Chapter 1Dimitri Petrov blew out a breath. Sweat beaded on his skin. The walls of the swanky lobby crept closer and closer. He wanted to be at home, preferably in his storm cellar, and not see another soul for days.
The click of high heels came closer and closer. He knew it was heels and not gunshots—he was almost certain. For a second, the walls turned into sand dunes.
“Dimitri?”
He jerked as Irina placed a hand on his shoulder. Reflex had him reaching for his gun that wasn’t there. Taking a deep breath, he tried to disguise how his hand had gone for an imaginary gun by straightening his shirt. “Yes?”
“Has my two o’clock called? He’s late.”
He shook his head. “No, no one has called.” He didn’t think. Would he miss a phone ringing? No, he wouldn’t.
Irina frowned. “If he shows, send h
