Page 32 of The Last Dance

I got out first, scanning the drive. Lin moved forward, but stopped when he saw Iren’s face.

“Medical?” he asked.

“Glass. That’s all,” I said.

He nodded, making a note on his pad. He had already moved on to contingency two.

Yuri shut off the engine and stepped out, walking a slow circuit around the car, eyes everywhere but never frantic. He ducked to look at the impact on the headrest, then at the line of the shot through the window.

“Custom load,” he said. “Illegal in this state.”

“Military grade?” I asked.

“Not American. East European, maybe Czech.”

I filed that away.

Iren climbed out of the car on his own, wobbly but upright. I followed him, staying close enough to catch him if he fell. He didn’t.

The estate’s front hall was empty except for the click of my shoes on the marble and the echo of blood in my ears. The staff was invisible, but I knew every set of eyes was tracking us from the shadow lines and the glass reflection off the stair rails.

Sasha waited at the threshold to the east wing, one hand resting on the newel post, the other loose at her side. She wore black, with pearls, as if the day had required a level of formal mourning.

She didn’t look up when the door opened. Her eyes were locked on a spot just over my left shoulder, calculating the precise moment to begin her performance.

Iren stepped in behind me, trailing the scent of dust and trauma and blood that had already dried on the side of his face. I steered him toward the stairs without waiting for permission.

Sasha’s voice cut the air, low and crisp. “You’re home early.”

I paused. “Change of plans.”

She drifted forward, gaze darting once to Iren, then to the glass dust embedded in the side of his jaw, then back to me. For a half-second, before her face resettled into warm concern, I saw something else there.

Surprise.

Not the surprise of a person who heard an unscheduled car in the drive. Not the surprise of a hostess facing an extra guest. The surprise of someone who expected a different outcome—one with a hearse or at least a silent phone call.

She opened her mouth to say something, but I was already moving Iren toward the living room. Lin had already prepped a med kit in the front room. Iren sat on the edge of the couch, head tipped back, the blood slowing to a trickle. Lin dabbed at the cut with a gloved hand, cleaning it with methodical care.

“You’ll scar,” Lin said.

Iren snorted. “What’s one more?”

He didn’t look at me. He just sat there, letting Lin do his work, hands clenched in his lap.

I took Yuri aside, out of earshot. “Lock it down. No one in or out. No phone calls unless you make them. Full perimeter, all shifts.”

He nodded. “What about the spotter?”

“Find him. Quietly.”

He left.

I went back to the couch. Iren was staring at the ceiling. The glass powder had migrated down his neck, glittering at the hollow of his throat.

“Come upstairs,” I said.

He hesitated for a moment and then stood to go with me. I guided him upstairs and into the bedroom, shut the door, and surveyed the space.