Chapter 28
Nadya
I DIDN’T SLEEP AT ALL. Instead, I made coffee at four in the morning and stared out the window at a city that didn’t care about what had happened in my apartment last night.
There were two drops of blood on the tile, and they would stay there until I felt like dealing with it. Or maybe I would leave it there as a reminder that he, too, could bleed.
Nick didn't sleep either, spending the night in the kitchen with me.
We probably should've moved to the living room, but there was something comforting about kitchens.
I got why Ljuba had become a chef. After we had gotten out of that house, got out of the foster care system, and got reunited, we had spent a lot of time sitting in the kitchen and talking about everything other than the things that haunted our nightmares.
When morning came, Nick made breakfast without being asked. He must've remembered what I had ordered while we were on the road because he made sure my food was extra greasy with eggs, sausages, and hash browns. He even remembered that I wanted to appease Vera at breakfast with a glass of OJ.
If he weren't here, I’d have probably not bothered eating, or maybe ordered delivery at most, then watched some movie and gotten drunk. Oh, who was I kidding? I’d have taken pain pills and hoped they would knock me out so I wouldn't even have to think.
At nine, the doorbell rang. Nick answered, his body blocking the entire door frame, but I could see around him to the two people in the hall.
The guy was huge, with short-cropped red hair and a friendly smile.
The woman was tiny, maybe five-foot-three on tiptoe, with black hair in a precise bob.
She managed to look stylish wearing cargo pants. Serious goals right there.
“Nadya, this is Ryan and Leila,” Nick introduced.
Ryan grinned, showing a row of perfect teeth. “We heard you had a bit of excitement.”
Leila didn’t smile, but her eyes were sharp and interested. “Where do you want us to start?”
Nick looked at me, letting me decide. I shrugged because what difference did it make? I was a guest in my own home now.
“Let’s start with the main entry,” Nick said, sensing I wasn't in the mood to boss people around.
They got right to work. Ryan unpacked a toolkit that looked like it had its own Netflix subscription. Leila took out a laser measure and started mapping the door frame, muttering numbers in English and, occasionally, Russian.
That damned song started creeping into my head like a parasite. God, I hated that song. That asshole used to hum it before he’d... No.
I shoved the thought away, focusing on Leila instead.
Whenever she switched languages, it was like her voice changed—suddenly softer, almost melodic, the syllables curling around each other.
Where could she be from? Not the Caucasus.
Her face wasn't shaped right for that. Central Asia? Yeah, that had to be it.
While Ryan removed the old lock and started chiseling for a reinforced strike plate, Leila measured every window, making notes on a tablet.
She mumbled to herself in Russian, and what parts I could make out didn't have a discernible accent, which made me think of Central Asia again. They made everything sound so neutral.
Nick’s phone rang. He excused himself to the living room, voice low and steady. Even with the noise from the work, I heard him say, “No, it’s handled. I’ll stay here until they get the new system in.” Pause. “Yeah, I can do that.”
That was about me, right? Had to be. What was going on?
He hung up, then came back to hover in the doorway. What he didn’t do was tell me what the phone call was about. Yeah, I was a little curious. Okay, I was very curious.
For fuck’s sake, he needed to tell me already. Unless it was something sensitive that Ryan and Leila shouldn't know about?
Ryan finished the door and moved to the windows. He knelt next to the balcony, examining the latch. “This lock is useless. My baby cousin can pick it.”
Leila popped open her case, revealing three different cameras, a bag of motion sensors, and a spool of cable.
“Mozhno ya tut ustrous’ programirovat’?” she asked. Her English was perfect, but she slipped back into Russian for the question so naturally.
“Konechno,” I answered, in Russian.
She hadn't overdone her Ohs or Ahs. So, definitely not Ukrainian or Russian.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
She looked up, surprised. “Kazakhstan. Almaty.”
I was right, she was Central Asian.
At the sound of Leila’s voice, Ryan looked up from his work, but only for a moment, like he was worried Leila would notice.
Nick’s phone rang again. He frowned at the number, then stepped into the hall to take it. I caught bits of the conversation—words like “field office,” “transfer,” “safe house.”
He’d better not be stuffing me into a safe house. I got so much trauma last night I could fill five solo shows, so I needed access to my studio, AKA my bedroom, because let's be real, rent was too expensive to have a real studio in Brooklyn.
Leila slid over a page with Wi-Fi instructions and the password. “Do you want notifications for every motion, or only when the door opens?”
I shrugged. “All of it, I guess.”
She nodded, tapping at the screen. “There is also a panic button here.” She pointed to a small remote on a keychain. “If you press, the police will come. Even if you don’t speak.”
That last part made something inside me go loose. Knowing that help was only a push of a button away was everything to me at that moment. Although would I even get a chance to grab the keys? I wouldn’t have last night if Nick hadn’t been there.
I let the sound of the drill and the tap of Leila’s keys distract me from the memory that kept trying to claw its way up—the memory of the man’s voice, the way he’d hummed while Nick restrained him.
It wasn’t a melody, just a string of notes with no beginning or end, but I recognized it.
He’d sung the same thing when I was little.
Back then, the tune meant he was coming. Now, it meant he’d never stopped.
My hands started to shake. I pressed them flat on the table, counting the seams in the wood grain, trying to stay in the present.
Damn, I really needed a drink. This whole cutting back thing wasn’t working, not when people were breaking into my apartment.
Leila finished programming the kitchen cam and glanced at me, concern flickering. “You okay?” she asked, in Russian.
I nodded, but my mouth was dry. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Nick came back, his face set in lines I hadn’t seen before. He looked at the new deadbolt, the reinforced windows, and the bright eye of the camera blinking in the corner.
“You feel safer now?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
Leila's eyes flicked to Ryan, and I followed her gaze. He was bent over a toolbox, putting everything away. Really couldn't blame Leila for checking out his ass. Besides, it wasn’t like Ryan hadn't done his fair share of checking her out.
Ryan finished up, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You want a demo?”
I shrugged. “I guess I need to know how to use it.”
He took my phone, loaded an app, and pointed it at the front door. He opened the door, closed it, and a second later, my phone buzzed with a notification. A live video popped up, showing Ryan’s grinning face.
“You can check it from anywhere,” he said, handing the phone back. “Even Australia.”
“Not planning to go there,” I answered, wondering if I’d even be able to handle the flight. I mean, It couldn’t be as bad as cars, but still.
Ugh. Never mind that. I checked each and every camera. I could even turn them from my phone to get a different angle. Nice.
Ryan and Leila packed up, double-checked everything, then Ryan handed me a card. “If you need anything, day or night, call. Or text. Or just tell Vera to tell Sean.”
Nick walked them out, closing the door behind them. When he returned, I was still sitting at the table, phone in hand, watching myself on the kitchen camera. I even looked like I needed a drink. Seriously, I picked the worst time to quit drinking.
Nick sat across from me, elbows on the table, hands folded. “You want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “Not really. You want to tell me about the calls?”
“My boss called,” he said, after a moment. “I’m officially attached to Renat’s case. Which means I’ll be here, in New York, for the foreseeable future.”
I let that sink in. “You’re moving in?”
His mouth twitched. “Only if you want. I can stay at a hotel, or the bureau will rent something for me.” He scratched his scruffy cheek.
“But my boss gave me the go-ahead to move in with you, if you're okay with it.
After last night, it's best if you either have someone watching your back or are in a safe house.
It can't be a coincidence that the asshole showed up the night after we returned.
Someone must've seen you and figured you were a liability.”
My stomach twisted at the thought. I had put a target on my back.
“You can stay,” I said.
Then Nick’s phone rang again. He glanced at the number, then answered. “Go ahead.”
Nick listened to the voice on the other end and the fingers around the phone blanched from how hard he was squeezing. That poor phone better have insurance.
“Where is he now?” A few more seconds, then, “Thanks.”
After Nick hung up, I looked at him expectantly. His phone calls were none of my business, but I was a very curious creature.
“The guy from last night is definitely getting locked up for good. Our guys searched his place and found a boy. Maybe six, seven years old. Alive, but... you know.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Nick watched me, eyes dark and unreadable. “He’s going to be alright.”
I stared at the table, the wood grain suddenly blurry.
“They never stop,” I said, barely above a whisper.
That was the worst part of it. We had escaped, but it never really stopped. How many more kids had been thrown into this nightmare?
Nick reached across the table, his hand covering mine. “But sometimes we stop them.”
We sat like that for a long time, my hand in his, the only sound a distant whine of a siren somewhere below.