Page 32 of Wyatt

Gustov had the drive. Had probably followed him from his meet with Coco to get it.

And who knew but he was on his way to kill Coco right now.

“Where. Is.She?”

“I think I’m going to let you cool off right here in holding until the train leaves.” Roman headed for the door.

“Where is she!” Wyatt stood up, knocking the chair over, rounding the table, heading straight for Mr. KGB.

Roman turned, something lethal in his expression. “Step back.” He didn’t raise his hands, didn’t move, but his entire body had tightened, and Wyatt recognized it.

Ford and Tate did that too when they were snapping into some kind of warrior mode.

Well, it had nothing on angry athlete. Hello, he wasn’t helpless.

He’d nearly taken down a killer, thank you. Broken his nose.

He might be cuffed, but he could still do damage.

Would even feel good about it.

“She’s on her way to a city called Belogorsk. And then, she’s leaving the country.”

“But youwillcatch up to her,” Wyatt said softly, not sure if he was playing along or pleading.

“I will. And I’ll keep her safe.” Roman’s gaze met Wyatt’s. Held it. “I’d like to think you’ll stay put if I let you go back to your hotel.”

Wyatt said nothing.

“Yeah. I thought so. I’ll have the guard bring you a blanket.”

Then he opened the door and led Wyatt back to holding.

Coco had missed out on so much of his young life. And if she made the decision to leave, she’d miss out on the rest.

Coco stood outside the high fence of Orphanage 23, the sun over the houses of the small Russian city of Belogorsk, fingers of light cascading down the dirt roads, around the two-story blue and green wooden houses, and into the back yard of the group home.

Dew glistened on the playground equipment—slides, a wooden swing set, a merry-go-round, a sandbox filled with toy trucks, soldiers, and tanks. A couple tricycles sat under the overhang near the door.

Small, but cute, the sprawling one-story, orange stucco detski home was outfitted better than most, with a gymnasium, a media room, new beds, an educational center. It sat tucked away in a neighborhood with houses and gardens, pets and other children running down the streets. Just another family amongst many.

That was, if no one looked at the fencing that cordoned off the place. And what no one could see were the security cameras hidden in the oak and linden trees that surrounded the yard.

She couldn’t help but see it as a prison. For children.

Twenty children lived here, most of them abandoned, but a handful, like Mikka, had parents who visited.

Some of those parents were people like her—single mothers who couldn’t keep their children.

Only one had a private nanny hired to care for him.

Her father had found the place in a village time had forgotten. The best kind of hiding place, really. Coco had helped set up the surveillance, had vetted the children who lived here. Her father had hired the security guard who acted as one of the children’s physical education teachers. A man who was probably tired of his life in the FSB or the Spetsnaz and wanted to settle down with his family.

A man with something to lose if Mikka should be found.

With the recent passing of the law that excluded foreigners from adopting children from Russia, Mikka was safe from mistaken red tape. He wasn’t going anywhere, and no one was getting in without her knowing about it.

It didn’t feel any less remote, untenable, and terrifying, especially for the children inside. But sacrifices had to be made…

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