Page 9 of Lash

I follow her instructions—a few blocks ends up being more like a full mile away, which in city terms is a lot. But we arrive at her flat without issue. It's an old building on a narrow side street, away from the bustle. Formerly a single dwelling, it was renovated at some point in the near past into a handful of upscale flats. It has dedicated parking in the rear, in a small courtyard accessible only via a low, narrow gate with a keypad. Instead of entering the parking lot, however, I circle the block several times, watching. I see no evidence of either Mercado's or Stjepan's men, yet, so I park the borrowed Range Rover a couple of blocks away.

Tatiana moves to exit the car, but I stop her with a hand on her wrist.

"Wait," I say. "We must be cautious."

"What are we waiting for?" she asks. "I've seen no one."

"That does not mean they aren't there," I tell her, watching the mirrors. "Ah, yes, see?"

I point—an older red Skoda passes us and makes the turn that takes them to her building. "I saw them a few blocks back. They are attempting to follow us, but they are not very good. I wasn’t sure if they were following us or not until now."

"How do you know they are?" she asks.

"Because they followed us around the block more than once. Which is clumsy work, indeed." I eyed her. "I have an idea, but it would require some trust on your part."

She lifted her chin and regarded me cooly. "What would you have me do?”

I jut my chin at her. "You will walk to your flat from here and I will follow at a distance. It will look as if you are doing the…" I paused, thinking. "I do not remember the words in this language." I switch to English. "The walk of shame. Do you know this?"

Her amused grin is dazzling. "Much to Tata's eternal shame, yes, I do. Perhaps too well." She stares at me, defying me to judge her.

I only smile. "If you are seeking judgment, Princess, you will not receive it from me. You are a woman grown and owe me no explanations for the choices you make in your own life."

She frowns at me. "Princess?"

I shrug. "I always thought of you as the Princess of Zagreb."

She grins. "I like that. Tatiana, Princess of Zagreb." The grin fades. "So, I am bait, then, yes?"

We stick to English, now, and hers is fluent but accented, with occasional pauses to recall the correct word.

I nod. “Yes. But I will not let anything happen to you."

Her lovely dark eyes search me. "I know." She says it simply, quietly, with an assurance that puts a burn in my chest.

"You trust me?" I ask.

She nods. "I do. It is a…a feeling, I suppose. Perhaps you will betray me, but I do not think so." She rests a hand on my forearm. "I have known many of my father's men, and many of his enemies. I know how it feels when a man is good and when he is evil, and you are not evil."

"Most of us are not all of one or the other,” I say, "but a little of both, princess. You would do well to trust me only so far as I have earned it."

She shrugs. "What choice have I got, Lash? With this Mercado seeking me, how long will I make it alone?"

"Hours at best."

"And with you?"

"I will die before I let Mercado have you," I say, the words a low, forceful hiss.

She smiles, shrugging—the gesture has an air of resignation. "So then, I ask again—what choice have I but to place my trust in you?"

"None."

She lets out a breath. "I'm going, now."

I pull the pistol from the space between the driver's seat and the center console where I'd stashed it while driving; I checked the load—two rounds missing.

"Go," I tell Tatiana. "You may not see me, but I will be with you all the way, I promise."