When it's just the three of us, I move to the bar and pour three glasses of vodka. Ronnie and Danil join me.
"That went well," Danil says dryly.
"Ivan's been a problem waiting to happen," Ronnie adds. "I'm glad you handled it now."
"How many were with him?" I ask.
Ronnie considers. "Six, maybe seven soldiers actively supporting him. Another dozen sympathetic but not committed. The rest were waiting to see which way the wind blew."
"And now they know." I refill our glasses. "I want surveillance on Ivan's known associates. Phone taps, tail them, find out if anyone else is planning something stupid. And I want a full accounting of what happened while I was gone. Every decision made, every dollar moved, every deal struck."
"You'll have it by tomorrow," Ronnie promises.
"Good." I drain my glass. "We also need to find out who paid Yuri to kill me. Someone out there thinks I'm dead, and when they realize I'm not, they'll try again."
Suddenly, I hear footsteps pounding down the stairs. When I look up, my heart jumps into my throat. Lena stops halfway down the staircase, gun in hand, and looks at me with wide, terrified eyes.
37
LENA
The gunshot still echoes in my ears as I stand frozen in my bedroom, my heart hammering so hard, I can feel it in my throat. Silence follows. Heavy, terrible silence that could mean anything.
He could be dead.
The thought hits me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. Aleksandr could be lying in a pool of blood downstairs, and I'm standing here like a coward while the man who… what? Kidnapped me? Saved me? Both? He could be dead.
My hand finds the Glock on the nightstand. The metal is cold and heavy, grounding me as I move toward the door. My fingers shake as I turn the handle, and I have to grip the gun with both hands to keep it steady.
The hallway stretches before me, empty and quiet. Too quiet. I force my legs to move, each step feeling like I'm walking through water. The stairs appear, and I start down them, the gun raised even though I have no idea what I'm doing.
Halfway down, I see them.
Aleksandr stands in the great room, very much alive, talking to Danil and another man I don't recognize. His suit jacket is still pristine, no blood, no signs of violence. Relief crashes over me so intense, it makes my knees weak.
He's alive.
All three men turn to look at me, and I realize how I must appear. Wild-eyed, barefoot, pointing a gun at them with hands that won't stop shaking.
Aleksandr moves immediately, taking the stairs casually. His gold eyes lock onto mine, and something in them makes my chest ache. Concern. Real concern.
"Lena." His voice is soft as he reaches me, his hands coming up slowly like he's approaching a spooked animal. "Give me the gun."
I look down at the Glock like I'm surprised to find it in my hands. "I heard… there was a shot. I thought…"
"I know." His fingers close gently around mine, easing the weapon from my grip. The safety is still on. I never even took it off. "It's okay. Everything's okay."
"You're not dead." The words come out stupid and obvious, but I can't seem to form anything more coherent.
"No." Something flickers across his face. Almost a smile. "Not dead."
"Good." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware that I'm standing on the staircase in front of strangers wearing jeans anda thin sweater. "I mean, you're my protection. If you die, I'm screwed."
His eyebrow raises. We both know that's not the whole truth. Not even close.
"Come on." His hand finds the small of my back, warm through the fabric. "Let's get you back upstairs."
"I'm fine." But I let him guide me up anyway, my legs still unsteady. "What happened? Who got shot?"