Chapter 23 #2
I hold the receipt. The paper is thin, standard government issue, with Mara’s name printed in the same font they use for parking violations and property-tax notices.
My sister’s murder reduced to a case number, a handling code, and a transfer receipt filed between a seized phone and a stack of court documents from other cases Kirill’s network buried.
Mara told me once to always keep copies.
She told me this in her kitchen, standing at the counter with a glass of wine and a stack of legal pads, three months before Grant killed her.
She was organizing the divorce paperwork once I was ready to file, and she put copies in three different locations just to protect the evidence.
I take the receipt. I fold it twice and slide it into my bra, against my skin. The paper is warm within seconds. I don’t take time to find the evidence right now. That would be foolish. Finding it but not escaping with it would do nothing for the case.
I try the exterior corridor door, and it opens. The corridor beyond is narrow concrete, lit by emergency strips throwing yellow-green light. I turn right impulsively. I have no knowledge of the building, so it’s as good a direction as any. I hope.
The corridor branches. I take the left branch because the right branch dead-ends at a maintenance closet I can see from here. The left branch curves toward a heavier door with a push bar and a glowing exit sign above it.
I’m six steps from the door when I see someone in shadows waiting beside it.
Kolya stands between me and the exit with his right arm wrapped in a field bandage, blood staining the gauze where I cut him in the car. His left hand holds a phone. He looks at me calmly and isn’t surprised. He expected me to try.
He holds out his left hand. “I need the receipt.”
I don’t move.
“I know you took it. The camera in the side office has a wider angle than the storage room camera.” He adjusts his grip on the phone.
“Margot, you applied the file-clip technique correctly and you moved through the interior. You found a receipt I put out for you to test if you would stop and look for the evidence or try to escape. You made the better choice of not wasting time searching for the box. I’m not questioning your skill.
I’m telling you the exit you’re looking at leads to a loading dock with three of Kirill’s men between you and the street. ”
I grip the receipt through my blouse. The paper crinkles against my skin.
“Give me the receipt and go back to the room. Valentin will come. He’s already looking. He’ll trace Nadia’s data to this building within hours, and when he arrives, you’ll be alive and intact because Kirill wants you that way.”
“Why does Kirill want me if he knows I’m not Katya? It surely isn’t for Grant.”
“By now, Kirill knows you matter to Valentin. That makes you valuable. Being pregnant makes you valuable and vulnerable.” He could be commenting on the weather for all the emotion he shows.
I swallow a surge of nausea. “How long have you known?”
“Longer than you think.” His voice carries no apology. “The folate order was the first signal. The anti-nausea dosage change confirmed it. It didn’t take much to put it all together. The medical interpretation was simple arithmetic.”
“So you sold that arithmetic to Kirill?”
“I gave Kirill information that ensures your survival. A pregnant woman carrying a Bykov child is an advantage he can’t manufacture or replace.
” He still sounds like he’s discussing whether it will rain tomorrow, driving home how little he cares about what happens to me overall.
“The pregnancy makes you the most valuable person in this operation. Valuable people survive. Expendable people don’t.
I am keeping you on the valuable side of that line. ”
“Don’t expect me to feel grateful. You’re keeping me because you need a hostage.”
“I’m keeping you because Kirill instructed me to deliver you intact, and intact is easier than damaged.” He extends his left hand again. “The receipt, Margot.”
I pull the receipt from my blouse and hold it between two fingers.
The paper is warm from my skin and creased from my grip.
Mara’s name is printed on the front in the same font they used for every piece of evidence they ever took from her.
Kolya put it there for me to find as some demented test of my ability to prioritize escape over evidence.
Kolya takes it from my hand carefully as I glare at him. The gentleness is the worst part.
Kolya slides the receipt into his jacket pocket. “Go back to the room.”
“Valentin will come.” I don’t move from the corridor.
“Yes.” Kolya shrugs. “Will he arrive before Kirill decides what a pregnant woman is worth in trade? That’s the question you should be asking.
” He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, favoring his bandaged arm.
“Kirill doesn’t want you dead. He wants you as currency.
A Bykov child gives him negotiating power that no shipping route or financial channel can match. ”
I keep glaring at him, feeling impotent rage simmering beneath my skin. I want to lash out but hold back. “You sound like you’ve thought about this a long time.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since I read the procurement records.” He looks at me with an expression I can almost read as regret, but it’s most likely fake. “You asked the right question in the strategy room. I respected that. You’re smarter than most people who’ve sat at that table.”
“Respecting me didn’t keep you from kidnapping me.”
“No.” He doesn’t argue. “I can do both.”
The exit sign glows green above the push bar. Three of Kirill’s men are on the other side, and Kolya is between me and them. I could fight. Nathan taught me how, but it would be pointless at this juncture. I can’t risk a fall or a blow to my abdomen. The baby changes my ability to defend myself.
For now, I turn around. I walk back to the storage room, sit on the concrete with my back against the wall, my arms around my knees, and the knowledge that rescue may arrive too late.
I’ll fight if and when I have to. I won’t surrender like I did to Grant if it comes to that, but I pray it won’t.
Valentin has to find me before Kirill arrives.
I try to distract myself by thinking about Mara’s receipt in Kolya’s jacket pocket. The proof that my sister’s murder was buried in this building that he took back. If I manage to walk out of here alive, I’m going to do everything I can to have that receipt in my hand when I exit the building.
I press my hand flat against my stomach and wait. I’m biding my time, not slipping into helplessness or paralysis. I can’t afford to be the woman who surrenders any longer.