Page 49 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
Her arms tightened around me. “What’s that?”
“You.” The word came out rough, broken. “Loving you. Being loved by you. I forgot that’s what I’m really fighting for.”
She pulled back to look at my face, her fingers tracing the lines of exhaustion I knew were carved deep around my eyes. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me that when this is over, we’ll figure out how to be normal. How to have breakfast together and fight about stupid things and fall asleep watching terrible movies.”
I kissed her forehead, tasting the salt of tears I hadn’t realized she’d shed. “I promise.”
***
Morning light painted Anya’s sleeping face in soft gold, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something that might have been peace. She was curled against my chest, one hand resting over my heart like she was making sure it was still beating.
She looked so beautiful, so heartbreakingly soft in the quiet morning, that I couldn’t bring myself to move. I just lay there, watching her breathe, memorizing the way the light kissed her skin, wishing time would stop so I could keep her like this—safe, still, and mine, for just a little longer.
I was memorizing the moment—the weight of her against me, the sound of her breathing, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks—when her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She stirred, blinking sleepily as she reached for it. I watched her face change as she read whatever message had come through, confusion replacing the soft contentment I’d put there.
“What is it?” I asked, already reaching for my own phone in case it was work-related.
“Sasha.” Anya sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. “She says she’s going to Germany. That she’ll explain later.”
I frowned. “Family emergency?”
Anya stared at the screen, her brow furrowed. “That’s not how Sasha writes. She always explains everything immediately. Uses proper punctuation. This….” She held up the phone. “This isn’t her.”
Ice formed in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“I mean something’s wrong.” Anya was already moving, reaching for her robe. “Lev, has Trev said anything to you about Sasha?”
I blinked, the question catching me off guard. “Trev and Sasha? No. Why would he?”
Anya hesitated, tying the belt of her robe with sharp, nervous movements. “They’ve been close lately. Spending time together on weekends. I saw them kiss yesterday morning.”
The pieces clicked together in my mind with sickening clarity. My brother, the trained federal officer who’d spent years undercover, getting involved with Anya’s assistant. Sasha, who had access to Anya’s schedule, her routines, her vulnerabilities.
“If there’s something between them, Trev’s never mentioned it to me,” I said carefully, already reaching for my phone to call him.
But Anya was faster. She was already dialing Sasha’s number, her face pale with worry. The call went straight to voicemail.
“Sasha, it’s me. Call me back immediately. I’m worried about you.”
She ended the call and looked at me with eyes that reflected my own growing dread. “Something’s happened to her.”
I was already out of bed, reaching for clothes. “Maybe she really did have a family emergency. Maybe—”
“No.” Anya’s voice was firm, certain. “Sasha doesn’t have family in Germany. Her parents died in a car accident three years ago. It’s why she came to Chicago—to start over.”
The cold certainty in her voice made my blood freeze. If Sasha was lying about where she was going, if someone had taken her or coerced her into leaving….
“Call Trev,” Anya said, reading my thoughts. “If they’re involved, he needs to know she’s missing.”
But when I dialed my brother’s number, it went straight to voicemail too. No answer, no callback, just digital silence that felt like a death knell.
“Fuck.” I was already pulling on my jeans, my mind racing through possibilities. “This could be connected to Kozak. If they took her to get to you, to get information about your schedule—”
