People. Too many people. They are all looking at me. I crash into someone’s chest. Two hands grab my upper arms, probably just to steady me, but it feels like claws burying into my flesh. I scream and, the moment the hands release me, resume running.
Pavel
“Did that waitress who’s sleeping with Dushku find anything out?” Roman asks.
“No,” I say. “Apparently, he talked about some confiscated shipment and complained about his wife spending too much money on shoes. But that’s it.”
“I’ve known Dushku for fifteen years. He’s a master schemer and he’s ruthless when it comes to business. But he would never get involved in human trafficking. If there’s a connection here, we’re not seeing it.” He turns to Dimitri. “What about the men you have following Dushku’s son-in-law?”
“Nothing.”
Ro
