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“July fifteenth.”
“How far along?”
“About five weeks, according to the scan.”
“When was the first scan?”
“August second.”
“Did you hear the heartbeat?”
My mouth tightens. Why is he asking me this now? Why do these dates matter when the suite has been broken open and there’s blood on the floor?
Then I realize. He’s using the dates to pull my mind away from what just happened.
I tighten my arms around Misha. “Yes.”
Alexei closes his eyes for a second.
Misha leans over and touches the scar through his eyebrow. “Papa has a line.”
Alexei catches his small hand and presses the fingers against his lips. “Papa does.”
We cross the family hall behind Maksim’s guards. Emergency lights remain on near the west side, but the central section near the Women’s Wing runs under white ceiling lamps. Heavy doors close behind us, one after another, until the gunfire and orders fade.
Maksim waits outside the entrance. Cara and Elena stand just inside the open doors. Cara wears a shoulder holster beneath her coat and carries a sleepy Mikhail in her arms. Elena balances Lev on her hip while he keeps one fist closed around her collar.
Mikhail wakes, rubs his eyes, and wriggles until Cara puts him down. As soon as he walks over, Misha slides out of my arms to stand beside him.
“The children stay here until Abramov secures the west wing,” Maksim says.
“No.” I reach for Misha’s shoulder. “He stays with me.”
Elena steps closer but doesn’t touch him. “You can stay with him here. The wing has separate air and power, and none of its doors connect to the service area.”
Cara looks at Alexei. “No medical deliveries either.”
Misha frowns and holds tightly to Alexei’s finger. “I want my room.”
Alexei bends and gently opens Misha’s fingers one by one. “Go with Mama.” He places the yellow car in Misha’s hand. “I’ll come later.”
“You promise?” Misha asks, clutching the toy.
Alexei looks at him with complete attention. “Yes.”
Misha lets me lift him again, and I carry him farther inside with Cara and Elena.
Maksim leaves for the security annex once the doors seal behind us. Two guards remain outside the entrance. Elena settles Lev into a travel crib while Cara places Mikhail on a low couch beneath a wool blanket. Mrs. Wentworth has already brought milk, crackers, and a basket of toy cars.
She responds to disaster by making sure the smallest people in the room have choices.
Misha refuses the milk.
“I want Papa,” he says, gripping my sweater.
The word pulls at me from both sides.
“He has to help the guards,” I tell him, sitting on the rug.
