His face explodes into bits of blood and bone. It’s like a hyper-realistic video game, complete with smell, taste, and—
“Motherfucker! Sara, what happened? What’s wrong?”
I snap back to reality, gasping for air. I’m on the ground, curled in a fetal ball, with Lucas Kent crouched over me. His hard features are tense with worry, his pale eyes surveying me from head to toe. Not spotting any obvious injuries, he grips my shoulders and pulls me to my feet.
My knees are weak and I’m shaking all over, my sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to my body. I’m also so cold that I’m shivering despite the heat of the sun beating down on my skin.
“Are you okay?” Kent asks, holding me by my shoulders. When I nod on autopilot, he lets go of me and demands, “What happened? Did something scare you or hurt you?”
I shake my head, still breathing too fast to speak.
“Okay. Diego!” He waves at the guard passing by—the same one who showed us to the house, I realize dazedly.
“Stay with her,” Kent orders when the young man hurries over. “I’m getting Peter.”
And before I can object, he takes off at a run.
73
Peter
“Where’s Kent?” Esguerra asks when I walk into the small, modern building that serves as his office. He prefers to conduct business away from the house and family—never mind that Nora is well versed in the ins-and-outs of his illegal empire.
“How should I know?” I reply as I take a seat next to Yan, who’s looking at his phone. Ilya and Anton are already here as well, with Ilya happily munching on a cookie from the platter that Ana must’ve brought in again. “Isn’t he staying in the house with you?”
Esguerra frowns. “He was making the rounds with the guards this morning.” He glances at one of the many TV monitors lining the walls, then faces us. “Looks like we’ll have to fill him in later. I have a call coming up.” His gaze swings to me. “Any word from Henderson?”
“No, and I wouldn’t expect to hear from him anytime soon. We’re still”—I glance at the clock on one of the monitors—“about an hour from the start of the deadline. I’m guessing we’ll have to make good on our threat with at least a few bodies before he realizes we’re serious.”
Esguerra nods. “All right. I’ve already given our men the instructions on which hostages are to be killed first. Any word from your hackers?”
“Actually, yes,” Yan says, looking up from his phone. “They’ve just tracked down the sniper for us—the one who shot the agent during Peter’s arrest.”
My hand tightens on the table. “Who is he?”
“He is apparently a she,” Yan says, his eyes on his phone again. “Goes by the name of Mink and is from the Czech Republic. Hold on—the picture is loading now.”
“What about our doppelgängers?” Anton asks. “Any word on those fuckers?
Yan doesn’t respond, and when I look at him, I see a vein ticking in his temple as he stares at his phone’s screen.
“What is it?” Ilya asks, frowning, and his twin wordlessly hands the phone to him.
Ilya’s broad face seems to turn into stone. “Her?” He looks up at his brother. “She is Mink?”
What the fuck? I snatch the phone from Ilya’s hand and examine the picture on the screen.
The woman’s face—caught in half-profile by the camera—is young and rather pretty, with delicate features emphasized by the short blond hair standing up in spikes around her pale face. On the side of her neck is a small tattoo of something indiscernible, and her small ear is studded with a dozen piercings.
“Who is she?” I ask, looking up at the twins. “How do you know her?”
Yan’s face is tight. “It doesn’t matter.” He grabs the phone from me. “I’m sending men to capture her—she may know where Henderson is.”
“It does matter,” Esguerra says as Yan’s thumbs tap furiously at the screen. “Who the fuck is she?”
“We met her in Budapest,” Ilya says when Yan ignores the question. “She works as a waitress in a bar.”
A waitress from Budapest? Why does that sound familiar?
“Did you sleep with her while we were in Japan?” Anton blurts out, staring at Yan. “Is she the one Ilya was pouting about?”
Ilya’s massive jaw tightens. “I wasn’t pouting. But yes, he”—he jerks his thumb at his brother—“fucked her.”
Yan slams his phone on the table. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
I watch the scene in amazement. Cool, collected Yan is as close to losing control as I’ve ever seen him.
Ilya’s face goes red, and he stands abruptly, sending his chair crashing to the floor.
I leap to my feet as well, knowing a fight is coming—and at that moment, Kent bursts in.
“It’s Sara,” he says, breathing as if he’s run a four-minute mile. “Peter, you need to come with me right away.”
74
Peter
Ignoring the nagging pain in my side, I carry Sara back to our house. She’s capable of walking—I know, because she told me so in a shaking voice—but I don’t give a fuck about that. She’s so pale and fragile-looking that I have to hold her, have to feel her slender body pressed against me, so that I know she’s physically uninjured.