Page 145 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Dima says my name once. My fingers tighten around the door handle.

Through the wire, Cara says, “I need more time.”

Abramov moves first. “Field layer tightens. No contact yet.”

On the tablet, our maintenance guard looks once toward the lift and keeps moving.

Yuri says, “Patrick’s phone stopped by the service lift.”

Kirill adds, “Lift is still open.”

Roman already has the car angled toward the side entrance.

Cara takes one careful step away from the front desk and keeps her phone visible in her hand. The lift indicator changes floors.

Yuri says, “Someone is coming up.”

Then Kirill gives us the hook.

“Second access just opened the same lift,” he says. “Morozov private security override.”

Maksim’s voice cuts through the line. “We got him.”

On the lobby feed, the service door opens. Cara turns. A man steps out in a dark coat, thinner than the file photos, smiling like he has every right to be there.

“Sukin syn,” I curse under my breath.

Through the wire, Patrick says, “Hey, Care Bear.”

35

CARA

“Hey, Care Bear,” Patrick says from the service doorway.

He looks thinner than last time, with his hair trimmed short and his face shaved clean. His coat is expensive, and his shoes are polished, but none of it hides how worn down he is. His eyes keep moving, checking the desk, the lift, the corridor corners, and the ceiling lines. Then they come back to mine, and he pulls on a plastic smile.

My hand stays away from my coat pocket, where Mikhail’s blue car rests.

I keep my face on my brother. The cameras get no glance from me. The maintenance guard near the service corridor might as well be part of the wall.

“Look at you,” Patrick says, smiling as he steps into the lobby. “I set up a reunion, and you still look like you’d rather file a complaint.”

He’s damn right about that. I don’t want a reunion. I want a family court. Patrick has to see a sister who came because an old code still works, so I give him that.

The receptionist studies us with frank interest.

Patrick turns to her with an easy smile. “We’re fine, sweetheart,” he says, tapping two fingers on the counter. “Family matter.”

Her hands pause, then move fast over the keyboard while her eyes shift to the screen.

Dmitri hears every word through the wire. I feel it in my neck, in my hands, in the careful pace of my breathing. One wrong word from Patrick could pull Dmitri through the front doors.

Patrick gestures toward the admin corridor. “Come on. We shouldn’t do this at the front desk.”

I don’t move at first.

His hand hovers near my elbow, close enough to pass for concern without looking like force. He always was good at finding the line and standing with one shoe on it.