“Look at this,” he says, and adrenaline floods my veins as I see a new email from our hackers.
Swiftly, I read through it on Anton’s screen, and a savage smile spreads across my face.
My adversary has finally made a mistake.
Walter Henderson III’s wife, Bonnie, was at a winery in Marlborough, New Zealand—something we learned thanks to a picture posted on Instagram by the clueless winery owner. Our hackers’ face recognition program picked it up within hours of it appearing online.
“Get ready,” I tell Anton and the twins when I finish reading through the email. “After we’re done here tomorrow, we’re going to New Zealand.”
“What about Sara?” Ilya asks. “Are you going to leave her with Kent?”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “No.” I can’t bear to be separated from her for even a day longer. “She’s coming with us.”
And before going to bed, I call Lucas to check up on her.
46
Sara
* * *
I spend the day pacing my room, my anxiety intensifying with each passing hour. By dinnertime, I’m ready to tear my hair out.
In less than twelve hours, Peter’s dangerous mission will begin, and Yulia still hasn’t come by to talk to me—nor has her husband brought me the promised pill.
“I should have it later today,” he told me when he delivered my lunch. “Though it could be tomorrow as well.”
By tomorrow, it would be too late, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting my jailer to know that I truly need that pill. If nothing else, I can stash it away for future use, and pray that my fertile window wasn’t so fertile this month.
A quiet knock on the door interrupts my pacing.
“Sara?” a woman’s voice asks. “May I come in?”
My pulse leaps with joy. “Yes! Please, come in.”
The door opens, and Yulia backs into the room, holding a heavy-looking tray with covered dishes.
“Here, let me help you.” I rush toward her, barely containing my excitement as I assist her in setting the tray onto the dresser.
She smiles at me. “Thank you. How is your stay so far?”
“It’s good,” I answer, beaming back at her. “And obviously, the food is wonderful. Thank you so much for that.”
Yulia’s blue eyes gleam with pleasure. “You’re welcome. And how is everything else? Do you have everything you need? Lucas said you asked for a couple of medicines…”
I nod, then decide to just go for it. With Peter potentially returning tomorrow, I have no time to waste, and I already know Yulia is on my side. “I need the morning-after pill,” I say bluntly. “And today is the last day I can take it.”
Her beautiful mouth rounds in surprise. “Oh. Wow. Lucas didn’t mention anything about that. He sent one of his guards into town today to pick up a few things, but I know that something came up and the guy was distracted. Let me check to see if he got it, okay?”
“Wait.” I grab Yulia’s slender arm as she turns to leave. “Please. I need your help.”
Her expression turns carefully blank. “What do you mean?”
I drop my hand. “I have to leave. Now. Tonight. Before Peter returns. Please, it’s very important. I’m not his girlfriend; I’m his captive. He kidnapped me, and now he—”
“Wait, Sara. Please.” She lifts her hand, palm out. Though her manner remains calm, I can tell she’s distressed. She must not have expected me to plead for help so openly. “Is he abusing you? Has he hurt you?” she asks carefully.
“He cut me with a knife and waterboarded me,” I say, and immediately feel a twinge of guilt at the horror on Yulia’s face. I should probably mention that the torture took place before our relationship, such as it is, began, but if I’m to get her help, I can’t afford to paint my captivity in a rosy light.
As kind and sympathetic as Yulia seems, I can’t forget that she’s an arms dealer’s wife and may have a different view of morality than most people.
“He also wants to force a child on me,” I continue, pressing my point while she’s still in shock. “That’s why I need the morning-after pill today. In another couple of hours, I’ll be outside the thirty-six-hour window. Not that the pill would help if I’m still here when Peter returns. He’ll do what he wants with me, and nobody will stop him. Please, Yulia”—I catch her arm again—“you don’t even have to let me go. Just let me make one phone call or send an email. Nobody would even know it was you who helped me. Please.”
She pales more with every word I speak, and I almost feel bad. I understand the impossible position I’m putting her in. Though she seems willing to look the other way when it comes to her husband’s deadly business, Yulia is not like him—or at least she possesses enough empathy to put herself in my shoes. At the same time, she knows how dangerous Peter is and what she would be risking by double-crossing him.
“Are you—” She clears her throat. “Are you ever with him willingly? That first night, at dinner, I could feel the tension between the two of you, but the way he looked at you… And then the way you looked when you were saying good-bye… I was in and out of the kitchen, but I thought I saw— Did I get the wrong impression? Is he hurting you? Forcing you every time?”
My face heats with embarrassment at the private question, and I drop my hand again. “That’s not— I mean, he kidnapped me. What do you think?”
To my surprise, she looks uncomfortable. “I think it’s complicated sometimes,” she says after a moment. “Not every relationship follows the same path, and there are times when—” She stops, as if thinking better of it.
Frowning, I stare at her. There’s a story there, but whatever it is, I can’t afford to focus on it. I have to persuade her to help me before it’s too late.
“Yulia, please,” I say. “This is my only chance. You are my only chance. If he returns and I’m here, I’ll never see my parents again, never have any control over my own life… Please. I know you understand my situation. Peter Sokolov killed my husband and tortured me. He stalked and kidnapped me, and he’s been keeping me captive for almost five months. I have to leave before he returns, and all you need to do is let me have access to a phone. Just for a second. I could contact the FBI and then—”
“And then we’ll have every law enforcement agency targeting our home,” Kent says, pushing the door open without knocking. His square jaw is clenched with fury, his pale eyes narrowed into slits as he crosses the room and grabs Yulia’s hand in a white-knuckled grip. “Let’s go,” he tells his wife through gritted teeth, and I watch in growing despair as he drags her out of the room.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths before he slams the door, locking me in again, and I know it’s over.
My one chance at escape is lost.
* * *