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“Okay,” Shiny Boots says. “Then how about this.” He’s trotting along to keep up with my grey, who’s dying to move.

“There’s a gate up here,” the second guy says in Russian.

The first guy takes over, back to Latvian. “If you can get the stallion to stop and follow us through, we’d be happy to hide you and pay you to break him for us.”

“Break him for what?” I ask.

“To race,” the man says.

“That’s exactly what I do,” I say.

But I have no idea whether I can get him to slow down and go through the gate. I haven’t told the guys this yet, but so far, my ability to get on this horse and guide him mostly away from Boris has been entirely luck.

Or a little bit of leftover grace from my deal with God. There’s no way I’m going to try and explain that. I already look like an absolute lunatic.

Ugh.

I lean down close to his neck, and I pat him. “Listen up, now, boy. These nice men have a deal for us. There’s a very, very bad man behind me, and he wants me dead. I’m certain he’ll kill me, unless I can find somewhere to hide.” I pause. “And I need your help a little longer.”

The grey snorts.

“I don’t like being stuck in a cage either,” I say. “I know why you broke free.” I drop my voice to the barest of whispers. “So when I leave, I’ll do my very best to take you with me.”

He slows down a bit, and he tosses his head.

There’s no way he understands what I’m saying, but I do. And I mean it. When I finally feel ready to run, I’ll try and let him loose again, just like I found him.

“You’d have to hide me,” I say loudly. “When my ex comes looking, you’ll have to say you haven’t seen me at all.”

“If we do that,” Shiny Boots asks, “do you think you can make the horse behave?”

I see the gate up ahead. “Let’s find out.” I turn him toward the fence and ask him to move closer.

He picks up speed, turns toward the fence, and before I can guide him toward the gate, he vaults over the center of the four-foot fence. I’m not a jumper like my sister, and I very nearly fall off, but thanks to a really good hold on his mane, I right myself.

“Looks like it’s worth a try,” Shiny Boots says. “I’m Viktor Baranov. I look forward to working with you.”

4

I’m not sure how many times I turn around and look over my shoulder, but Boris doesn’t show up. More importantly, neither does Leonid.

As we move away from the fence we just jumped and into the main paddock, it’s quite clear that we’ve entered a different area entirely from where we were. Instead of wild underbrush, the grass is well tended, the paddocks are cross fenced with horses in them, and the water troughs are set at regular intervals.

There’s a wide alleyway that’s intersected by other small cross fenced paddocks, and luckily we leapt into the alley. It makes sense that the end of the long, narrow pasture would be the location of a gate off the property. Lots of horses rush their fences as we trot our way down the slim bisecting area, and I brace myself for nonsense. The grey I’m on doesn’t react, other than swiveling his ears and pinning them a time or two. It’s surprising to me, since he’s apparently a stallion, but without a saddle or even a bridle, I’m delighted he’s not too agitated about the other horses.

I can’t help being nervous about where exactly we’re going or what their plan is. I’m on the run, I’m in a strange place, and admitting that I have no idea where I am seems like a bad idea. But mostly, I’m nervous because there’s really only one thing I know about these men I’m following.

Somehow, they lost this horse earlier today.

I’m worried that they won’t have a plan for getting me off his back safely and getting him into a pen or paddock that can hold him. One of the men immediately whips out his phone, texting someone I’m sure.

“What’s the plan?” I ask. “What kind of operation is this?” I really hope Viktor speaks enough Latvian to understand what I’m asking.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’re a full-scale racing barn with dozens of staff. Our trainer’s one of the best in St. Petersburg, and we’ve let him know that we recovered Quicksilver.”

“That’s actually a pretty good name, boy.” I pat his neck. “And you’re definitely quick.”

“What’s she saying?” The man with short hair asks.