Volkov took her phone from her. But not before she pushed Send.
“Let’s go.”
Run.But Volkov’s knife pressed her back, and his grip vised her arm as he pushed her through the market.
Andshoot, part of her had thought—stupidlythought—she might get out of this.
With a great, award-winning story.
Aw,Skeet was right. So terribly right. What was her problem?
“Let me go,” she said, twisting away.
Heat flashed in her arm as the knife found flesh. He yanked her back. “Don’t think I won’t hurt you right here. Just another tourist robbed at the night market.”
And now she was shaking. He pushed her out to a black sedan parked on the street. Opened the door. “Get in.”
Inside the car, in the rear passenger seat, a woman with brown hair and terrified eyes pressed herself against the far window, still wearing the same blue dress she’d had on when she’d handed over the flash drive with her husband’s research.
“Elena,” Chloe gasped as she landed on the seat beside her.
“I’m sorry,” Elena whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“No need for apologies. Miss Silver understands the situation perfectly well.” Volkov settled into the front passenger seat.
The driver was a woman Chloe recognized—Volkov’s date from the resort. Dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that emphasized the sharp angles of her face. She didn’t even glance at them as she pulled out into traffic.
“You have something that belongs to me.” Volkov turned to face them. Smiled. “Dr. Radic’s research files. All of them.”
Right.The flash drive, in her laptop bag. All of Elena’s evidence, all of Dr. Radic’s recordings, everything they needed to prove what Volkov was creating.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice emerged steadier than she felt.
Volkov’s smile widened.
The car turned onto a quieter street, away from the crowds of the market. Through the window, the glow of streetlights reflected off wet pavement.
“Here is what is going to happen.” Volkov pulled out a phone—her phone, she realized with a sick jolt. “I’m going to call your partner, Mr. Blackwood, and we’re going to arrange an exchange. The research files for your lives.”
“He won’t do it.” Chloe hoped she sounded more confident than she felt as her pulse hammered against her throat.
“Oh, I think he will. Mr. Blackwood strikes me as the sort of man who takes his protective instincts very seriously. Especially for hiswife.”
Her mouth opened. Closed.
The phone started ringing on speaker. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she waited to hear Skeet’s voice.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, even through the fear that made her mouth taste like copper, a small voice whispered...
Be still.
Because what other choice did she have?
Air. Skeet needed air.
And distance. Enough that Chloe couldn’t see him fall apart.
Three blocks from the Airbnb, he found himself in Lumpini Park, stumbling toward a late-night coffee cart glowing under string lights. The vendor—weathered face, kind eyes—handed him Thai iced coffee.