Page 122

Until now.

And something tells me there’s nothing I can say, no argument I can make, that is going to stop him.

I can refuse to give him Jacey’s name and photograph.

He’ll go in anyway.Without the information he needs to succeed.

I can give that information to Rodrigo instead and hope he kills Jacey before Jacey kills him.

Except you know he won’t.

Not to mention that such a blatant betrayal of Dimitry’s trust would end our relationship.For good this time.

The worst of it is that I see the brilliance in his plan. The part of me that negotiated with Juan back in Bogotá and plotted to outwit Rodrigo is already thinking out ways to make it work.

And not because I want Jacey dead, although the idea of living without his ever-present threat is more seductive than I dare contemplate.

The simple truth is that from the moment I left the SK compound, I’ve been haunted by the faces of the women I left behind.

My friends.

The entire time I was in that hotel room with Rodrigo, I was trying to work out how I could include them in my escape. And now that I’m free, even temporarily, their faces are all I can see.

During my time at SK, I dreamed of Dimitry almost every night.

Now that I’m out, it’s Lucky I dream of. Her cheeky smile, no matter how hard things became. Her hand in mine when she felt my sadness. Yrsa’s beautiful face, and the way it grew paler and more drawn with every day she spent in thatfucking place. Mary, and her fierce devotion to her daughter, the single-minded determination to get back to her.

We all knew, in that place, that when somebody managed to bargain their way out, they never came back. Nobody ever questioned why that was. We all shared the silent understanding that if any of us were ever presented with the chance to leave, we would take it without looking back.

I just never imagined that I would be the one seizing that chance.

And the truth is that although my body might have left, a huge part of me is still living in that compound.

Those women—myfriends—live inside me in a way I can’t escape. Just like Dimitry did throughout the time we were apart. Like Darya still does, even now. I can’t outrun their memory.

And I don’t want to.

What I want is to get them out of there. I can’t rest until I do. And no matter how far I run, freedom won’t mean a fucking thing until they share it with me.

None of which changes the fact that right now the only way to do that involves me standing idly by while the man I love more than my own life walks right into the heart of darkness.

I can’t watch that happen.

I know my own limits. I know what I can survive.

I can’t survive Dimitry dying for this. For me.

I wouldn’t want to.

Through a hole in the canvas I stare at the hard, taut lines of Dimitry’s face, the constant vigilance in his eyes as he scans the river for danger. His scar gleams silver in the moonlight, evidence of the violence he’s already survived.

And a brutal reminder that this time he might not live to bear a scar.

I must have slept,because when I wake, it’s to the gentle thud of the boat against a dock.

“Stay down,” Dimitry murmurs. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Skip.”

He’s gone before I have time to protest. I lie like a statue under the canvas, my eyes straining to see through my peepholes. The darkness outside has the grainy quality of approaching dawn, but it’s still a way off. I can hear the sound of a low-voiced exchange, then the gurgle of fuel entering the boat. Another few minutes, and the engine starts, sending us out on the water again.