Chapter 12
M ila wrapped her arms tightly around her chest as she sat in the passenger seat. Ghost had insisted on buying her a winter coat and boots, along with several other items.
Which was silly considering the deal they’d struck. If he stayed true to his word, he’d drive her back to Seattle later today. The boots and coat had been necessary, but she didn’t need a few pairs of pants, several shirts, a hoodie, and more than one pair of underwear.
“Thanks for everything.”
Ghost turned into his driveway. “Don’t mention it. No need for you to freeze any more than you have.”
“Still. You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “Just don’t run away again and we’ll call it even.”
A minute later, he drove his truck into the garage. She stepped out, but before she could reach for her bags in the back seat, he already had them in hand.
She followed him into the house. Ghost removed his shoes and coat, then hung her coat next to his in the hall closet. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and read something on it.
He handed her the bags. “I’ve gotta call my buddy. Go ahead and change if you want. I’m sure my clothes aren’t very comfortable.”
“Thanks.” She slipped off her boots and then ascended the stairs to his bedroom. As she shut the door, a wave of unease passed over her.
She set the items on the bed, and her gaze drifted to the large patio doors. She moved to them. Snow swarmed down over the dense woods, the flakes growing thicker and thicker. If the forecast they’d heard on the radio was accurate, they’d be hit with a huge snowstorm that evening.
Her earlier conversation with Ghost came back to her. Calling him Atticus had darkened his eyes. He’d said she could call him either name, but his body language had indicated he didn’t like Atticus. And definitely not Mr. Troy. Did he mean his father?
She’d probably never find out. He wasn’t exactly a heart-to-heart kind of man. Or at least not that he’d displayed, anyway. Besides, she’d be free of him, and her old life, very soon if the conversation with Neo went well.
Uncertainty swirled in her stomach. She didn’t need to talk to Neo to know she was in deep shit. Irinia would be pissed she’d been caught by her target. Although Mila didn’t have the same fear of Irinia that she’d had as a child, that trauma still burned beneath the surface.
Beneath the hate.
She didn’t want to talk to Irinia. Didn’t want to hear her sharp words or demands. Along with the excitement that came with the prospect of leaving Irinia’s sick world, there was also anxiety. She didn’t know how the woman would react.
Mila knew everything about Irinia’s operation. About her deep-rooted connection with the Bratva and the organization’s inner workings with Russia’s intelligence service.
Enough to cause irreparable damage if she spoke out.
Irinia was cruel and spiteful, but she also saw Mila as a daughter—even referred to her that way. Could she break apart from Irinia and keep quiet?
She pressed her fingertips to her forehead.
The details didn’t matter. She had no choice. Even just being out of Irinia’s clutches for the last two days had been freeing. She wouldn’t return. Couldn’t.
She also couldn’t speak a damn thing about the Bratva or the RIS. She’d end up with a bullet between her eyes if she even considered it.
She spun away from the window and went to the bed. After tossing together an outfit, she folded the other clothes into a neat pile, ready to pack.
Once she called Neo, her life as she knew it would be gone forever.
***
Rami picked up on the first ring. “Hey. How’s it going?”
Ghost dropped onto the stool at the island, where he’d sat with Mila just hours ago over breakfast. “Good.” He swiped his hand over his face. Before he went into details about the status of his progress with Mila, he needed to hear what Rami had for him. “What’d you find out?”
“First of all, Zain asked me to tell you they found her car and belongings. It’s at HQ. Taschen’s hacking into her laptop. He’ll call you soon.”
“Anything else?”
Rami let out a long sigh. “You sitting down?”
Anticipation beat against his breastbone. “Yeah, man. Just tell me already, fuck.”
“It’s heavy, dude.” Rami’s tone was somber.
The anticipation turned into fiery apprehension. Absently, his gaze shifted to the stairs. Ghost knew full well that whatever Rami was about to share would alter his impression of the capable woman who’d knocked him on his ass with her pretty looks, smart mouth... and deadly kick.
“She was kidnapped, bro. At nine years old.”
Ghost’s pulse stopped and started. He blinked in confusion, his brain’s processing system not doing its job. “Huh?”
“Kidnapped. Went missing after her dance lesson. She was never found again.”
“How do you know?” he wheezed. It made sense. He’d made a backhanded comment about her obviously having a less-than-normal childhood, but this?
“I just sent you a picture. Have a look.”
His phone beeped. Ghost opened the message, and a side-by-side image filled his screen.
On the left, a young girl with dark hair smiled at the camera.
Big blue eyes full of life and exuberance sparkled in the school picture.
She wore a pink dress with yellow butterflies on it. Happy. She looked fucking happy.
The right image was an estimate of what the young girl would look like now—and the face resembled Mila’s pretty damn closely.
“Facial recognition came through,” Rami explained. “Mila Vasiliev was taken from Moscow in 2005.”
Ghost blew out a low breath and tore his gaze from the image. He brought the phone back to his ear. “Jesus Christ.”
Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, but the huge picture was still murky as hell. He propped his elbow on the table and pinched his brow.
What kind of sick sonofabitch?
What had happened after the kidnapping? Anger rushed through him so fast he pushed himself to his feet, unable to sit. He paced a line in the kitchen, Rami’s silence allowing space for his fury to heighten. “Who’s responsible?”
He’d kill them.
Plain and simple. Disgust and rage made his vision flicker. Had she been assaulted? Was that why she’d turned to assassination?
“If I knew that, I’d be working for missing persons units all over the world.”
“Well, maybe we’re going to change businesses. I want a name.”
A beat passed. “Maybe you should ask her.”
The stairs creaked. His heart launched into his throat and he tightened his hold on the phone.
Rami was right, of course. She was an adult now.
Surely she had some idea of who’d taken her.
Even if she’d escaped at a young age, she might still be able to describe her abductors.
Give him a name. He’d run with whatever she had.
“All right. I’ll talk to you after.” Ghost clicked off without waiting for Rami’s response.
He dropped his phone into his pocket as Mila entered the room. She smiled, her eyes bright and rested. Hell, almost happy.
She wore black leggings and an oversized peach-colored sweatshirt. Cabin socks hugged her ankles, making her look cute and cozy. “Everything okay?”
He pressed his tongue to the backs of his teeth. Goddammit, he didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to say anything that’d dim the light in her eyes or force trauma to surface.
But he couldn’t bite his tongue.
He moved closer, and she didn’t retreat as he reached her. She tilted her head back.
“Ghost, what’s wrong?”
He clasped her elbows, afraid that if he didn’t anchor her, she’d slip through his fingers. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
She blinked twice. “Okay.”
“And I want you to be honest with me.”
She slid her tongue over her lips. “You’re freaking me out.”
He inhaled deeply through his nose. This wasn’t about him or about how the idea of someone hurting her affected him. He had to control the rush of his blood, the anger fighting to get on top. Because while he’d been through a lot of messy, fucked-up shit, she’d endured more.
“Before you told me your name,” he said slowly, “I had my friend look for you using facial recognition. Everything stateside brought up Anna Yorke, but I knew that wasn’t really you.”
Her eyes stayed on his, unwavering but clearly not following where he was going with this.
“I had him search your image in Europe. He just told me what he found.”
Her head angled to the side. “I don’t under...” She inhaled a shuddering breath and her face went pale. Her eyes turned glassy. Her lip trembled.
But he needed to finish. To be absolutely certain she understood. Or maybe for his own clarity. “He discovered you were kidnapped in 2005. In Moscow.”
She bent her head forward. Her hair fell over her face. Her shoulders shook.
“Mila, talk to me. Do you remember what happened?”
She sniffed, wiping her cheeks. Finally, she nodded. Her eyes slammed into him, and their depths were so tortured and haunted his heart spasmed.
He pulled her to his chest and folded his arms around her. Her face burrowed against his sternum, and her hands bunched into fists against his abdomen. Her sweet, womanly scent mixed with his shampoo wafted to his nostrils, stirring something unknown inside him.
She sobbed softly. He stroked her hair gently, waiting.
He’d had a rough childhood—had been filled with so much anger all he’d wanted to do was kill or be killed.
But to think of an innocent child being taken from her family, of what she must have endured all that time... that gutted him.
Nine years old. Practically a baby.
“I’ll never forget that day,” she whispered. She turned her head and flattened her cheek in the center of his chest.
Her heart beat against his ribs, fast and a little erratic. He wanted her to talk. He needed to hear every goddamn detail. But it couldn’t be done on his time. It had to be on hers.
Opening his palm to cradle the side of her neck, he waited.