CHAPTER 4
SLOANE
The plane’s vibration seeps under my skin as we descend toward Las Vegas.
I’ve been trapped in this metal tube for nearly five hours, and every minute has been pure torture.
Not because I hate flying—I detest it, but I can handle it—but because every second brings me closer to a mission I’m not prepared for.
Improvised undercover agent . If it weren’t so terrifying, it would be almost comical.
The businessman sitting next to me has tried to strike up a conversation three times.
Three times I’ve replied with one-word answers, feigning interest in the in-flight magazine like it holds the secrets of the universe.
How do I explain to him that every stranger looks like a potential threat now?
That I wonder if he’s a Morozov agent, an FBI informant, or just a guy heading home after a sales convention in New York?
I take a deep breath. Paranoia won’t help me.
I close my eyes for a moment, visualizing Harper. Her smile, the way she tilts her head slightly when something amuses her, how her hands are always stained with ink or paint. My best friend. The person who knows me better than anyone else in the world.
And I’m going to lie to her.
Even if it’s to protect her, it’s still a lie.
But I can’t tell her the real reason I’m here, because I don’t know how closely Morozov is watching her.
The plane touches down with a jolt that snaps me back to reality. People clapping, seatbelts unbuckling, the usual organized chaos. But this time, every face looks suspicious, every casual glance a covert assessment.
No one knows , I repeat like a mantra as I wait for the doors to open. No one can know .
Harry Reid Airport is a sensory assault. Lights meant to be too bright, giant screens advertising Cirque du Soleil shows and Céline Dion residencies. Las Vegas wastes no time in reminding you where you are.
I grab my suitcase and head toward the exit, automatically scanning every corner. I look for familiar faces. But above all, I fear and crave in equal measure to find a pair of gray eyes, a tense jaw, a body that seems made to intimidate.
Dimitri .
The thought of seeing him makes my stomach do a treacherous flip. A mixture of anxiety and nerves courses through my spine.
I walk through the glass doors into the arrivals area and then I see her. Harper. My Harper.
She’s standing next to a column with a radiant smile and a ridiculous sign with my name surrounded by stars and glitter. So typical of her. So...
I freeze mid-step.
What the hell?
Something is different. Harper is wearing a loose peach-colored dress that falls in elegant folds. Her face looks fuller, with a special glow to her skin. And then my gaze drops to her belly and...
Oh my God .
Harper is pregnant. Unequivocally, obviously pregnant.
Time freezes while my brain processes this new reality. Harper. Pregnant. A baby. Alexei Morozov's baby. She’s going to have a child with the man who kidnapped her.
"SLOANE!"
Her scream breaks my shock. Harper runs toward me, dodging tourists, her sign forgotten on the floor. When she throws herself into my arms, I catch her automatically, but my body feels disconnected, as if I were watching the scene from the outside.
"I've missed you so much!" she exclaims against my shoulder.
I hug her tight, trying to find my Harper beneath this new version. Her body feels different against mine. Softer. Warmer. And between us, that undeniable bump that changes everything.
"Harper..." I manage to say when we pull apart. My eyes inevitably drop to her belly.
She follows my gaze and bites her lip with a mixture of nervousness and pride.
"Surprise," she says with a shy smile, instinctively bringing a hand to her abdomen. "I wanted to tell you in person. It's... it's a boy. I'm four and a half months along."
A boy. A little Morozov growing inside my best friend.
I see Alexei approaching out of the corner of my eye.
Tall, elegant, with that air of innate authority that makes people unconsciously step out of his path.
But what throws me off is his expression.
It's not the cold face of the mobster I expected.
There is something in the way he looks at Harper.
.. a mixture of pride and something that looks like devotion.
"Congratulations," I say finally, and my voice sounds strange even to me. Am I congratulating my friend for being pregnant by her kidnapper? Or am I congratulating a woman genuinely in love with her husband?
Harper studies me with that perceptive look she’s always had, as if she could read right through me.
"Are you okay? You look... I don't know. Worried?"
"Yes! I mean, no. I'm surprised, but..." I force myself to smile, to find words that sound sincere. "It's wonderful, Harp. It's just... wow. A baby. It's a lot to process."
Harper smiles, accepting my explanation.
"I know. It took me a while to take it in, too."
Alexei reaches us, placing a protective hand on the small of Harper's back. The gesture is so natural, so intimate, that it completely throws me off.
"Miss Murphy." His voice is deep, with that barely perceptible Russian accent. "Welcome to Las Vegas."
"Thanks for meeting me," I reply automatically, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but controlled, like everything about him.
Harper links her arm with mine, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Let's go home. I have so many things to show you, and now that you know about the baby, you can help me with the nursery! I have a thousand ideas, but I need your opinion."
While Harper talks nonstop, I let myself be guided toward the exit, where an imposing black Escalade awaits us. The driver—clearly a bodyguard disguised as a chauffeur—opens the door for us with deference. I notice the presence of at least two other men, discreetly watching our surroundings.
Protection or surveillance? Security or prison?
I slide into the back seat next to Harper, who is still enthusiastic about baby plans. I look out the window as the vehicle merges into traffic, the lights of Las Vegas shining like promises in the distance.
The mission just got exponentially more complicated.
If Harper is truly captive, if this pregnancy is part of a macabre plan by Morozov to tie her to him... then my job is more important than ever.
But if Harper is genuinely in love, if that child is the result of love and not manipulation... then I'm about to betray my best friend in the worst way possible.
And above all, a question hammers at my mind: where is Dimitri? Why didn't he come with them?
Harper's hand finds mine on the leather seat.
"God, Sloane, I can't believe you're here," she says, her eyes shining with emotion. "It's going to be just like old times. Well, with some obvious differences," she adds, pointing to her belly with a giggle.
I smile back, ignoring the weight of the encrypted phone in my purse, the acidic guilt in my stomach, the constant fear of being discovered.
"Yeah, just like old times."
The lies have already begun. And I feel like this is just the first of many.