Page 13

“No.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“Because names have power. Because once you know who I am, everything changes.”
“Everything’s already changed. You kidnapped me. You brought me here. You’re threatening to kill me if you decide I’m a threat.” My voice rises again, stress and exhaustion making it harder to control my emotions. “How exactly could things get worse?”
“Knowing who I am might mean I can’t let you go if you aren’t Irina.” With those stark words, he moves toward the door, and our conversation is apparently over. “Get some rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
“Wait.” I take a step toward him, desperation making me bold. “How long are you going to keep me here?”
He pauses with his hand on the door handle. “As long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?”
“As long as it takes for me to decide whether you’re telling the truth.”
I sigh in vexation. “I am telling the truth. I’ve been telling the truth since the moment I woke up in your SUV.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” The words aren’t at all reassuring when delivered in that disconnected way. He opens the door, and a second later, the door closes behind him with a click, leaving me alone again. This time, the silence feels different. Heavier. More final.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor once more and stare at the camera in the corner. Somewhere in this building, he’s probably watching me fall apart. Studying my reactions, looking for cracks in my story, or waiting for me to slip up and reveal whatever he thinks I’m hiding.
There’s nothing to reveal. I have no secret identity, no hidden agenda, and no information about missing women or dead brothers or dangerous secrets. The problem is, he doesn’t believe me. If he continues to disbelieve me, if he decides I’m lying about who I am, he’ll kill me for being Irina.
If I convince him of the truth, that I’m Sabrina, not Irina, I’m no longer a hostage. Then I’m a loose end. If he decides I know too much about his operation, this beautiful room will become my tomb.
I need to get out of here and soon before he makes his decision and I become a problem that needs to be eliminated. Right now, being Irina or Sabrina seems likely to lead to certain doom.
I stand up and walk to the windows, pressing my palms against the bulletproof glass. Jessie is probably wondering where I am. Maya might have noticed that I never came back from my break. Someone might be looking for me, but they’ll never think to look here.
I’m on my own.
The thought should terrify me, but instead, it makes something hard and determined settle in my chest. I’ve been on my own before. I survived my parents’ divorce, my father’s abandonment, my mother’s illness and death, and the financial catastrophe that followed. I’ve been fighting to survive since I was a child.
I can fight now.
I just need to be smart about it. I need to watch and listen and learn everything I can about this place and the people who run it. I need to find weaknesses, opportunities, and ways to turn their own security measures against them. I need to do it before my captor decides the safest thing to do is make sure I never leave this room alive.
The camera in the corner is still watching, recording everything I do and say. Let it watch. Let him see I’m not giving up, and I’m not the kind of woman who breaks easily.
Let him see I’m going to fight.
6
Nikandr
Ihaven’t really slept except for an hour here or there. Forty-eight hours have passed since I gave Maksim the deadline, and I’ve spent most of them staring at the camera feed from Sabrina’s room like a man possessed. I’ve analyzed ever expression she makes, every gesture, and every inch of her body language. None of it matches what I know of Irina Volkov.
According to all my research, Irina was always aware of how her actions might be perceived. She moved through the world like an actress playing a role, every smile and laugh and tear carefully orchestrated for maximum effect. The woman on my screen is raw in a way that Irina never was, her emotions playing across her face without filter or consideration for who might be watching.
When she discovered the camera, the panic that overtook her was genuine. When she pounded on the door and screamed, it wasn’t a performance designed to elicit sympathy. It was the reaction of someone who had been pushed beyond theirbreaking point and was fighting back in the only way they knew how.
But I can’t let go. Some part of me—the part that’s been hunting Irina for ten years—refuses to accept this woman might be exactly who she claims to be. If she’s not Irina, I’m back to square one. Back to chasing shadows and following leads that go nowhere. Back to living with the knowledge that my brother’s killer is still out there, and the woman who made it possible is free to enjoy the life she stole from him.
The door to my office opens without a knock, and Maksim enters with the expression he’s been wearing for the past two days. It’s concern mixed with barely contained frustration, like he’s watching me make a mistake that will get us all killed. “We need to talk.”
I don’t look away from the monitors. On screen, Sabrina is sitting by the window, staring out at the forest with the kind of hollow exhaustion that comes from prolonged stress. She’s barely touched the food we’ve been bringing her, and there are dark circles under her eyes that suggest she’s sleeping as poorly as I am.