6
Aleksandra
“We’re going to be late for pickup,” I say.
Nikita ignores me, his phone shoved against his ear as he listens to my brother babble on about something.
Nikita is driving in the opposite direction of the preschool. I doubt it’s because he’s not paying attention. Mikhail is ordering him to take care of business. Whatever that means.
Even with his ear tucked against the phone, I can hear bits and pieces of the conversation. Mikhail raises his voice every so often, and it echoes through the phone into the car.
Grumbling, Nikita hangs up the phone, shoving it into the cupholder while he weaves in and out of traffic.
“Pickup is in fifteen minutes.” I’m not going to make the twins wait.
“And as soon as I handle what the boss asked me to do, we’ll swing by and get the kids.”
“No,” I say and fold my arms across my chest.
“No?” Nikita glances at me. He’s not used to me being less than obedient.
“Liam and Sophia will be upset when I’m not there. Drop me off, and I’ll take a rideshare back to the compound.”
Nikita snorts under his breath.
“What?” I ask. It’s a simple solution and will fix both problems. Why can’t he see that?
“I’m supposed to be guarding you,” Nikita says.
“And you’re supposed to be picking up my kids,” I retort. “Can’t another one of Mikhail’s minions do whatever it is he wants to be done? What about Luka?” I ask.
My brother has plenty of men who can handle the job. Why Nikita?
“I’m the closest to the target. And believe me, you don’t want your kids seeing what I’m about to do to the Italians.”
I rub my forehead. “I swear if you don’t drop me off at the preschool on time, Mikhail isn’t going to be your biggest problem. I will.”
Nikita curses in Russian and rolls his eyes at me. “Fine. Do you have your phone?”
“Yes, when don’t I carry it with me?” I ask. “As soon as I have the kids, I’ll get a ride straight to the compound.”
It’s not like there’s anywhere else I want to go today. It’s freezing outside. Too cold for the park, and it hasn’t snowed in days, so there’s no chance for sledding.
He grumbles and hits a hard right at the next street, hurrying to the preschool. “Stay out of trouble,” Nikita warns as I hop out of the vehicle.
“I should be telling you that,” I say, staring at him. “Do yourself a favor, and don’t get caught.” I slam the door shut and button up my coat as I head for the main entrance. The sidewalk is crunched with salt, leaving a white powder on the bottom of my black winter boots.
Nikita rushes off, not even waiting for me to get inside the front door.
“Ms. Barinov, Aleksandra Barinov,” a woman says, approaching me. She’s in a dark black coat down to her knees. Her hair is dark, slicked back in a ponytail. She should be wearing a hat, but she probably hasn’t been outside very long. Her cheeks aren’t red yet.
“Can I help you?” I ask. I don’t recognize the woman as one of the parents from the preschool. The lady looks older, more mature, and professional.
If I had to guess, she’s a cop.
But she’s not in uniform. Maybe she’s a detective? She wasn’t one of the officers who helped with Liam’s abduction. Mikhail informed me that he took care of it with the local police department, explained it was a misunderstanding and a relative had picked the boy up.
“I’m Agent Melinda Malone with the FBI,” she says.