning. Well, as normal as it can be, considering I’m being held against my will and still mentally processing the fact that I’m going to murder a man tomorrow. It’s a strange set of emotions I doubt I could properly put into words—killing another person, that is—but one thing is for sure: guilt is at the top of the list. Even though I know I’m doing society, and myself, a huge favor, I was taught from an early age that only God should pass judgment and persecute those who deserve it . . . yet here I am, with my finger already on the trigger.
I’ve tried to stay focused on mundane tasks around the cabin, instead of my shredded conscience, ever since I made the decision to value my life over Vincent Ricci’s. Because at its core, that’s the ultimate choice I have to make. If I don’t kill him at the first opportunity I’m given, either he or the Kabinovs are most definitely going to eliminate my existence from this planet. Only my demise will most likely involve quite a bit more pain than taking a bullet between the eyes . . . especially if my father-in-law gets his hands on me.
A loud banging noise outside, followed by angry grunts and what I assume is a slew of Russian curse words from Raze, steal my focus away from the bland breakfast and my repetitive thoughts. Carefully placing the bowl and mug down on the coffee table, I unfold my legs from underneath me and tiptoe over to the door to press my ear against the cold wood surface. At first, I don’t hear anything, so I assume he fixed whatever pissed him off out there.
For the last couple of days—after all the details about the plan were finalized—he’s been working like a mad man. And in a terrible mood. Every hour of daylight is spent either making trips to get supplies or building something in the shed I now know exists next to the cabin, while after night falls, he’s constantly on the phone or the computer, reminding me of one of those frantic people you see on TV working the stock market at the closing bell. I understand he’s preparing for Vincent’s arrival, though I have no clue what that all entails, but surely, it can’t be that hard. The guy shows up thinking he’s being handed over a prisoner, probably in restraints, and possibly blindfolded or gagged, and I’m going to pull out a gun and shoot him. Then, they set it up to look like he was the one keeping me here, and that after I somehow managed to escape, I murdered him to get free. Then we all go home and return to our normally scheduled programming. Seems easy enough to me.
“I told you exactly what you were supposed to do, and you didn’t do it. I gave you a time, and you didn’t meet it. How fucking hard is it to follow simple instructions?” I hear Raze growl, obviously infuriated at whoever he’s talking to on the phone.
The cruelty in his tone I’ve only ever heard him use when speaking to those first guys who dropped off supplies, and I was afraid he was going to kill that man. Also, other than with me, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him speak English besides that same day, and even then, I think he only did it on my behalf. My curiosity is piqued, so I push my ear harder against the door, hoping that’ll magically improve my hearing-through-walls ability.
“It doesn’t fucking matter; the damage is done. The Feds know, and it’s all a goddamn mess.” The anger continues to seep through his voice, and I bet if I could see him right now, his jaw would be locked tight as he paces the frozen ground.
A long pause ensues before I hear him snap, “Do not fucking move from where you are. I’ll be there in an hour and a half. Be ready.”
Thunderous footsteps from his heavy boots shake the front steps as I dash back to the couch, picking up my cereal just in time to see the door swing open, with an extremely pissed off Raze towering in the doorway, complete with a deep scowl etched into his face and his chest bowed up like he’s preparing to take on a daunting opponent. He’s radiating an energy so powerful that being near him may be lethal right now.
“Morning.” I force a cheerful smile and pretend to have no clue about his conversation outside. “Did you already have some coffee this morning? There’s a fresh pot in there.”