Page 49 of Savage Lies

“Or maybe that’s the kind of caution you get when you’re buying him a new dacha.”

I almost smile. Three weeks, and she’s learned to doubt.

Good girl. Now remember who you belong to, kotyonok.

“Gray sedan is still with us,” Daniil says tightly. He takes a right that isn’t on our route. The sedan shadows. A dark SUV slides in two cars back. Coincidence dies right there.

“Could be something. Take the next right.”

The sedan follows us through the turn and maintains the same distance. Professional surveillance or paranoid coincidence—in my line of work, both are equally dangerous.

I’ll be damned if I let anyone near my girl.

“What’s happening?” Katya notes the sudden tension in the car.

“Probably nothing. Just being cautious.”

But my hand moves instinctively toward the gun under my jacket as Daniil takes another unnecessary turn. The gray sedan stays with us, joined by a dark SUV that’s keeping pace two cars back.

“Boss,” Boris grunts from the front passenger seat, “we’ve got company.”

Through the rear window, I count at least three vehicles in a loose formation behind us. Too coordinated to be a coincidence, but too obvious to be professionals. Unless being obvious is part of the plan.

“New route,” I tell Daniil. “Take us toward the?—”

The sniper fires. The windshield disintegrates before I can curse.

The shot comes from a rooftop to the north, five stories up, tucked just inside the corner window.

“Get down!” I throw myself over Katya as Daniil slams on the brakes and yanks the wheel hard to the right.

The sedan skids sideways and slams into a parked car with enough force to deploy the airbags. My door won’t open—the frame’s bent from the impact—but Boris kicks out his window and returns fire toward the rooftops.

“Move, move, move!” I shout as I drag Katya through Boris’ window.

We hit the pavement running, with blood streaming from a cut on Katya’s forehead from the crash.

The alley to our right is a dead end; we cut left toward the loading docks.

Boris provides cover fire as we sprint toward a parked truck, bullets sparking off concrete all around us. Katya stumbles but keeps moving as her survival instincts kick in despite the confusion.

“How many?” I shout over the gunfire.

“At least six,” Daniil calls back. “Maybe more on the rooftops.”

A smoke grenade detonates near the truck, and I realize this isn’t a simple assassination attempt. They’re creating cover for extraction.

“They want her alive,” I tell Boris, who nods grimly as he reloads his weapon.

The smoke thickens around us, and we hear the distinct sound of boots on asphalt closing in fast.

“Stay close to me,” I tell Katya, who’s pressing her sleeve against the cut on her forehead.

“What’s happening?”

“The people I told you about. They found us.”

Two men in tactical gear emerge from the smoke like ghosts. I put three rounds center mass in the first one before he can raisehis rifle. He drops, but his partner is already firing, forcing me back behind the truck as bullets spark off metal.