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“Nice to have you back with us,” Konstantin says. “I wanted to thank you for not blowing my head off back in Boston, as I do like it on my shoulders.”

Tara’s head snaps around, and her eyes narrow. “Next time, I won’t hesitate or ask questions first.”

“Oh, come now, T,” Konstantin goads. “We both know you were never going to pull that trigger.”

“Should we test that theory?” Tara shoots back. “Give me your gun and we’ll see.”

“I don’t have a little girl's gun,” Konstantin tells her with a cheeky grin. “I have a real gun that I doubt those scrawny arms of yours would be able to lift.”

“Why you…” Tara hisses, her cheeks flaming.

They banter back and forth as the plane speeds up. I’m starting to get fucked off with the conversation until I see Tara’s hands have released their stranglehold on the armrest and I realize what Konstantin is doing. Tara is afraid of landing, and he’s distracting her. A grand gesture, but one that crawls right under my skin and makes me boil just a little more at just how well he knows her.

But my attention is drawn back to Tara and the fact that she has a weakness still tells me that this new Tara is just a persona she’s wearing—a shield. One that I plan on tearing apart.

After we land, one of my crew members is waiting at the door to hand us our coats and gloves. I help Tara into hers, and we head off into the terminal, and I guide her toward border control. She stiffens when I guide her through the Russian checkpoint, handing over two Russian passports. Her brows draw together, and the agent waves us through with a nod.

On the other side, she snatches it from me.

“Forging passports these days?” she mutters cynically, eyeing the ID in her hand. “That’s one way to quickly end your law career.”

“It’s not forged,” I reply calmly, pointing to the document. “It’s yours.”

She follows my finger and sees the name: Lidiya Zorin.

Her whole body goes still, and her eyes narrow angrily.

“I am not Lidiya Zorin,” she hisses, voice venomous.

“Your real birth certificate would contest that,” I murmur, leading her to the waiting limo.

Pavel greets us with a tight nod as I introduce them and he opens the door.

“Welcome to Russia,” he says as Tara slides into the backseat.

“Welcome home, Tara.” I add to the welcome and settle in beside her.”You’re going to have to learn the language,” I add, watching her as the engine hums to life.

“Soglasna. Znát' yazýk vragá — razúmno,” Tara rattles off in perfect Russian.

I agree. To know the enemy’s language is smart.And I gave her the perfect opportunity to ensure that once again, I knew she saw me as the enemy.

“Huh!” That's all I can say at that moment, staring at her in awe.

“What? Are you surprised I can speak Russian?” She looks at me as if I should’ve known, which I should’ve. “I can repeat it in German, French, Latin, Spanish, Hungarian, or Flemish?”

“You only speak seven other languages besides English?” I tease.

“I speak more. But I didn’t want to brag,” Tara drawls sarcastically before turning to look out the side window.

Her voice drops, losing a bit of its sharp edge.

“I didn’t get to see much of Moscow the last time I was here. Growing up, Russia always called to me. I’d see it on TV or in a magazine, and I’d feel this pull. Like something inside me knew I belonged here. And now I know why.”

Her mask of indifference slips, just for a moment, before the bitterness returns along with the hollow emptiness that has been in her eyes since I found her.

“I was born here. It’s in my blood.” Her gaze finds mine. “Just like whatever shit they pumped into me in the womb. So now I wonder—is it homesickness for my motherland? Or do I have some twisted homing device embedded in me that was programmed to drag me back here?”

That thought hadn’t occurred to me. My brow furrows.