Page 54 of Wyatt

He’d almost missed her.

Wyatt bounced to his feet, intending to shout but—

She was walking with a man. Nearly as tall as Wyatt, maybe, dark blond hair, square-jawed, he had his hands in his pockets, as if casual, and he was smiling at her.

A dark fist went around Wyatt’s heart.

She’d come to Belogorsk to meet aman.

Just…forget about me.

Yeah, maybe he should have.

He glanced over and found Nat standing in line at the kiosk. Debated. Looked back at Coco. She was disappearing down the street.

Nat had money and could take care of herself. He picked up his duffel and dashed after Coco, calling himself a fool.

But he still couldn’t get it out of his gut that she was in trouble.

Maybe this guy had something to do with it.

He cut across the street, kept them a good distance from him, and followed. They reached the end of the long block, then turned onto a dirt road. He hung back, staying in the early morning shadows. She was gesturing with her hands as she talked. He was a big man, wide shoulders, a steadiness about him as he walked as if…

Oh, man, this guy could be military.

FSB?

Wyatt quickened his pace but didn’t catch up.

They stopped at a tall gate, the entire house fenced off, and as he tucked himself in behind a hatchback, he noticed the play yard out back.

A school, maybe.

The gate was opened by a man, and Coco and her friend went inside.

Wyatt crouched behind the car, feeling like an idiot.

Maybe he should just go in there. But what would he say?Hey, Coco. Funny meeting you here. I was just…in the neighborhood.

You should just forget about me.

He cupped his hand over his eyes. Oh brother. He should just… Move. On. Apparently, she had.

Maybe.Shoot.

He was about to get up when he heard the laughter again, only this time it was higher, brighter, and he looked up to see Coco emerge from the gate, holding the hand of a little boy.

A cute kid. Tousled brown hair, a grin on his face. He wore a lightweight canvas jacket, a baseball hat, and a pair of jeans. Maybe about four or five years old.

And holding his other hand—the blond man. He carried a bag.

Coco stopped and crouched in front of the kid. Wiped his cheek with her thumb, then kissed his forehead.

She wore an expression that looked so familiar, it spiraled right to his bones. A smile, an affection in her eyes, a joy he hadn’t seen since…

Moscow.

That morning when he told her he would return.

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