Page 9

The conversation reveals a woman who’s been fighting to survive on her own since she was eighteen, who dropped out of college to care for a dying mother, and who’s been carrying debt that destroyed her family long before she was old enough to understand what medical bills could do to a person’s life.
A soft knock at the door interrupts us. Maksim enters without waiting for permission, his expression grim. He looks between us before addressing me. “We need to talk.” He says it more firmly this time.
I look at Sabrina, who’s watching our exchange with attention that suggests she’s trying to piece together information from context clues. Her exhaustion is finally showing as the adrenaline that’s been carrying her through the night starts to fade.
“We’ll continue this later,” I say.
She moves to sit on the edge of the bed, her shoulders sagging with fatigue. “Lucky me.”
I follow Maksim out into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind me. The electronic keycard system means she’ssecure but not uncomfortable, which is exactly the balance I’m trying to strike.
Maksim crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “So, what’s your assessment?”
I ponder a moment before answering. “She’s either innocent little Sabrina, or she’s damn good at telling lies.”
“Which do you think is more likely?”
That’s the question I’ve been avoiding for the past hour because I don’t like the answer, but I grit my teeth and respond anyway. “I think we took the wrong woman.”
“We?” he asks pointedly. His expression doesn’t change, but there’s concern in his posture. “If that’s true, we have a civilian who can identify all of us and knows the location of this facility.”
I flinch. In our world, witnesses are loose ends, and loose ends get people killed. “She’s not a threat, and she slept for most of the drive up here. She doesn’t know anything about where we are or even reallywhowe are.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “She’s seen your face, Nikandr. She knows you kidnapped her. She can place you at the club on at least two occasions. How is that not a threat?”
I turn away from him and look back toward the door, where she’s probably listening to every word we’re saying. “Because she still doesn’t know anything about us. We don’t have to be seen by her again.”
“Yet, but how long do you think it will take her to figure it out once she gets back to her normal life? She’ll report all of this to the police, andtheycertainly know who we are.”
The smart thing would be to eliminate the problem before it becomes a bigger problem. The safe thing would be to make sure she never has the chance to tell anyone what happened tonight, but the thought of harming her makes something cold and violent coil in my chest, and not in the way that usually motivates me to action. “We’re not killing an innocent woman.”
He lets out a harsh sigh. “Then what exactly are you proposing we do with her?”
“I need more time to determine if she really is innocent.”
Maksim pushes away from the wall and moves closer, lowering his voice. “How much more time?”
I toss out a number before I can overthink it, which isn’t like me at all. “Forty-eight hours. If I can’t determine her true identity by then, we’ll discuss other options.”
He studies my face with the expression of someone who’s known me long enough to read between the lines. “Forty-eight hours, huh? What if she turns out to be exactly who she claims to be?”
I hesitate. “We’ll figure out how to handle the situation without anyone getting hurt.”
“And if she’s Irina Volkov?”
This time, I reply immediately. “Then we proceed as planned.”
Maksim studies my face for a moment longer, then turns and walks back toward the elevator. “Forty-eight hours, Nikandr. After that, this becomes a business decision instead of a personal one.”
After he’s gone, I return to my own suite and spread the Irina Volkov files across the desk, staring at the photographs,surveillance reports, and intelligence gathered from a dozen different sources over the past ten years. Everything I have on the woman who helped orchestrate my brother’s murder is spread before me.
The resemblance between Irina and Sabrina is undeniable, but resemblance isn’t evidence. The more time I spend with Sabrina, the more I’m convinced that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I got a little too hasty and emotional.
But doubt is a luxury I can’t afford, especially when the stakes are this high. Tomorrow, I’ll begin the process of verifying every detail of her story. I’ll call in favors, access databases, and trace her life back to the day she was born if necessary. If she’s innocent, I’ll find a way to let her go without compromising our security or putting her in danger.
If she’s not innocent, if she really is Irina Volkov living under an assumed identity, everything changes.
I look at the photograph of Irina one more time, studying the face that has haunted my dreams for a decade. Somewhere out there, the real Irina is probably living under another identity, safe from the consequences of her choices while my brother’s killer remains free, but maybe not. I have a woman who might be her locked in a room down the hall, and I have forty-eight hours to determine if Sabrina is also Irina.