He laughs. "Fair enough. With that, I need to get back. I should be able to come back later tonight," he says, making his way toward the door.
I follow him to the entryway. "What about the Russians? Any news?"
Victor pauses, his hand on the door handle, and turns back to me.
"That was the other thing. No, not a single thing. It's all been about the women you freed. No one has even mentioned Maxim or that he's dead."
I furrow my brow, confused.
"Don't you find that strange?"
"Very much so, which is what I'm going to figure out. More importantly, however, I'm being told we might not be able to fly out for a few days. Airport's on lockdown because of all this.Someone moved the bodies though, so I need to find out if the lockdown is really because of the girls or Maxim's death."
"Good luck," I say.
He opens the door and walks out. "Same to you, brother," he says and shuts the door behind him.
I stand in the silence for a moment and think. I glance at the kitchen and get an idea. If I can't talk to her, I can at least feed her.
I check the fridge, and we've got everything. It's a sign.
I pull everything out and lay it on the kitchen counter.
I'll make her favorite breakfast. The one she used to beg me to make on Sundays when we'd sleep in late and didn't feel like venturing out.
Scrambled eggs with sour cream, crispy thick slices of smoked ham, toast with butter and jam, and fresh tomatoes, thinly sliced.
Simple, but hers, and one of the few things I learned how to make really well.
I crack the eggs into a bowl and whisk them with a fork as the smoked ham sizzles in the pan, filling the cabin with such a scent that now I'm even hungry.
I'm flipping the ham when a floorboard creaks behind me.
I freeze, the spatula hovering over the pan, and glance over my shoulder.
Elena is standing in the hallway.
Her dark hair is tangled, falling over her shoulders in messy waves. She's still wearing her clothes from last night, the fabric wrinkled and loose on her frame. Her face is pale, her eyes shadowed and exhausted.
But she's beautiful. Shit, she's always been beautiful.
It hurts that those same eyes that used to light up when she saw me are now guarded, lost, like she's looking at a stranger.
Victor's words echo in my head.
Help her first.
I clear my throat and turn back to the stove, flipping the ham one last time before sliding it onto a plate.
"Hi," I say.
She doesn't respond.
I add the eggs to the pan and cook them with all the flavor left over from the ham. It's what makes them delicious.
They cook fast, and I plate the eggs, adding a dollop of sour cream the way she likes it, then arrange the ham and toast beside it. I grab the tomatoes from the cutting board and add them to the plate, then turn and set it on the small dining table by the window.
"Come sit."