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“Yep. “He nods. “If they went nuts for a van Gogh, can you imagine what they might do for an imperial Fabergé egg?”

“Dimitry, you can’t.” I frown. “Even if you were talking to Roman, the treasures in Darya’s family vault belong to other people. You can’t just take one—”

“I don’t need to,” he says impatiently.

I snort. “Oh, so you’ve just got a Fabergé egg hanging around doing nothing, huh?” My smile fades when he just stares back at me. “What?” I ask blankly. “Are you trying to tell me you actuallydohave a Fabergé egg?”

“I don’t.” Dimitry’s smile widens to a shit-eating grin. “But I know somebody who does.”

23

Dimitry

“Dimitry!” Leon Volkov answers on the first ring. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hold on to that thought.” I lean on the veranda railing, adrenaline coursing through me like a dark thrill. “You might feel differently after I explain the reason for my call.”

“And now I’m intrigued.” If anything, he sounds mildly amused. “Do tell.”

“I’ll need to be quick.” I launch into a brief explanation of what I need, leaving out any extraneous details and with one eye on the time.

We’ve been standing still too long.I can feel the danger stalking us. And now that I have a plan, I want to move.

But the plan rests on Volkov. And I’m more than aware he has no reason at all to help me.

Which makes his ready assent, when it comes, all the more surprising.

“I’ll catch the next flight.” He cuts me off before I’ve even finished my explanation. “How do I contact you?”

“Take down this number.” I reel off Luke’s digits. “Give him the details, but do it on a secure line. And delete any record ofthis call.” After years of watching Roman’s geek squad at work, I don’t trust digital communication of any kind, military-grade encryption notwithstanding. The minute this call is done, the phone is going to be dismantled and consigned to the mud at the bottom of the Gulf of Thailand.

Then Abby and I will be getting as far away from it as possible. At speed.

Well, as much speed as the boat offers, at least.

“See you soon.” Volkov ends the call before I can. I pull the phone apart and crush the SIM card inside it, then throw the pieces into the river. I turn to Abby, who is standing next to our lone bag, which is already packed.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Night is fallingas the boat putters through the mangroves. Instead of heading out to the gulf, I turn the boat eastward, toward the main canals. Abby is back beneath the canvas, me beneath my hat. I’ve swapped the fisherman’s pants for a sarong and loose shirt that covers my ink. It’s not going to fool anyone who gets close. And using the same boat is a risk I wouldn’t normally take. But we’re less conspicuous on water than we’d be on land, and right now, it’s the best we’ve got.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Abby’s face might be hidden under the canvas, but there’s no mistaking the edge to her voice.

After our initial conversation this morning, when I briefly explained who Volkov is, she’s been uncharacteristically quiet. I suspect she was reserving her questions until after I actually spoke with Volkov, possibly because she thought he’d dismiss my request out of hand.

I’m also pretty sure that’s what shehopedwould happen.

The last thing Abby wants is for me to go after the same people she’s spent so long running from. I understand why, given everything she’s been through. I know that her fears are entirely justified.

I also know that if we allow them to dictate our plans, those fears will get us killed.

Turning the hunt around is the only chance we have of surviving this situation.

I stand and fight. It’s what I do. I’m incapable of doing anything else. And if a life of blood and violence has taught me anything, it’s that the best time to start a fight is when your enemy is busy looking the other way.

“Of course we can talk, Skip. Just hold on until we’re out of the mangroves and into the canal proper. Voices carry out here.”

I sound calm enough. But the truth is that my mind is already fifty paces ahead, doing what I do best: making battle plans.