Five minutes later, thanks to Boris’s men, Vlad’s body was moved and Georgia’s cuffs were off. Savannah couldn’t stop shivering, and her teeth chattered; she’d spent the last ten minutes lying practically naked on the snow. Georgia took her upstairs and helped her into dry clothes.
Her sister was unusually passive and gazed at Georgia as if she was a stranger. Shock, Georgia thought. “Savannah, you were a hero out there. You saved my life. Do you get that?”
Savannah didn’t answer.
“It’s over now, baby. And it’s all good.” She smiled at her sister and ran a hand down her cheek. Savannah’s expression didn’t change.
The sound of distant sirens split the air. Her sister tensed.
“Shit!” Georgia said. “Come on, baby. Talk to me.”
Savannah took her time. “They’re all dead,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“Zoya. Jenny. Sergei. Vlad.”
“But we’re okay. You and I. We made it.”
Her sister didn’t answer, and Georgia wasn’t sure she understood. The sirens grew louder.
“Listen. You stay up here. I’ll deal with the cops.”
Georgia hurried down into the kitchen. Zoya’s body lay on the floor, oozing blood from a gaping wound in her back. Georgia felt a spit of pity. Zoya didn’t know it, but when Lotwin had killed her son, he’d doomed her, too.
Savannah hadn’t had time to find the guns, Georgia realized, so she grabbed a knife instead. How had she managed to kill Zoya? She figured they’d have time to talk about it. Months. Even years.
She looked around and found a broom closet. Opening it, she saw it was filled with assault rifles and pistols, among them her baby Glock. She snatched it, then opened the door and went outside.