***
I’ve been on Belt Parkway for twenty minutes when my phone rings. I answer the call without looking at the screen. “Pavel Suvorov.”
Gennadiy’s voice blares through the phone. “Liya Frankovna is gone.”
My vision tunnels. I slow the car. The tires whirl loudly as I slide into the emergency lane. I rock with the vehicle when I hit the brakes. “What happened?”
“Stepan went to ask her about dinner.”
I grip the steering wheel.
“And about ten minutes later, she said she was going into the sunroom to read.”
The leather strains under my palm.
“The alarm system didn’t do anything. We have no idea how she got out.”
“Do you know where she could have gone? Did she mention Willow at any point? Did she take a phone call?”
Each question receives the same answer. “No.”
I grit my teeth. “Where’s Stepan?”
“He’s leaving now.”
“Tell him to take my place in Manhattan,” I order. “I’m going after Liya.”
“Yes, Pavel Sergeyevich.”
I drop the phone into the passenger seat. I don’t bother with the details. I trust Stepan to handle everything as it’s supposed to be handled. The man can move mountains with the fewest amount of instructions. It’s why I’ve kept him as my right hand through the years.
The leather of the steering wheel cracks under my grip. I look at the rear-view mirror, and I’m shocked by the haggard reflection staring back at me.
My eyes are wild. My pupils are huge. The vein in my neck is pulsing madly.
This can’t happen.
Traffic whizzes past me. I put my blinker on and wait for a break in the line of cars, the tires squealing as I peel out of the emergency lane and speed toward the first exit. I’ll circle around and speed back to Coney Island. It’s the only thing I can do right now.
There are only so many places Liya could have gone. She didn’t mention anything this morning. She didn’t even hint at doing anything other than sitting with Karina.
I scowl.She hid her original plan from me. Why would she be honest about anything else?
I scrape every detail about this morning for something—the smallest clue—that could lead to her whereabouts. She asked where I was going. She asked why. She called it a suicide mission.
My mind races when I try to recall anything from yesterday. There has to be a clue somewhere. She’s clever, but she’s not that crafty. She always gives herself away.
I know because I watch her closely.
I shake my head.
This. Can’t. Happen.
Liya, the baby, her safety, their security—it’s all I can think about. It’s all that fuels me. It doesn’t matter if a cop clocks my speed and decides to pull me over. I don’t care. The only thing I’m worried about right now is figuring out where the hell my wife went.
And why.
She knows the fire is too hot. Why would she leave the safe house? Why would she risk everything?