“Shhh,” I soothe, kissing her forehead as she tries to wriggle out of the blanket cocooning her from neck down. “You’re okay, ptichka. I’m here, and all is well. Here, drink this.” With my free hand, I open a sports bottle filled with water and press it to her lips, letting her suck down some liquid.
“What… where am I?” she croaks hoarsely when I take the bottle away, and I tighten my arm around her shoulders, preventing her from unrolling the blanket and exposing her nakedness. “What happened?”
“Nothing bad,” I assure her, setting the bottle down to brush a strand of hair off her face. “We’re just going on a little trip.”
On the other side of Sara, Yan snorts and mutters in Russian something about major understatements.
Sara’s gaze darts toward Yan, then bounces all over the car, and I see the exact moment she realizes what’s happening.
“Please tell me you didn’t…” Her voice rises in pitch. “Peter, tell me you didn’t just—”
“Shhh.” Turning her fully toward me, I press two fingers against her soft lips. “I couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t leave you behind, ptichka. You know that. It’s going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’m going to keep you safe.”
She stares at me, her hazel eyes filled with shock and horror, and despite my certainty that I did the right thing, my chest tightens unpleasantly.
Sara warned me about the FBI, knowing I would most likely take her with me, but she probably didn’t expect me to do it like this. And maybe there was some other way, something I could’ve done that wouldn’t have involved drugging her and stealing her in the middle of the night.
No. Shaking off the uncharacteristic self-doubt, I focus on what matters: reassuring Sara and getting her to accept the situation.
“Listen to me, ptichka.” I curve my palm around her delicate jaw. “I know you’re worried about your parents, but as soon as we’re airborne, you can call them and—”
“Airborne? So we’re still in—? Oh thank God.” She closes her eyes, and I feel a tremor run through her before she opens her eyes to meet my gaze. “Peter…” Her voice turns soft, cajoling. “Peter, please. You don’t have to do this. You can just leave me here. It’ll be so much safer for you… so much easier to get away if they’re not searching for me. You could just disappear, and they’ll never catch you, and then—”
“They’ll never catch me regardless.” My tone is clipped, but I can’t help the flare of anger as I lower my hand. Sara had her chance to be rid of me, and she didn’t take it. By warning me, she sealed her fate, and it’s too late to back out now. Yes, I drugged and took her without asking, but she had to know I wouldn’t leave her behind. I told her how much I loved her, and though she didn’t say the words back to me, I know she’s not indifferent. Maybe this is not precisely what she wanted, but she chose me, and for her to beg me to leave her behind now, to try to manipulate me with her big eyes and sweet voice… It hurts, this rejection of hers, though it shouldn’t.
I did kill her husband and force my way into her life.
“We’re here,” Anton says in Russian as the car slows, and I turn my head to see our plane some twenty meters ahead.
“Peter, please.” Sara begins to struggle inside the blanket, her voice rising in volume as the car comes to a complete stop and my men jump out. “Please don’t do this. This is wrong. You know this is wrong. My whole life is here. I have my family and my patients and my friends…” She’s crying now, her struggles intensifying as I bend to grab her blanket-wrapped legs and haul her out of the car. “Please, you said you wouldn’t do this if I cooperated, and I did. I did everything you wanted. Please, Peter, stop! Leave me here! Please!”
She’s hysterical now, twisting and bucking in the confines of the blanket as I back out of the car, holding her against my chest, and Anton shoots me an uncomfortable look as he helps the twins get the weapons from under the backseat. Though my friend had suggested on more than one occasion that I should just take Sara if I want her, the reality of it must be crueler than he imagined.
Other people might deem us monsters, but we can feel—and it would take a heart of steel not to feel something as Sara continues to beg and plead, struggling inside the blanket cocoon as I carry her to the plane.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her when I bring her into the passenger cabin and carefully deposit her into one of the wide leather seats at the front. Her distress is like a poison-tipped blade in my side, but the thought of leaving her behind is even more agonizing. I can’t picture my life without Sara, and I’m ruthless enough—and selfish enough—to ensure I won’t need to.