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I rummaged around and found a winter coat that hit my knees. It was huge, but it would keep me well hidden, and it wasn't going to be the strangest thing people saw in DC.

One quick glance out the window had confirmed where I was. The Washington Monument was easy to see in the sprawling cityscape.

Quickly I shoved money into the pockets of the sweatpants and more stacks in each of the pockets I could find in the coat.

My phone and purse were nowhere to be found, but I really wasn't expecting to find them. Either Pavel had them and I was never going to see them again, or they were left at the club, in which case I was still never going to see them again.

It was a pain, but if I was going to survive this, Alina Russo was dead. I didn't need her ID.

Finally, I needed to find something to put on my feet, but one look at the monstrous shoes that were lined up on the bottom of his closet told me that wearing those would draw more attention than I needed.

Ignoring a woman in clothes that were too big was one thing, since she could be making a fashion choice, or was possibly a tourist making do after their luggage went missing. Regardless, most people went out of their way to not notice other people. But when you added tripping around in clown shoes, staring would be unavoidable.

Instead, I went back to the dresser and searched until I found socks. Two thick pairs of wool socks pulled over my feet and halfway up my calves would have to do.

One last peek in the mirror told me I looked ridiculous,but no more or less ridiculous than any other person walking the streets of Washington, DC.

There really was something magical about a place where a crooked politician in a four-thousand-dollar suit, probably on the prowl for a sex worker, could walk down the same street as a woman who looked like a fashion school dropout, and people would avoid them both as if they had the same disease.

I would at least blend in enough that no one would take notice.

The coat was really nice, maybe oversized, but I didn’t think anyone would really pay any attention. If they did, they could easily assume I was making a statement of some sort.

Creeping into the main room, I looked around, expecting to see Pavel sitting in a chair staring at his phone, or pacing around with a glass of vodka in his hand.

Nope. He wasn't here.

The stack of papers was still spread out on the table, and I took the chance to grab the photos that he had of my grandmother and me from when I was a child. They weren’t much, but they were all I had left.

With each step I took to the front door I grew more convinced I was tempting fate. When I peered through the peephole, there was nothing in the hall, just a crisp white wall hung with inoffensive art across from the door.

With my breath catching in my chest, I slowly pushed down the lever and opened the door just a sliver.

And there he was. Some man, standing with his backto the door. Broad shoulders covered in a dark blue suit jacket.

The way he stood told me who he was.

Security.

Whether he worked for Pavel directly or was hotel staff, I had no idea. Either way, he'd stop me, and then God only knew what he would do. I couldn’t imagine Pavel would hire anyone unless they were at least as unscrupulous as him.

Did he even know I was in here? I could pretend to be a call girl or somebody he picked up, doing the walk of shame. But would he want a turn? I didn't want to risk it.

Carefully, my breath still caught in my throat, I closed the door and set the latch back without a sound.

Hope bled from my body as my shoulders slumped enough that the coat almost fell off of my shoulders.

No, I refused to give up that easily.

I straightened my spine, lifted my chin in the air, and walked around the apartment, searching for another exit. There had to be another way out. This suite was too big for there not to be a second door somewhere.

I headed toward the back and found a living room area. It still smelled of smoke and had two teacups and glasses sitting on the coffee table.

On the other side of that room was a small door, designed to blend in. A servants’ entrance.

Hope blossomed in my chest, but I pushed it down just as quickly. While I had to try—there was no doubt about that—what were the chances that Pavel would leave something so obvious completely unguarded?

I ran to the door, first pressing my ear against thewood. It was cold to the touch and there was no sound on the other side.