Page 61 of Wyatt

7

He’d really been walloped. Because Wyatt couldn’t get past the idea that he was missing something, that all the pieces weren’t puzzling together.

Coco wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she had pulled her little boy onto her lap, reading him a book, her black hair—he still couldn’t quite get used to that—tucked behind one ear, her voice in low Russian tones.

She was a good mother—he could see that much. And Mikka was cute. He’d introduced himself when they reached the private train compartment, holding out his hand to Wyatt, grinning.

Wyatt kept looking at York, trying to find the resemblance. York was blond, square-jawed, his gaze serious as he leaned back on the bench beside Coco, his arms folded as he stared out the window.

Thinking.

Probably about how colossally Wyatt had messed up.

Wyatt leaned his head back on the seat, and Coco looked up. “Don’t go to sleep.”

“Yeah. I got it.” Not like hecouldsleep—his head wanted to leave his body with the pounding of his headache. And the residue of Coco’s scream.

Not to mention his stinging words that he very much wanted to take back—The sooner I can get out of here, the better.

He hadn’t meant that. Exactly.

Because pitiful him, now that he was with her again, the thought of leaving her made him want to curl into a ball and surrender to the pain.

Except…so much for hoping that she was pining for him. Clearly. Not.

He looked again at York. “You’re the guy who got my sister out of Russia.”

York said nothing. Finally, “How is she?”

“Fine. Back at the ranch, hiding. She’ll freak out when she finds out that some guy stole the information that will clear her.”

“Describe him.”

“Blond. A wicked scar across his jaw, clubbed ears.”

York glanced at Coco. “Gustov.”

“The assassin.”

York nodded. “Which means he knows for sure that Coco and RJ are onto him. Perfect.”

“Hey. It’s not like I invited him into my hotel room to watch the game, have a couple beers. He tore it apart, attacked me, and tried tokillme, thanks.”

York glanced at his head. “Apparently, that’s a trend.”

Wyatt gave him a look. “How was I supposed to know that she was some kind of—of—who was she?”

“She worked for my father,” Coco said, pulling a stuffed lion out of Mikka’s bag and handed it to him. “She was head of his security.”

“Your father. You mean General Boris Stanislov?”

Silence pulsed between them.

Finally, “You should have said something.”

“I was in America to hide. It’s not something I wanted broadcast to the world.”

“I wasn’t the world. I was the guy who…” He glanced then at York and shut down the rest of his words. “I cared about you.”

---