Page 128 of The Wrong Brother

“See? She understands.”

“I do not,” Emma manages between laughs. “It’s actually been really nice here. I’ve been…worse places.”

Her eyes cut away. The predator in me goes still, wondering: Is this it? Is this when she’ll finally let the past slip into the present?

“I’m surprised at you, Emma. Running away with a man who has no appreciation for luxury.”

I glance toward the mountains. The pines. The river winding through the valley below.

Then back toward Frank.

“You own fourteen cashmere scarves. Remember when you told me to figure out what has real value in life?”

“They’re different scarves. Different brands, Ruslan.”

For the first time in days, the tension in my chest eases as Frank steps up onto the porch, grasping my upper arm in greeting.

Eventually, he allows himself to be shown inside, though not before delivering several more critiques about the cabin’s lack of amenities. By lunchtime he’s claimed the armchair near the window, reorganized the kitchen, and informed Emma that my coffee-making technique is barbaric.

She seems delighted by all of it.

Traitor.

Later that afternoon, while Emma helps the caretaker collect firewood for the next few days, I find Frank standing alone near the tree line overlooking the valley. The mountains stretch endlessly beyond us.

For several moments neither of us speaks. Then Frank sighs.

“So.”

I already know where this conversation is headed, but I decide to humor him.

“So.”

“You’re really leaving.”

“Yes.”

His expression turns serious. The humor disappears. “For how long?”

“A few days.” I hesitate. “Maybe a week.”

Frank nods slowly. Both of us know I can’t put a realistic timeline on what has to be done—on what Andrei will do, or attempt to do, once he realizes what I’ve put in motion.

“What are you planning?”

The question hangs between us. I watch the wind move through the trees below. I’ve known Frank for a long time. He holds some of my best secrets, but this one, I’m reluctant to hand over.

Finally, I answer.

“What I should have done from the beginning.”

Frank’s jaw tightens.

“Rus.”

“I’m not exposing Kate.” The words come immediately, sharp as a knife’s edge, defensive. His shoulders relax slightly.

“Then how?”