Page 43 of Savage Pakhan

“You go get them while I go get Mia.”

“I’m making coffee.” He gives me his back as he scoops coffee grounds.

I sigh, annoyed with him already here, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Nikolai knows me better than I know myself. He knew I was here. And I know he didn’t tell a soul.

“You didn’t tell anyone you were coming, right? You weren’t followed? You kept your cellphone at home so it can’t be traced?” I ask him in Russian.

He groans with annoyance and replies, “Da, Aleksandr. This is not my first time doing my job. No one followed me. My burner phone is in my pocket. Go get, Mia. I don’t feel like dealing with your questions,” he grumbles, waving me away.

Taking the steps two at a time, I rush to Mia and unlock the door to find the bathroom completely empty.

“Mia?” I call for her, checking behind the door to see if she’s hiding.

“Alek?” Her timid voice comes from inside the shower stall.

I swing the door open to see her curled in the corner, the blankets pulled tight around her shoulders. She’s been crying. Her cheeks are wet, and her eyes are puffy.

“Lyubimaya. It’s okay. We are safe. It isn’t Ivan.” I scoop her into my arms and carry her out of the bathroom.

“It isn’t? Who is it?”

“You remember Nikolai? It’s him. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make us some breakfast?” I kiss her temple.

She beams, a big bright smile that contradicts her teary face. “I’ll be down in a few.”

While she gets dressed, I brush my teeth, and head down to see Nikolai hitting the side of my coffeepot.

“You’re going to break it! Stop.”

“It won’t turn on. You have a horrible coffeepot.”

I lift the cord. “It would help if it were plugged in.”

“Who doesn’t have their appliances plugged in?” He rolls his eyes.

I plug it into the outlet and the coffeepot hums to life. “I’m going to go get the groceries. I’ll make breakfast. Make yourself at home.”

“I’ve been here plenty of times. It might as well as be my home.”

A creak from upstairs has me look up to see Mia peering over the railing. Her hair is brushed, the sleepy tangles gone and replaced with smooth strands. She’s wearing my shirt, and it falls to her knees, swallowing her body. I love how it looks.

It’s as if I engulf her with my size. I hope it makes her feel safe and secure.

“She’s wearing your clothes,” Nikolai informs me in Russian.

“I can see that. Her clothes are in the car.”

“Why not get them?”

“Enough with the interrogation, Nikolai. Da? Enough,” I raise my voice enough for him to understand that I’m getting impatient with him.

He gives me a curt nod and opens the cabinet, snagging three coffee mugs to set on the counter.

“Lyubimaya,” I greet Mia, kissing her forehead.

A mug drops and shatters on the kitchen floor. Nikolai has wide stunned eyes.

It’s because of the nickname. It means beloved.