“Like hell I will.” She’s out of her seat before I can stop her. “If I’m a target, I’m going to be a moving target.”
“You—”
The argument dies on my lips as my grandmother appears in her doorway. She’s wearing her good coat and practical shoes, pocketbook in hand.
Of course she’s ready. Nothing surprises Elena Safonova—not even her grandson arriving in a panic with a beautiful woman in tow.
“I expected you five minutes ago when I first heard the police scanner going crazy,” she says dryly.
I kiss her papery cheek. “Are you packed?”
My grandmother laughs in my face. “I’ve survived Stalin, your grandfather, and six decades of American fast food. You think I’m scared of some federal agents?” Her eyes gleam when she reaches for Olivia’s hand. “You look pale, malyshka. Come inside. I’ll ma
