He almost had the lock open when he heard the commotion outside. Through the ornate windows he saw a seaplane bobbing on the lake. A guard was already running toward the house, a laptop under his arm, and Kozlov was shouting in the hall.
“Shit! Sergei’s here,” Alex said.
Sawyer almost had the lock. He was close. He was almost finished when he heard . . . laughter. But not the cold, cynical kind that filled his life. No. It was the kind of laughter that was pure and good and sounded like—
Zoe.
That was Zoe’s laughter, and it washed over Sawyer like music, lilting and sweet—up until the moment he remembered where they were, and panic surged inside of him. He had to get her out of there. He had to—
“You fell for her.” Alex was staring up at Sawyer, confusion and wonder on her face, as if starting to realize—“You’re in love with Zoe.”
Sawyer wanted to protest—to tell Alex she was delusional and stupid and wrong because that had to be better than admitting she was right.
“I . . .” He was aware of the laughter stopping, of shouting taking its place and filling the halls, but the inside of his head was even louder—words rattling around like That’s crazy. And don’t be ridiculous. Or I barely even know her. But what came out was, “I don’t deserve her.”
He risked a look at Alex, expecting her to tease or joke or for lasers to come shooting out of her eyes. But all he saw was pity. Because he was right. And she knew it. He didn’t deserve someone like Zoe. And he never, ever would.
“Where is the traitor?”
Sawyer barely had time to leap away from Alex before Kozlov stormed into the room, laptop open. But there were no files on the screen—just a home movie of two little girls who needed braces, one of whom was doing handstands in the grass while the smaller, paler girl lay on a blanket, reading. Laughing.
“What is this?” Kozlov shouted and Alex’s busted lips curved into the smile of a woman who was holding all the cards.
“Looks like you’ve got the wrong drive there, big guy. Oops.”
Kozlov roared and threw the laptop. It shattered against the wall as the compound turned to bedlam. Guards shouting. People running. And through it all, Sawyer stood there, thinking. The good news was that Kozlov needed Alex alive—now more than ever.
The bad news was that Sawyer still had to get her out. They had to go. Now! But they couldn’t go now. She was the center of a tornado—the eye of a storm—and she was staring at him through the chaos, a determined gleam in her eye and a subtle shake of her head as she mouthed two words.
FIND HER.
*
Sawyer was almost to the water before he found a place quiet enough to pull out a burner phone and try the number again. The call connected, but he wasn’t actually expecting to hear—
“You have two new messages.”
He was holding his breath when her voice came through the line a moment later.
“Hi. Hello. It’s me. Zoe. This message is for Sawyer. Or whatever his name is. If he gets this. If this is even a real number, which . . . nothing else was real, so . . .” Her voice cracked then trailed off and he heard the muffled words, “Shoot. Delete. Delete. Dele—” BEEP.
When the second message began it was still Zoe’s voice but everything about the tone was different, like she’d spent an hour on YouTube watching videos called How to Be a Badass.
“If this is Sawyer, listen up. There’s an outdoor ice rink just outside of Zurich. Meet me there at noon tomorrow. Come alone or you’ll be sorry.” The line was silent for a long time before she added, “This is Zoe, by the way. Uh. Bye.”
Sawyer noted the time and the place, but when the service asked if he wanted to delete the messages or hear them again, he deleted the second and saved the first. Kept his phone to his ear and listened to her voice again.
And again.
And again.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Him
The next day, Sawyer came to the ice rink alone, and he got there early.
He’d replayed Zoe’s message a dozen times, always listening for something in her voice that would tell him if she’d gotten hurt in the fall, trying to hear some noise in the background—a clue where she might be. Was she warm enough? Safe enough? Did she have money for food and shelter and slightly-more-comfortable shoes? He needed to know. He needed her.
Kozlov’s guys were looking for her again. The agencies were no doubt still after Alex. So Sawyer had to find her before someone else did. The only question was, what was he going to do with her then? Kidnap her for real this time? Lock her up inside another cruise ship? Force her to wear even more leather pants? But would that be torturing her or torturing him? Really, it was a toss-up.