CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
NIKOLAI DRAGUNOV “You must be insane.” I straightened with a laugh, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. I really—” The elevator chimed. We both heard it. Neither of us moved immediately. Then the elevator doors opened and I stepped back. I pulled up my gun out of habit— years of compound instinct, the elevator requiring authorization, no one should have been able to— A small woman walked into the penthouse with a rolling suitcase, a coat that had seen better decades, and confidence of someone who owned every room she entered by divine right. She looked around the penthouse. She looked at Irina. She looked at me. "Nikolai Mikhailovich Dragunov." Her voice echoed in room. "Put that stupid gun away before I hit you with my bag." I lowered the weapon immediately. "Babushka." Th
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