Chapter 15 - The Woman They BlamedBy sunset, my face was everywhere.
The worst photo they found was from my driver’s license. Naturally.
CLARA BENNETT WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN VOLKOV CHILD ABDUCTION.
I laughed so hard I almost cried.
Then I cried anyway.
Detective Cross did not arrest me, which was generous considering three news anchors were already convicting me between weather updates.
Instead, she sat across from me in Mikhail’s safe-house kitchen and turned off her recorder.
“This next part is off the record,” she said. “Do you understand what happens if you stay with him?”
I looked through the glass wall at Mikhail standing beside the lake, phone in hand, shoulders rigid.
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t. Mikhail Volkov is not a wounded prince in a black coat. He has broken laws. He has ruined men. He has blood on his hands even if he tries to keep it off his son’s.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I thought of the masked man in my kitchen. The burning diner. The way everyone feared him. The way he held his son through rage without once telling him to stop.
“I know he’s dangerous,” I said. “I also know someone more dangerous is using a child to destroy him.”
Cross studied me.
“Roman’s statement says you lured Misha from the mall.”
“That’s insane.”
“Insane works online when it is posted first.”
She slid a folder toward me.
Inside were photos of me from weeks ago.
Taking out trash.
Buying groceries.
Closing the diner at night.
My blood ran cold.
“They were watching me before tonight.”
“Yes,” Cross said. “Which means Anya’s instruction to trust you was not the only reason you became involved. Someone else knew about your connection.”
“My father.”
Cross nodded. “David Bennett testified secretly twelve years ago in a federal inquiry.”
The room tilted.
“My father was a diner owner.”
“He was also a witness.”
“To what?”
Cross leaned closer.
“To the first Volkov murder that started the war Roman is trying to finish.”
I could barely hear over my heartbeat.
Across the room, Misha approached with his drawing.
He handed it to Detective Cross.
“This is Clara’s diner,” he said. “It was warm.”
Cross looked at the crayon flames he had added in the corner.
Something in her face hardened.
She turned the recorder back on.
“Ms. Bennett, I need your official statement.”
Mikhail entered.
“No.”
Cross stood. “You do not get to decide.”
“She will be killed before she reaches your station.”
“Not if she goes with me.”
Mikhail’s laugh was cold. “You have two officers outside. Roman has twenty men and half my family’s police contacts.”
Cross looked at me.
For the first time, she did not seem certain.
Then the safe-house alarm began to scream.
Mikhail looked toward the monitors.
Every screen showed the same thing.
Police cars at the gate.
May you like
Real ones.
And Roman Volkov stepping out in a gray coat, smiling for the cameras behind him.
