"We spoke about this just two days ago," Paxan said. "I asked if you needed help."
That was what they'd met about?
"And I didn't need it"--he nearly spat at Sevastyan--"until he made his move the same day!"
"Then let's fix the situation," Paxan said, drawing Filip's attention away from Sevastyan. "Money is no object. For the memory of your father, I pledge to settle anything you owe."
"You don't understand. I need more." Tears continued to spill; the gun shook erratically as his fingers seemed to cramp. "The bounty Travkin posted is more money than I could ever see."
"Take me." Sevastyan's expression was filled with menace. "I'm a valuable prize for an enemy."
"I'm here for the old man."
Paxan swallowed. "Take your finger off the trigger, Filip, and I'll go with you."
"I give the orders! You send the bulldog away, then we'll talk about your long-lost daughter."
Sevastyan grated, "That won't happen."
"You don't give a damn about yourself, do you? But what if I threaten your precious Natalie?" Filip aimed--directly at me.
I was staring into the barrel of a gun--too terrified to keep my eyes open, too terrified to close them.
The weapon jogged in his weakening arm . . . only a matter of time . . .
"Harm her and your life ends today," Sevastyan vowed in a chilling tone. "I'm giving you one chance to leave this room alive."
Filip's bravado began to dissipate. "I-I don't have a choice." He lifted his free hand toward his forehead, then sniveled at the reminder that he'd lost his fingers. In a wheedling voice, he said, "Just let me take him, Sevastyan."
"Never." Had Sevastyan eased toward Filip? "This won't end the way you anticipated. The news hasn't had time to reach you, but there will be no bounty."
"What are you talking about? Of course there is! Why wouldn't there be?"
"Because just hours ago, I shot Travkin."
I did a double take at Sevastyan. Travkin was dead? That was the good news Paxan had mentioned?
"You're lying!" Filip's gaze darted. "Lying!"
Panicked, I said, "Filip, don't do this. It's not too late. We can still fix this."
Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Sevastyan inching even closer to Filip, until he stood between me and Paxan.
"Freeze, Sevastyan!" Filip cried. "I'll shoot, I swear to God I will!" Another shaky wave of that gun--
Sevastyan lunged at me just as bullets sprayed the room from wall to wall. Clocks exploded, glass shattering, chimes tolling like church bells. I screamed, the sound cut off when I hit the ground; Sevastyan was atop me, hand cupping my head. In his other hand, a pistol smoked.
Plaster dust clouded the air, but I could see Filip on his back across the room. He was shot in the belly, twisting in pain. Though my ears rang as if a siren was in my head, I could still hear his cries. And something else . . .
Paxan's breaths. They sounded thick. No, no, no! I struggled to rise, but Sevastyan had me pinned down.
"Are you hit?" he demanded of me.
When I shook my head, he lunged to his feet, charging for Filip.
As Sevastyan disarmed him, I scrambled to reach Paxan. He lay on the floor, blood gushing from a wound in his chest.
Sevastyan snatched the machine gun from Filip, then stalked around the room, checking the perimeter. "Natalie, put pressure on that!" He slammed the office doors closed, bolting them shut.
Kneeling beside Paxan, I pressed both of my hands over his wound. "You're going to be okay, you're going to be okay." Shock--I was going into shock. And then how could I help my father?
In between grimaces of pain, Paxan looked sheepish. "This is . . . not how I planned things."
"Don't talk, please don't talk." Blood skimmed past my fingers. Lifeblood. He can't lose any more. "You have to save your strength!"
Sevastyan dropped to his knees on Paxan's other side. He put his hands on top of mine, knotting our fingers to bear down with even more force. Sevastyan's expression was so hard, like granite under pressure. About to crack.
Paxan's wound wasn't fatal. It couldn't be. So why were they both acting like it?
What did Sevastyan and Paxan know about shootings that I didn't?
Everything.
Paxan cast Sevastyan a weak smile. "You know I couldn't have borne it if you'd saved me instead of her. Proud of you, Son."
The hazy scene replayed in my head. Sevastyan had been directly between Paxan and me when the bullets had flown. He'd made a choice, tackling me to the ground--instead of Paxan. "Stop this, both of you! Paxan, you have to hold on. You're going to make it!"
"Be at ease, dorogaya moya." With effort, he reached for me, brushing my face before his arm collapsed.
Then his eyes went to Sevastyan. "You are bound to her," he told him in Russian. "Her life is in your care, Son. Yours alone." He covered our bloody knot of fingers with his hand. "She belongs to you."
One sharp nod from Sevastyan. More pressure on granite.
Mud slashing over the w
indshield, wipers gritty.
The back of the car fishtailed; I remained frozen.
Sevastyan didn't slow until we neared the river, then slammed to a stop in front of the boathouse. "You're going to stay here and lock the doors behind me," he ordered as he reached across me toward the glove box. "The glass is bulletproof. You do not open these doors." He took out a pistol, cocked it, flicked off the safety, then held it out to me. When I made no move to take it, he laid it on the console. "If someone gets in anyway, you use the gun. Aim for the chest and pull the trigger."
Sevastyan was heading out into danger? Already the entire world was on fire; if I lost him too . . . "Where are you going? Don't leave! Can't we just stay in this car and drive away?"