Chapter 89
1768words
It's colder than a grave as the snow falls, muffling the world.
This weather is fitting. Dark deeds are best done in conditions like this.
I park my car about half a mile from Yannick's house. It should be ignored on the street the way any other car would be, especially after nightfall. Plus, the drifts of snow will disguise it. Every car is going to look the same under the thick white blankets soon enough.
Taking a page from Mila's book, I've dressed in pure black, from my jacket to my boots. Moving like her is more of a challenge. Even if my leg injury wasn't sending a dull ache that forced me not to put my full weight on it, I could never slip as silently as she does through the shadows.
I don't need to be an assassin. I just need to bust inside without getting caught first.
Yannick might have multiple guards around his property. I've considered what I'll do if I'm up against too many targets—which is a strong possibility. If I act quickly and covertly, I might manage to kill three or four before the rest react. I doubt Yannick has packed his house with more than six guards. But it's not an impossibility.
A dog barks in the distance.
My hackles stand on end as I crouch lower in the bushes. Relax, it's too far away. It's focused on something other than you. My nerves are on alert. Between creeping in the dark and the fact I'm about to face off with my enemy, my heart hammers at my rib cage like a piston in overdrive.
To calm myself, I reach to feel the gun hidden under my jacket. I've brought two, not planning to reload either. The backup pistol is the louder of the two. It's best to save it for after the guards have raised the alarm, when my cover is blown and the danger of being heard will matter less.
Ahead of me, the two-story house rises into view. Tree branches sway over the textured shingles already painted white by the thick layer of snow. I can't tell if the paint is yellow or gray. There's a single lamp illuminated above the porch, the windows shining light from the inside out. Snowflakes sparkle in the beams before vanishing in the night. Through a bottom-level one, I see a television is playing some movie.
I don't see any cars in the driveway, but it's clear there are people inside. My breaths tumble forth in the chilly evening and disappear into wisps on the wind. I watch them, counting backward from ten to force myself to relax.
No movement in the windows. Nothing out front. I peer up to the roof, my ears straining until I swear I can hear them echo. No guards outside at all.
Are you really this arrogant, Yannick?
My calves are cramping from the effort of moving silently across the front yard. I'm trying not to slip on the slick patches of ice. This can't be another trap. He couldn't possibly have known I was coming. My fingers brush the trigger. There are no guards posted because he's not afraid. This is his ego on full display, that's all.
Comforted by this thought, I brace myself on the porch.
If he doesn't expect an attack, then that's his problem.
Thrusting forward with my good leg, I kick the front door open. It bangs off the inner wall, bouncing back toward me, but I'm already through. Turning to my right, where the TV is on, I aim my gun as I check for any attackers.
Nothing.
A quick turn, and I scan the other half of the main room. The lights are on, showing a small foyer laid out with white furniture and a shelf for stacking shoes. Above it is a coat rack built into the wall. There are two jackets and an umbrella draped on the pegs, the only sign that anyone lives here.
With my blood pounding in my veins, I rush toward the hallway. I'm halfway toward the base of the stairs when I spot movement in my periphery. I turn and point my weapon at the source of the motion.
And find a small boy with a mop of dark curls staring at me in fear.
He's dressed in plain jeans and a red shirt. It hangs to his knees on his thin frame. 'Who are you?" he asks me. 'What are you doing in my house?"
Freezing in surprise, I glance from side to side nervously. Why is there a kid here? Did I get the wrong house? Is that even possible? No, Camila confirmed the address. This is the place!
He blinks like an owl, saying, 'I'm Roman. Are you a friend of Papa's?"
I lower my gun slowly. The boy stares at it like he's only just noticed it, his eyes widening further. My mind warns me of something. It's an odd feeling … but he seems … familiar. The tilt of his eyes, or the angle of his mouth. I can't place it, but it feels like I've met him before.
'Of your papa's?" I ask harshly.
He recoils, picking up on my tone. 'Yannick Grachev. Do you know him? Are you also here to see Mom?"
Mom?
It's a struggle to keep my face emotionless as the realization hits me like a train. A hurricane of emotions consumes everything inside of me. I feel chunks of my heart break free, swirling in my stomach until all my innards are a mess in my chest.
It has to be a lie.
It has to be!
He rocks from side to side anxiously, his hands folding together in his long shirt. 'Papa said someone was coming here to help find my sister. She's missing. Are you here to help me?"
I'm not ready to tell him anything until I know what the hell is going on. Working to keep my voice calm and failing badly, I crouch to his eye level. A terrible sensation settles in my blood. It presses on me heavily until my neck bends and my shoulders hunch. I lift my gun, balancing it on one knee. Roman can't tear his attention away from it. I should holster it, but his comfort pales next to my need to protect myself.
'Where is your papa now?" I insist.
'Why?"
'Just tell me!" I bellow.
Roman starts to shake. His bottom lip pokes out, pink and wet. He puts his hand on the banister of the stairs, his foot inching to the bottom step. I notice he's not wearing socks. The house is warm enough that he doesn't need them. Whoever left him here, they haven't been gone for long.
'You're not here to help me find her," he gasps. 'You're not Papa's friend. You're the bad man he warned me about!" He clears four stairs before I react.
'Wait! Roman!" I shout, barreling after him. I shove my gun under my jacket, using both hands to grip the banister so I can climb the stairs faster. Roman is just ahead. I'm panting heavily, everything throbbing, pushing my body past its limits. If I wasn't injured, I could catch him for sure.
But maybe I still can. Maybe I can do it.
When he throws himself into a room at the top of the stairs, slamming the door, my heart sinks.
My weight pushes on the door. Jiggling the knob, finding it locked, I punch at the wood with my fists. 'Roman! Open up!" Shit, what do I do? There's too much going on for me to think beyond my need to catch this kid. He has answers.
I'm here to find Katinka! Where is she? Where did Yannick go? And if this kid is his son, why leave him behind unguarded like this?
Through my hard pounding, I make out the sharp vocals of Roman's shouts. He's talking to someone. Is he not alone in there?
'Help!" Roman screams. 'Someone broke in! I need help, please!"
He's on the phone! 'Roman!" I roar, hitting until my fist goes numb. 'Hang up the phone!"
I hear him rattling off his address. 'He has a gun! Please hurry!"
Backing up, I prepare to try and kick the door down. Sirens wail in the distance, rising in pitch as they scream toward the house. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Heaving air into my lungs in a panic, I spin and sprint down the stairs. My wounded leg is killing me, but I push past the agony. I dart through the front door, still hanging open from my break in, and slip into the darkness surrounding the house. My boots go out from under me on the slick porch. With a grunt, I come down hard on my hip.
In the distance, the dog is barking again, joining its noise to the cacophony heading my way.
Multiple police cars zoom down the street, their lights dancing over the hedges. I roll off the porch, cutting forward on my hands and knees through the snow. I duck lower, inching through the sharp leaves and twigs showering my hair with fragments of ice.
It feels like I've gone miles before I enter another backyard of a house further away. Sweat drenches me down my shoulder blades. But the cool night air gives no relief.
I scoot across the dirt on my belly. It's wet from snow that turns to slush under my body. The icy chill penetrates my jacket. My limbs feel heavy, as if they're waterlogged. Mud seems to glue me in place. Gruff voices with flashlights prowl not far from me.
I hold still, waiting, not daring to breathe.
Someone shouts, and they move back toward the house. I wait until the beams of light are gone, then I wait even longer. Seconds feel like hours, but slowly, I urge myself to move.
I don't relax until I make it to my parked car. Even then, the tightness in my limbs doesn't smooth out. I keep expecting a police blockade. I can visualize the red and blue lights in my rearview mirror. But nothing happens.
Yet I remain on high alert the entire drive back to the mansion.
Narrowly escaping the cops leaves my heart thundering, but it's only temporary.
The entire drive, all I can think about is what Roman mentioned. My hands cling to the steering wheel. His voice. Those eyes.
I know why he seems familiar now.
Someone was coming to help find my sister!
His sister.
Camila.
