Page 36 of Waters that Drown Us

But she didn’t leave her apartment all day. Even now, so close to our deadline, her door remains firmly locked. I thought about returning her bike, which is still locked up behind Wayne’s, but thought she might consider that defying her orders.

I know she thinks I’m working for her father. It was impossible to cover my reaction when she gave her safe word in Russian. For a flickering moment, I considered shrugging it off,asking her if she learned the Spanish version for me, pretending I thought it was Estonian. But Alice is perceptive. I imagine in her father’s household reading others quickly was a life or death skill. She knew I knew, and in her world, the reasons I have for knowing are limited and terrifying.

I doubt The Syndicate is even on her radar. Throughout the week I spent with Lucia in Vladivostok, Alice never once joined a true negotiation or business meeting. She was only briefly present at social events where the directions from our hosts were clear—no business talk when pleasure was the goal.

Or at least, that’s how Konstantin’s generals phrased it.

My only real option is to tell her the truth. Explain my presence here, my family, what her father did, and what our goals are. I can only hope her love for him, and any value for his life, ended as soon as she hit international waters. Because if she so much as hints at warning him of our plans, not even Bea’s empathy can save her.

Complicating matters is the understanding that I must let her lead this. She needs to feel strong, in control, capable. She needs to know that I trust her, so she can trust me in return. So whatever she has planned tonight, I have to follow along, and hope it’ll pave a path that leads her to listen to my explanation. Quickly.

At nine-fifteen, I watch her front door open, the camera stuck to the telephone pole across from her complex streaming her movements live to my phone. She’s wearing jeans and a thin tank top, her hair loose and damp at the ends, like she just got out of the shower. Slung over her shoulder is a tote bag stuffed to the brim. I immediately turn the engine of my rental car on, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as I watch her move swiftly down the road.

If she was running, she’d have a better plan than simply walking down the highway, right? Though to be fair, hitchhikingmight be her only option. She doesn't have a phone or computer or even internet access in her apartment, so it’s not like she searched for bus tickets. She could be planning to catch a ride to the next town with a public library.

I follow her through the cameras as she makes her way past the storefronts we fought in front of last night. I curse myself yet again for the way I reacted. I should have been more in control, should have come in with a better plan. But when I saw her at that bar looking so defeated, and realized it was because she thought Ileft, I couldn’t handle it.

It’s only been a month. But I’ve watched her for a lifetime. I’ve never really left her.

I never will.

She turns down the road lined with a chicken wire fence. West, toward the ocean.

She’s coming here.

I turn the engine off, still watching through strategically placed cameras, as I have regularly over the past few weeks. I continue tapping the rhythm of my heartbeat against the steering wheel. The desperate urge to control this moment, to plan everything out, to know what will happen without a shred of doubt, eats at my stomach like a disease. When I step out of the car and into the cool summer evening, I briefly consider changing the plan. Overpowering her, tossing her in the back of the car, and driving off. Trying to convince her that this is for the best, that she’s in more danger than she could ever know, that Iwillprotect her, even if she thinks she doesn’t need it.

But I can’t. Not if I intend to keep her.

I have no control here. I have no idea what future the next twenty-four hours will write in stone. Right now, I have to prove to Alice that I trust her, which means facing that fear, swallowing it down, and doing whatever I need to do to save her from all the monsters that hunt her. Including my family.

I close the app on my phone as soon as she turns the corner into the empty harbor parking lot. Her frame is shadowed in the fading sunlight, but somehow even from this distance, I can see the determination in her eyes.

“You’re early,” she says as soon as she stops in front of me, readjusting the strap on her shoulder. Her expression is stony and unmoving, a harder version of the glassy customer service facade she used to give me, but her fidgeting fingers give away her trepidation.

“I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice,” I admit. The concession doesn’t seem to affect her.

“I have some questions before we begin,” she says, breathing evenly through her nose, like she’s trying to calm her heart rate. She clenches and releases her jaw. I nod.

“Do you know who my father is?”

There’s no more lying. I swallow hard, begging the universe to be on my side.

“Yes,” I say, not answering more than I’m asked. I can tell that she needs to drive this conversation, and I want to give her that control, even if it makes my skin itch. Even if I want to try to explain everything all at once.

“Do you work for him?” she asks, her expression tight.

“No, I swear,” I reply, wishing I could rip open my chest, certain that the truth of my words would be written on my heart.

“Do you know Ilya Andreeva?”

Know, want to kill, same difference.

“Yes,” I admit, wishing I could embellish my response.I also know Lev, but he’s dead and I helped, if that makes you feel better.

“Do you work for him?”

“No.”