Chapter 19 Lena
LENA
The words hang in the air like a death sentence. A man with dark hair and tattoos.
I watch Sasha's entire body go rigid, every muscle locking into place.
His jaw clenches so hard, I can see the tension ripple down his neck, and those dark eyes that were warm moments ago turn cold and calculating.
He doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stares at Pavel with an intensity that makes even me take a step back.
"What exactly did they say?" Sasha's voice is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that precedes violence.
Pavel shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable under that predatory gaze.
"They showed me a sketch. Asked if I'd seen anyone matching the description around town or up in the mountains.
" He glances at me, then back to Sasha. "Looked just like you.
I told them no, of course. But they were very insistent.
Said it was important they find this person. "
"Did they say why?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
"No. Just that they needed to locate him." Pavel twists his cap between his weathered hands.
Sasha moves to the window, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light as he stares out at the forest. I can see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes, processing threats and calculating odds. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
"How many were there?" he asks without turning around.
"Two. Both in plain clothes, but they had that look, you know? Like cops or military."
"Did they give names?"
"Smith and Jones." Pavel lets out a nervous laugh. "Obviously fake."
Sasha turns back to face us, and the look on his face sends ice through my veins.
"They're not police," he says flatly.
"How do you know?" I move closer to him, drawn by some instinct I don't fully understand.
"Because police would have actual names and badges. These are contractors." His eyes meet mine, and I see something dark swimming in their depths. "Someone hired them to find me."
"The same someone who shot you?"
"Most likely."
Pavel clears his throat, and we both turn to look at him. I'd almost forgotten he was still here, standing awkwardly by the door with his cap in his hands.
"I should probably go," he says, but he doesn't move. Instead, his pale blue eyes dart between Sasha and me, and I notice the way his jaw works beneath his weathered skin. He's nervous about something beyond the news he just delivered.
"Actually, Maya," he says, his voice pitched a little too high, a little too forced. "Before I go, I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner in town tonight. Just the two of us. There's a new place that opened up, and I thought…"
The temperature drops about twenty degrees.
I don't need to look at Sasha to feel the shift in his energy. It's like standing next to a coiled spring, all that controlled violence suddenly focused on Pavel with laser precision.
Heat floods my cheeks, but I'm not sure if it's embarrassment or something else entirely. The caveman routine should annoy me, should make me want to accept Pavel's invitation just to prove a point.
Instead, my stomach does this stupid little flip.
"Pavel," I say quickly, stepping between them before this escalates into something ridiculous. "I appreciate the offer, but Sasha's right. We have a lot to figure out right now."
Pavel's face flushes red, and for a moment I see hurt flash across his features before he schools them into something neutral. "Right. Of course. I just thought…" He trails off, adjusting his glasses. "Never mind. I should go."
He's back in his truck before I can say anything else, the engine revving a little too hard as he pulls away. Gravel sprays from his tires, and I watch the dust cloud follow him down the mountain road.
When I turn back to Sasha, he's watching me with those gold eyes that seem to see straight through me, down to my very soul.
"That was unnecessary," I say.
"Was it?" He crosses his arms over his chest, and the movement makes his thermal shirt pull tight across his defined muscles. "Men like Pavel take politeness as encouragement."
"He's harmless."
"No man is harmless when he wants something he can't have." His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb stroking my cheekbone. "Especially when what he wants is mine."
Heat pools low in my belly.
"Yours?" I raise an eyebrow, trying for defiant even though my pulse is racing.
"Mine." He leans down, his mouth hovering just above mine.
He kisses me, hard and claiming, and I melt into it despite myself. When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
"So no more dinner invitations from Pavel. Or anyone else."
"You're impossible."
"You like impossible." He grins, and the expression transforms his face from dangerous to devastating. "You said so yourself."
"Fine," I mutter. "No dinner with Pavel."
"Good girl." The praise sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
We head back inside, and I pour fresh coffee while Sasha stares out the window like he's expecting an army to come marching through the trees.
"You know," I say carefully, "maybe having people looking for you is a good thing."
He turns, one eyebrow raised. "How do you figure?"
"Well, if they're looking for you, that means they know you're alive. Maybe they're friends. Maybe they can help you figure out who you are."
"Or maybe they're the ones who shot me." His jaw tightens. "Until I know who put bullets in me and left me to die, I'd rather no one knows I'm here."
"But you can't hide forever."
He takes the coffee I offer, his fingers brushing mine. Even that small contact sends electricity up my arm. "I've gotten pretty good at it over the past few weeks."
He winks, but I shake my head, opting for seriousness instead of play. "That's different. You didn't have a choice." I lean against the counter, studying him. "Now you do. You could go into town and see if anyone recognizes you. Maybe get some answers."
He's quiet for a long moment, his gold eyes distant. I can see him working through possibilities, calculating risks. It's fascinating to watch the way his mind moves behind those eyes.
"You might be right," he finally says. "Maybe it's time to stop being defensive and go on the offensive."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we go into town. We look around. We see if we can spot whoever's looking for me." He sets down his coffee with deliberate care. "If they want to find me, let's make it easy. But on our terms, in a public place where they can't just put a bullet in my head."
The casual way he talks about being shot makes my stomach twist. "That's a terrible plan."
"You have a better one?"
I don't. And the truth is, sitting here waiting for something to happen is driving me crazy. At least this way, we're doing something.
"Fine," I say. "But at the first sign of trouble, we leave."
"Deal." He moves toward the bedroom. "I'm going to change. You should, too. Something that doesn't scream 'hermit who lives in the woods'."
I playfully smack his arm as punishment as he walks past me.
Twenty minutes later, we're in my truck heading down the mountain. I've traded my usual thermal layers for jeans that actually fit and a sweater that's not covered in wood stains, plus my jacket, scarf, and gloves.
"Stay sharp," he adds, his tone shifting back to business. "We don't know what we're walking into."
The town appears through the trees, and I feel my shoulders tense automatically. Sasha notices, his hand reaching over to squeeze my knee once before pulling away.
"Relax," he says. "We're just two people getting lunch."
"Right. Lunch. With a side of reconnaissance and potential assassination attempts."
"See? You're getting the hang of this."
I park on Main Street, and we climb out into the cold afternoon air. The town is busier than usual, locals doing their weekend shopping and a few tourists who got lost on their way to the ski resorts.
We're walking toward the diner when a woman steps directly into our path.
She's maybe fifty, with perfectly styled hair and a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. I recognize her vaguely from the general store, one of those women who seems to know everyone's business.
We reach the diner, and Sasha holds the door open. The smell of coffee and frying bacon hits me immediately, along with the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes turning to stare.
We slide into a booth near the back, and I'm acutely aware of the whispers starting up around us. Sasha seems unbothered, his attention focused on the street outside, those gold eyes scanning every face, every vehicle.
"See anyone?" I ask quietly.
"Not yet."
The waitress appears. We order coffee and sandwiches, and she leaves with one more curious glance at Sasha.
His gaze shifts back to the window, and suddenly, his entire body goes rigid. "Don't look now, but there's a guy across the street. Dark coat, standing by the hardware store."
Of course I look. I can't help it.
The man is tall, maybe six feet, with dark hair and a build that suggests he spends serious time in the gym. He's staring at something on his phone, but there's something about the way he's standing, the way he keeps glancing up at the street, that feels wrong.
"You recognize him?" I ask.
Sasha's jaw clenches. "I think so."