27. Rowan #2
She holds on for a second before letting go. "I'm serious."
"I know."
Vitaly is already outside the building when I reach the lobby.
He has worked my detail twice this month and knows enough about me not to waste time asking whether I'm certain I want to go.
I show him the photograph, Makari's unanswered contact, and the message from Callie's phone.
"My mother's car is at the lakeside conference center.
Professor Grant followed it there. She says three men are outside. "
Vitaly reads everything once, then opens the rear door of the sedan. "We don't approach without clearance."
"I agreed to that upstairs."
He waits until I'm inside before taking the front passenger seat. Anton is driving. Vitaly calls Makari before we pull away from the curb, gets no answer, tries another Danilov number, then speaks briefly in Russian on a third call.
We're already outside Ashford when he turns toward me. "Makari's team is working near the shoreline. They may be in a dead-signal area."
"That could explain Erik too."
"It could." Vitaly turns forward again instead of offering reassurance he can't prove.
I send Harper the live location and keep my phone on my thigh. The sedan moves along two-lane roads toward the lake while evening settles across the fields. Houses thin out, then disappear behind bare trees and stretches of stone wall.
After five minutes, I ask Vitaly for a weapon. He turns halfway in his seat. "No."
"I trained with Erik."
He shrugs a massive shoulder. "I know."
"I know the legal problem too." I keep my voice level because arguing louder won't make him more reasonable.
Vitaly folds one arm over the back of his seat. "That doesn't change my answer."
I glare at him. "If my mother is inside that building, I'm not waiting in the car while you go in without me."
"You agreed not to approach without clearance."
"I'm telling you, I won't stay alone in the car."
Vitaly studies me long enough that Anton glances at him in the mirror. "Ms. Bennett, I'm not handing an unlicensed law student a concealed handgun because she has a persuasive argument."
I stare at him. "That was annoyingly direct."
He smiles briefly. "I've been listening to you for twelve weeks." Anton makes a sound from behind the wheel that might be a laugh. Vitaly ignores him and turns forward again.
The conference center appears on the navigation map seven minutes later. Vitaly tries Makari again and gets nothing.
I ask for the weapon a second time, and he refuses again.
A black SUV appears in the mirror less than a minute later. Anton checks it once, then again at the next curve. "It's been with us since Route 89."
Vitaly looks through the rear window. "Keep moving."
The SUV closes some of the distance.
Vitaly reaches between the front seats and opens the vehicle lockbox. His decision changes without apology because the situation has changed. "Erik's standing order says you don't remain unarmed if the situation goes active."
The compact pistol he gives me is heavier than the range gun I remember.
I don't have a Connecticut permit. If I walk out of this car carrying it concealed, I may spend my character and fitness hearing explaining why I knowingly broke the law.
Evelyn warned me from the first week that understanding a rule doesn't excuse violating it.
I take the pistol anyway. I'd rather be alive to make the argument if it becomes necessary.
Vitaly checks the safety before letting go. "You use it only if someone presents an immediate threat to you or another person."
"I know."
"I need you to say it."
I hold his gaze. "I use it only for an immediate threat to me or somebody else." I secure it inside my coat where he indicates.
He accepts that and turns forward as I send Harper another pin.
Fifteen starts now. Call Erik if I don't check in.
Then I activate the protection bracelet. Makari's acknowledgment doesn't appear.
The road narrows when we turn onto the conference-center access lane. Trees close around both sides, and the lake shows through them in dark pieces between the trunks.
A vehicle pulls out ahead of us, and Anton brakes. The SUV behind accelerates.
Vitaly swears and reaches for his weapon. "They're boxing us."
The lead vehicle stops across the lane at an angle that blocks both directions. Anton throws the sedan into reverse, but the SUV behind us closes the opening before he gains enough distance.
One of the doors ahead opens.
Vitaly gets out first and uses the engine block for cover while Anton moves around the opposite side. "Rowan, you stay down behind the front wheel."
I get out on the protected side and crouch where he puts me. Cold metal presses through my coat when I lean against the sedan, and I keep the pistol low exactly as Erik taught me.
The first shot comes from the trees, and Anton drops beside the rear quarter panel. Vitaly fires toward the tree line, then grabs the back of my coat and pulls me lower. "Anton's hit."
I look toward him. Anton is moving, but badly, with one hand clamped against his side.
Another man comes through the trees, and Vitaly fires again.
Then I see Mom's car. It sits beyond the blocking SUV, maybe forty feet away beside the conference center, with the driver's door open. Her purse isn't visible from here, but the photograph showed it inside. "Vitaly, that's her car."
"I see it." He keeps his body between me and the open lane while another shot clips the pavement beyond us. "You're not crossing open ground."
Two men move toward Anton's side of the sedan, and Vitaly shifts to cover him.
Nobody stands between me and Mom's car. It's stupid, but I run. Vitaly shouts my name behind me, but I'm already past the blocking SUV. Gravel slides under my shoes as I cross the open stretch and reach Mom's car.
The driver's seat is empty. I lean in far enough to check the passenger side before a crash behind me makes me turn.
Two men drive Vitaly against the sedan. He gets one of them down before the second strike drops him beside the vehicle.
I'm too far away to help either operator.
The conference-center door stands open, and Mom's purse is visible just inside. I run toward it. The lobby is empty except for the purse and the chair from the photograph. The dark smear across the cushion is real blood, though I have no idea whose.
"Mom?" My voice carries through the building.
Nobody answers.
A door closes behind me, and I turn.
Rahil steps from behind a partition with two men.
I draw the pistol.
He notices it immediately. "That creates professional difficulties for you."
I don't let my hands waver. "You seem very concerned about my bar admission."
One of the men reaches inside his coat, but I fire first. The round hits high in his shoulder and drives him backward into the wall. Rahil moves before the man reaches the floor.
I run again. The service corridor behind the lobby narrows between storage rooms and a commercial kitchen. I hit the first fire door hard enough to send it into the wall and keep going while boots pound the floor behind me.
The pistol has four rounds left, and I don't turn around to count men.
A fire extinguisher hangs beside the kitchen exit.
I wrench it from the bracket, pull the pin, and wait at the corner long enough for the first man to reach me.
I discharge it into his face. With a curse, he throws both arms up, choking and blinded.
I slam the cylinder into his knee, drop it, and run again before he can recover.
The exterior stairwell is ten yards away. I hit the door and start down, but Rahil catches the back of my jacket on the second landing. I twist out of one sleeve, turn, and drive my heel into his knee. He loses a step. I kick again, higher this time, and he falls backward down two stairs.
I run once more. Adrenaline insists I could run forever. The parking lot is below me, maybe eleven feet from the bottom of the stairs. A third vehicle swings across the exit and blocks it.
I hit the bracelet again with my thumb, but no acknowledgment comes back.
Someone catches me from behind. I drive my elbow backward, but the arm around me changes position and cuts off the movement. My phone flies from my hand and disappears beneath the railing.
I keep fighting. I get one foot under me, then lose it when somebody hooks my ankle. The gravel rises toward my face, and I close my eyes before it hits.
Through the open conference-center doors, a pair of practical heels crosses the lobby without hurrying. I know that walk and recognize the cadence of the heels against the tile. I've heard it in Fenwick Hall for four semesters.