We move swiftly, down to the wharf.
“There were several pallets of deliveries and shipments on the main deck,” Stefan says. “You go there, and I’ll go aboard the ship when the other men of the brotherhood come.”
“What if they know you’re not with them?” I ask.
“I’ll mention the contact we have through Tomas.” I remember the man at the bar we met the night before. “And say he orchestrated this.”
I go where he tells me, grateful for nightfall that covers my tracks, and he’s reluctant to let go of my hand. “I don’t like this,” he mutters. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Well I am,” I say stubbornly. “And you promised.”
“Speak to no one,” he commands. “You have my cell phone number if you need it.” We both carry burner phones that he acquired before coming here, and his number is the only one programmed in. He holds my face in his hand and draws me to him, giving me a fierce, almost angry kiss before he lets me go.
And then he’s gone. I take my place and crouch behind the cargo, listening to everything. And for long minutes, nothing happens at all. Men come and go, and some speak in Russian, so I know we’re in the right place, but nothing’s happening that would give us a clue at all. Nothing to go on. My legs are falling asleep, when someone stops just on the other side of where I’m hidden.
“I have news that impacts our plans.” The voice is clear and lyrical, and I immediately recognize it as belonging to the violet-haired woman. I hazard a peek through a tiny space between the pallets, blinking when I see that her hair is no longer violet but black. Her back is to me, and she’s pointing toward a ship. “The shipment’s delayed.”
Ugh. My stomach drops. If the shipment’s delayed, we may not find any information at all.
“Why?” I can’t see the man beside her, but his shadow shows him to be large and formidable.
“Complications in Moscow.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t make our plans happen,” the man beside her says.
She nods. “Indeed.”
“You’re the boss. You give the orders, and all this ends.”
She turns to him, and her voice takes on a chilling edge. “Why would all this end? Do you think I’ve come this far to give up now?”
“No, of course not,” the man says.
“Then shut up before I silence you myself,” the woman says. “And find Stefan Morozov. My sources say he’s in a hotel room in the city. I don’t trust him. I want him dead.”
My pulse spikes and I stifle a cry. I’m vaguely aware of the man agreeing to do just that. I stand stock-still, my hands trembling as I reach for my phone and I send a text to Stefan.
Get out of there. Now.
I hear her heels clicking as she walks away. I’m shaking so badly I can’t think straight, but when my phone buzzes back I look at the screen.
Are you okay?
Of course, his concern is me. I want to shake him.
I’m fine. MOVE.
Heavy footsteps fall on the dock, and I hold my breath. Someone’s getting closer to me. I take another peak, but it isn’t the familiar face I hope to see, but the man Stefan calls Mikahl. He’s glaring in front of him, pacing back and forth. He pauses once just beside me, and I hold my breath. What will he do if he sees me here?
I can’t leave my place and Stefan can’t come to me if he’s here. What do we do now? I bite my lip and look for some way of escape but see none. I text Stefan again.
You’ll have to create a diversion. There’s a guy here and he’s not leaving.
Got it.
I wait impatiently, tapping my foot and biting my lip, because I’m that afraid that someone’s going to get to Stefan before he can leave.
A loud, obnoxious blaring sound pierces the night air. Shouts come from a few paces away, and there’s the scuffling sound of someone running.
“Fire!” someone shouts. I’m holding my breath, waiting for Stefan, when a hand comes over my mouth from behind, and I stifle a scream. But a second later, I smell his familiar scent and know that it’s only Stefan.
“Easy, baby,” he says in my ear. “You’re alright.”
He releases me and pulls me to him. “We need to move.”
I nod, and we both creep away from our hiding place, immediately toward the restaurant where we dined earlier. I feel as if everyone’s watching me, as if someone’s going to pull a gun on us at any second, but it seems all are distracted by the fire alarm. When we reach the restaurant, I take a near-empty glass off the table and pretend to drink it. Stefan follows suit, and the two of us pretend we belong here. We’re not going to run. We’re sitting right here until we know we can leave safely.