Page 42 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

His eyes move over my face, my hands, then the space between me and the doors. “You found the signs.”

“I found the part where your house labels women.”

His expression closes. “That wing belongs to Elena and her staff.”

“Good for Elena. Does she know her label sounds borrowed from a Victorian warning?”

Dmitri’s mouth tightens. “Don’t venture into things you don’t know.”

“I’m a woman of many hobbies.” I tip my head, almost sweet enough to be dangerous. “Trespassing, sarcasm, surviving foreign kidnapping.”

For half a second, his gaze drops to my mouth. I still own at least one weapon.

He looks at the guards. “Library.”

Scar Chin nods. Square Face steps aside.

“I asked for my laptop,” I say, walking after Dmitri.

“No.”

“You brought me here over Patrick’s digital disaster, then decided the person who knows how Patrick lies through computers should be decorative.”

“We can find him.”

Dmitri walks ahead, setting the pace without checking whether I follow. I hurry just enough to reach his side.

“Men with guns are famously great at password recovery,” I say.

Dmitri’s shoulder comes close enough that I catch clean soap and winter on his coat. It’s distracting enough to make thinking feel like work.

The library sits behind double doors and another card reader. I expect dead leather, gloom, and old men pretending books make them civilized. Instead, the place feels used. Plants fill the corners. Family photographs sit between shelves. Chairs wait near long tables. A blue settee faces a fireplace. A rounded window rises from floor to ceiling, barred on the outside with black metal. Beyond it, Russian winter presses against the estate in white ground and black trees.

Dmitri takes out a phone and sets it on the table. “Your allotted call.”

My heart trips, then gets up angry.

He dials before handing it to me. His place near the window puts him close enough to hear every breath, every pause, every lie I may need to tell. I want to throw the phone at his head. Instead, I grip it.

Kathryn answers fast. “Cara?”

“Hey,” I say, and every part of me wants to break open. “I’m okay.”

“Bullshit. Still on that trip?” Her voice comes through thin, but I’d know it anywhere.

“It got weird.” I speak slowly.

“That work trip can eat glass.”

A laugh nearly escapes, then comes out too close to a cry. “Yeah. It really can.”

Kathryn breathes once, and I hear her switch gears. “The mechanic never gave any trouble.”

My fingers dig into the phone. Thank God.

I look at the window instead of Dmitri’s face. “Good. He’s usually a union problem.”

“He asked if you’re bringing home his missing toolbox,” Kathryn says.