Chapter 21 Cartier #2
The face is so out of context here in Andrej’s Russian family home, that I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. I’m frantically trying to make him fit the picture of the grenade-wielding psychopath in my head, that it takes a couple of beats for me to register what happens next.
There’s a muted thud as Yuri’s body wholly enters the room, and then he staggers backwards, his spine colliding with the wall behind him as if he walked into an invisible forcefield.
Something dark and wet splatters the pale wall.
His face darkens.
And I stare until my eyes water and the tear in his coat swims in and out of focus.
He’s been shot. Ivana shot him. Only there was no ear-splitting sound when she pulled the trigger because she must be using a silencer.
Ivana stands up and faces him squarely. “Get out.”
A smile twitches Yuri’s mouth. If he is in pain, he isn’t letting it show.
“Is that any way to greet a friend?”
His voice grates on every nerve in my body, so I’m still a beat behind when I process what he said. Friend?
“Leave now, and I’ll provide your cover. I’ll make sure that the Ivanovs don’t pursue you.”
Yuri doesn’t move.
Ivana has her back to me, but I know that her expression is completely neutral.
“Well now,” Yuri says, “as tempting as that sounds, we had a deal.”
“The deal is off.”
His face darkens, and a shudder runs down my spine. “The deal is off when I say it is, and I haven’t gotten what I came for. Yet.” He pauses. “Hand her over, and I’ll be on my way. You’ll never have to see me again.”
Bile burns the back of my throat. Hand her over. Who is he talking about?
But I already know the answer even before Ivana speaks.
“They are getting married. She is wearing the Ivanov emerald. She isn’t a part of this world. Whatever you think she has done, you are wrong. So, this is your last chance.”
Yuri’s smile is unpleasant, and I get the same sense of uneasiness that I felt when I met him for coffee in the café back in Chicago. “Too late.”
His movements are fluid. I barely catch the glint of metal before another shot is fired. This time, the sound bounces off the walls and resounds inside my head. Books fall from shelves somewhere behind me, pages flapping like wounded birds.
Ivana must retaliate with her own shot, but he dodges it easily, diving onto the floor and aiming another bullet directly at her.
It’s hard to follow what’s going on from behind the bookcase, but a silent scream lodges in my throat when Ivana falls backwards, bouncing off the couch and hitting the floor with a muffled whump.
More gunfire reaches my ears from elsewhere in the house.
The bodyguards must’ve heard the shots fired by Yuri and are coming to investigate.
He hears it too. Back on his feet in an instant, he scans the library, searching for me, and I pray that he won’t hear my heartbeat going thump-thump-thump. I’m unarmed. Even if I had a weapon, I wouldn’t know how to use it.
But he must decide that escape is his best option because I watch, trembling, from my hiding place as the door opens wider allowing the light in and Yuri an exit strategy.
I ignore the bullets ricocheting along the hallway. The instant the door clicks shut, I crawl out from behind the bookcase and cross the floor on my hands and knees to where Ivana is lying motionless.
“Ivana?” I examine her body quickly.
It’s hard to miss the hole in her chest, and the blood pumping from the wound, saturating her black sweater and creating a puddle on the carpet.
“Ivana? Can you hear me?”
I’ve studied first aid. I know what to do if someone has a heart attack or a stroke. I know not to move someone if they’ve been involved in a car crash and suffered damage to their neck or spine. I can treat infected wounds or make a splint for a broken limb or detect concussion.
But I’ve never been faced with a potentially fatal bullet wound.
She’s watching me, I realize, with her dark eyes. The green flicks on her eyelids are still, unbelievably, intact.
“Go.” Her voice is barely audible.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I strip off my hoodie, ignoring the goosebumps that pop on my arms from the chill and the satin camisole that I wanted to surprise Andrej with. I fold the hoodie into a bundle and press it over the wound in Ivana’s chest to stem the flow of blood.
“It’s okay. Andrej will be here soon.” I try, and fail, to inject some confidence into my voice.
The door opens again and, heart battering my ribs, I look around to find some of Andrej’s men. The leader’s eyes immediately settle on Ivana on the floor, and the makeshift compress that I’m holding against her chest.
“She needs to get to a hospital,” I say.
He nods once. “You’re coming with us.”
“I can’t leave her.” I stare at him, hoping that he can see in my eyes how utterly fucking ridiculous his expectations are. “Didn’t you hear me? She needs—"
“Where did they go?” Because catching the intruder is their priority.
“I don’t know. Will you call—”
They don’t stick around long enough for me to finish.
Ivana is still watching me. I can feel the blood seeping through the hoodie already. This isn’t good. This is really fucking bad.
But I force a smile, try to keep my voice calm.
Don’t panic the victim.
“It’s okay, Ivana. I won’t leave you.”
“Gun…” She tries to raise her arm, but I take the gun from her hand and set it down on the floor. “Take it.”
“Don’t talk.” There are blood speckles on her lips, and I know that if she doesn’t get medical assistance soon, she isn’t going to make it. “Andrej will be here soon. He’ll know what to do.”
I don’t know what deal Ivana had with Yuri Asimov, and I don’t care that he called her ‘friend’. This woman saved my life, and I’m not going to leave her here to die.