Page 79

I hear another creak.
Shit.
He’s still on the phone. I slip out the door and into the night. I know these woods. My dad made damn sure I could navigate them blindfolded. Sam and Sabrina trained me, probably because deep down they knew I’d need it.
The Russians think they own me. Fuck them.
I pull the oversized jacket tight around me and head toward the road. There’s a gas station about five miles from the cabin. I don’t stop. My breath clouds in the cold and my legs burn. Adrenaline mixes with pregnancy hormones—I don’t even know what’s real anymore—and I push harder.
The lights of the gas station come into view. I stumble inside, legs shaking, and ask the clerk if I can use the phone. He hands it over.
I dial a number I’ve memorized since I was ten.
"Hello?" the voice on the other end answers.
"Uncle Nik. It’s me. Tara."
"Sweetheart." There’s a pause. His voice softens. "How are you?"
"I’m in trouble. The kind that needs your help."
Silence.
"Where are you?"
I give him the gas station address.
"I’ll be there in ten. Do you remember Sol’s training?"
"Yes."
Ten minutes later, a black Range Rover pulls into the back lot, out of camera range. I duck low as Nik walks inside.
He flirts with the young women at the counter, grabs a box of condoms, and tosses a charming grin their way.
"Thanks. Bit embarrassing, running out at my age."
They giggle. Of course they do.
He gets in the car, locks the doors, and pulls away.
"Condoms? Really?"
"Distraction," he says. "They’ll be too busy giggling to remember I was here."
"You’re pushing seventy."
"Watch it, cheeky monkey."
We drive in silence for a few minutes. Then he says, "Okay. Tell me what the fuck is going on."
I spill everything. From Ruslan to the files, to the call I just overheard. By the time we pull into his estate, I’m exhausted. The guards at the gate salute him. He gives quick orders for extra vigilance.
"Is Galina here?" I ask.
"London, with her grandson."
I sigh in relief.