Page 24

“You’re also more trouble than you look. Move.”

He shifts part of his weight onto me and drapes his right arm across my shoulders. Abramov takes Alexei’s left arm and supports him from there.

“Third floor to ground. Fast and close.”

Misha lifts his chin toward the yellow car clenched in my left hand. “Put it in your pocket, Mama.”

“I’m fine, baby.”

His small face stays serious. “Mama needs both hands.”

Abramov shifts closer and takes Alexei’s full weight. I pull my left arm free, slip the car into my pocket, and secure Misha against my right hip.

“Now move,” Abramov says.

We enter the service stairwell in a tight line. One guard goes first. Abramov takes Alexei’s arm across his shoulders and locks his other hand around his waist as they start down. I follow one step behind with Misha on my right hip, one arm supporting him and my free hand on the railing. The guard carrying our bag follows me, and two more face upward as they cover our backs.

The weak bulb above us goes out, leaving a red emergency strip near the floor to guide us toward the first landing. Plaster dust coats the steps, and a man lies facedown against the railing with his pistol several feet away.

Misha sees him before I can turn his head.

“Don’t look.” I press his face into my neck.

“He fell,” Misha whispers, tightening his legs around my waist.

“Yes.” I step over the man’s hand. “Keep holding on.”

Wood splinters above us, followed by the crash of the front door giving way. Boots pound into the apartment.

“Rear contact,” one guard says, turning to aim up the stairs.

Abramov shoves Alexei and me around the landing. “Keep going.”

He touches his earpiece. “The ambulance just left the street.”

Gunfire breaks above us, striking the concrete and coming back twice as loud. Misha buries his face deeper against my shoulder while Alexei twists to look behind us.

I raise my voice over the men shouting in the hall. “Face forward.”

“One of my men is taking fire.”

“And your stitches are coming apart.” When he tries again, I dig my fingers into his coat and pull him forward. “That doesn’t make you useful. It makes you another body he has to protect.”

Alexei looks at me for one hard second before facing forward. The next shot comes from below. It hits the wall beside my head and throws plaster dust across Misha’s hair. Alexei tears free of Abramov, wraps one arm around my shoulders and the other across Misha, and pulls us into the inner corner of the landing.

Another bullet tears through the plaster where we stood. Pain drags a rough sound from him, and his knees fold.

I jam my shoulder under his arm and keep him upright. “Alexei.”

“I’m standing,” he says through his teeth.

“Only because I’m holding you.”

His fingers close over my shoulder. “Then don’t let go.”

Blood warms my fingers beneath his coat. I press my palm harder against the dressing and feel the wet spread under it.

“You’ve opened the incision.”