48
Sara
I must’ve drifted off in Peter’s embrace because I wake up to the low murmur of voices speaking Russian. Opening my eyes, I see my husband in a seat with a computer on his lap and the twins standing next to him. He’s pointing to something on the screen and talking in his native language.
“What’s going on?” I ask, sitting up. I feel groggy, as if I’ve been out for hours. And for all I know, I have been.
It’s a long flight from Switzerland to Venezuela.
The men glance in my direction. “Just trying to figure out where the sniper was hiding,” Yan says at the same time as Peter says, “Nothing, my love. Don’t worry about it.”
“A sniper?” A fresh spike of adrenaline sends me to my feet. “What sniper?” Then it dawns on me. “Oh, you mean whoever shot at the agent arresting you, causin
