Chapter Thirty-Seven #2
He knows who we’re talking to. And if anything happens to any of us, a car accident, a mugging, a gas leak, anything, he has
instructions to make your life very expensive and very public. Every asset, every shell company, every connection you’ve spent
decades building. He’ll burn it all down and enjoy doing it.”
Nobody speaks for long enough that I start to wonder if he’s hung up.
“Mr. Asher,” Kedrov says finally. “Yes. I know the name.” Another pause. “You’ve thought this through.”
“We’ve had ten days in a cabin with nothing to do but think,” Hailey says.
“Very well. The diamond and the information, in exchange for my complete disinterest in your future existence. I accept these
terms.”
So we give him everything. My six weeks of direct contact with Marlena’s network.
The broker in Zurich. The shell companies and bolt-holes she mentioned while she had me alone.
Knox walks Kedrov through the transport details: helicopter make and model, airstrip location, guard rotations, weapons, the mining camp layout.
I fill in what I remember from our days working the circuit.
Fences she’d use to move stolen pieces, a German in Munich, a Frenchwoman in Lyon, an Italian family operation in Milan.
Between the three of us, we hand Kedrov a map of Marlena’s world he couldn’t have assembled on his own.
“There’s a private collector in Geneva,” Knox adds. We both look at him. He shrugs. “Cole Asher’s world. You hear things.
Guy named Renaud, buys high-end pieces, doesn’t ask where they come from.”
Hailey nods and keeps going. Underground auction houses that operate in the shadows of the legitimate art world. How Marlena
thinks, what drives her, the obsession with Kedrov that’s eaten her alive for half a decade.
Viktor is thorough, asking clarifying questions, cross-referencing information. He knows more than I expected—testing us,
probably, making sure we’re not feeding him false leads.
When he’s satisfied, there’s a pause.
“You’ve been most helpful,” Viktor says. “As agreed, you will not hear from me again. But Ms. Parker—a word of advice, if
I may.”
Hailey leans toward the phone. “I’m listening.”
“If you choose to continue in this profession, choose your targets more carefully in the future. Stealing from someone like
Marlena Kade?” He makes a dismissive sound. “Foolish but survivable. Stealing from me?” His tone goes cold, all pretense of
pleasantry stripped away. “There would be no second chance. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes,” Hailey says quietly. “We understand.”
“Good.” The warmth returns, artificial as a mask. “Then I wish you a happy new year. And a long, quiet life.”
The call ends.
None of us speaks for a long moment.
“So that’s it?” Knox asks. “We just . . . trust him?”
“We don’t trust him,” Hailey says. “We trust Cole. And Kedrov trusts that we’re not bluffing about Cole.” She picks up her coffee, looks at it, puts it back down. “That’s not the same thing as trust. But it holds.”
“And Marlena?”
I shrug. “Viktor’s people will find her eventually. Either way, she’s not our problem anymore.”
It should feel like a victory. We survived. We’re free. The threat that’s been hanging over us has been neutralized, one way
or another.
But sitting in this fluorescent-lit cafeteria with bad coffee going cold in front of us, all I feel is tired. Exhaustion that
has nothing to do with the physical ordeal we’ve been through.
We finish with the RCMP another hour later. Sign statements, provide contact information, promise to make ourselves available
if they have follow-up questions. The investigation will continue, but we’re cleared to leave. Just victims caught up in something
beyond our control.
Michelle meets us outside the station, her dark hair catching the late afternoon light. She’s back in her ranger gear, looking
more at home than she ever did holding a rifle during the siege.
“So you’re really heading back to New York,” she says. It’s not quite a question.
“Yeah.” Hailey pulls her into a hug. “Thank you. For everything. We’d be dead without you.”
Michelle hugs her back, then steps away with that easy smile. “Just doing my job. Well, slightly outside my job description,
but close enough.”
Knox clears his throat. “About that.” He pulls a business card from his wallet—I didn’t even know he still had one on him
after everything—and hands it to her. “If you ever want a change of scenery, look me up. Cole Asher runs Asher Industries
in Manhattan. We could use someone with your skills. Security, crisis management, keeping idiots alive when they get in over
their heads.” He glances at Hailey and me. “We seem to attract a lot of that.”
Michelle looks at the card, then back at Knox. A smile tugs at her lips. “I appreciate the offer. Really. But I belong out here.” She gestures at the mountains rising behind us, the endless stretch of forest. “The woods are home.”
“Fair enough,” Knox says. “But the offer stands. Anytime.
“One more thing,” Knox says. “My friend Cole, the one I work for. His company has been funding rural infrastructure projects
for the last few years. Clean energy, satellite internet, equipment upgrades for communities that are off the grid. It’s good
PR for him and actual help for people who need it.” He pauses. “I can make a call. See about getting some resources sent up
here.”
Michelle looks skeptical. “What kind of resources?”
“Start with a generator that doesn’t sound like it’s dying. Maybe a satellite uplink that doesn’t cut out every time the wind
changes. Go from there.”
Michelle laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not going to say no to that.”
Hailey grins. “You better watch out. You may end up liking being a city girl.”
Michelle laughs and tucks the card into her pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now get out of here before another psychopath
shows up and I have to save your asses again.”
We catch a ride to the nearest town with an airport. Book flights back to New York. First class, because after everything
we’ve been through, we deserve comfortable seats and free champagne.
Hailey and Knox take the two seats together. I’m across the aisle, close enough to see them but not touch. She falls asleep
against his shoulder somewhere over Manitoba, and he pulls a blanket up over her without waking her. His hand rests on her
knee, protective even in sleep.
I watch them for a moment before looking away. We’ve been tangled together for days—the three of us sharing warmth, sharing
breath, sharing things I never expected to share with anyone again. And now there’s an armrest and an aisle between us, and
it feels like more.
Knox catches my eye across the gap. Holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he reaches across the aisle, palm up.
I take his hand. His grip is warm and solid, and I feel a sense of calm.
We stay like that as the plane crosses into American airspace. Knox’s hand in mine, Hailey’s head on his shoulder, the three
of us connected even with the distance between us.
I should sleep. I’m running on fumes and adrenaline and whatever reserves I didn’t know I had. But my mind won’t stop spinning.
We made a deal with one devil to escape another. Sold out Marlena Kade to save ourselves. It was the right call—the only call,
really. But I can’t help wondering what it says about us that the choice came so easily.
Maybe nothing. Maybe survival is its own morality. Maybe when someone tries to kill you, all bets are off and you do whatever
you have to do to make it out the other side.
Or maybe we’re just not as good as we like to think we are.
I close my eyes and try not to think about it. Somewhere over the Great Lakes, I finally drift off, Knox’s fingers still intertwined
with mine.