“I know that.” I hand her the phone.
“Good,” she says, flipping it open.
I frown as she punches in the numbers. Not telling Zacharov, even if it delays my need to make decisions, isn’t a solution. His life is in danger. We need a strategy. “You can’t think your dad is going to blame you? That’s crazy.”
“I think my father is going to feel sorry for me,” she says. I can hear the ringing on the other end.
“He’s going to think you were brave.”
“Maybe,” she says, “but he’s not going to think I can take care of myself.”
I hear a woman’s voice, and Lila puts the phone to her ear. “I’d like to talk with Mr. Ivan Zacharov.”
There is a long pause. Her lips press together into a thin line. “No, this is not a joke. He’ll want to talk to me.”
She kicks the wall with one too large boot. “Put him
