Page 35
Story: Secret Weapon
12
NINE
“Ineed to look for a dog.”Ana shoved her phone back into her pocket.“Do you have any sausages?Or cheese?”
“We already found a dog.Or it found us.”
“Different dog.This one belongs to the victim.A papillon.”
“She was walking it when she got attacked?”
That suggested terrible spatial awareness.
“Who knows?Emmy just said it’s missing.The sausages?”
“I don’t have sausages.Paulo keeps burger slices in the refrigerator, but I’m fairly sure there’s no actual cheese in them.How about cat treats?”
Ana shrugged, and she’d confirmed that Ana was the name she went by now.Nastya had died back in Russia.
“Those would probably work.”
I nodded toward the jar withPicklewritten across it in pink glitter glue—more of Paulo’s handiwork.
“In there.”
“Spasiba.I’ll be back soon.”
“Do you want company?”
“I thought you were staying out of this?”
That had been my intention, so why had I even made the offer?
Deep down, I knew the answer—this would be my last chance to see Ana, perhaps ever, and once she’d departed, I’d go back to my regular, dull life, dying a slow, depressing death from boredom.I kicked out the panel under the snack cupboard and retrieved backup weapons—another switchblade and a small semi-automatic—then tipped my chin at the rear door.
“Lead or follow?”
“You know the terrain better.”
“What does a papillon even look like?”
“A tiny white thing with hairy ears.”
“You’re a dog expert now?”
“My neighbour volunteers at a dog sanctuary.I listen.”
I considered putting on a coat, but even in winter, Oregon was positively balmy compared with Siberia, and I didn’t want to risk getting stuck in the dress.Having to wear such ridiculous clothing was bad enough already, and if the seams couldn’t detach the way they were designed to, I risked ending up in trouble.I envied Ana for her oh-so-practical jeans and ski jacket.The jacket had a tear in it now, but give me a needle and thread and—Enough.I could forget playing seamstress today and simply enjoy myself.
“Just like the old days,” Ana murmured as we set off.“Except without the battalion of sadistic Russianmudakihunting us down.”
“So you say.”
I was still watching my back.
“You don’t believe me?”Ana sounded a little hurt.“I’d lie to most people, but not to you.”
“I guess I’m still struggling with thewhy.Why would you risk your life to take out Zacharov?Why not burrow under the way I did?”
NINE
“Ineed to look for a dog.”Ana shoved her phone back into her pocket.“Do you have any sausages?Or cheese?”
“We already found a dog.Or it found us.”
“Different dog.This one belongs to the victim.A papillon.”
“She was walking it when she got attacked?”
That suggested terrible spatial awareness.
“Who knows?Emmy just said it’s missing.The sausages?”
“I don’t have sausages.Paulo keeps burger slices in the refrigerator, but I’m fairly sure there’s no actual cheese in them.How about cat treats?”
Ana shrugged, and she’d confirmed that Ana was the name she went by now.Nastya had died back in Russia.
“Those would probably work.”
I nodded toward the jar withPicklewritten across it in pink glitter glue—more of Paulo’s handiwork.
“In there.”
“Spasiba.I’ll be back soon.”
“Do you want company?”
“I thought you were staying out of this?”
That had been my intention, so why had I even made the offer?
Deep down, I knew the answer—this would be my last chance to see Ana, perhaps ever, and once she’d departed, I’d go back to my regular, dull life, dying a slow, depressing death from boredom.I kicked out the panel under the snack cupboard and retrieved backup weapons—another switchblade and a small semi-automatic—then tipped my chin at the rear door.
“Lead or follow?”
“You know the terrain better.”
“What does a papillon even look like?”
“A tiny white thing with hairy ears.”
“You’re a dog expert now?”
“My neighbour volunteers at a dog sanctuary.I listen.”
I considered putting on a coat, but even in winter, Oregon was positively balmy compared with Siberia, and I didn’t want to risk getting stuck in the dress.Having to wear such ridiculous clothing was bad enough already, and if the seams couldn’t detach the way they were designed to, I risked ending up in trouble.I envied Ana for her oh-so-practical jeans and ski jacket.The jacket had a tear in it now, but give me a needle and thread and—Enough.I could forget playing seamstress today and simply enjoy myself.
“Just like the old days,” Ana murmured as we set off.“Except without the battalion of sadistic Russianmudakihunting us down.”
“So you say.”
I was still watching my back.
“You don’t believe me?”Ana sounded a little hurt.“I’d lie to most people, but not to you.”
“I guess I’m still struggling with thewhy.Why would you risk your life to take out Zacharov?Why not burrow under the way I did?”
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