Present Day

Victor Kovalev walked through the gym, looking at the two men sparring in the boxing ring. He recognized the taller one by the tattoo of Moscow’s Red Square covering his entire back. He didn’t like sparring with him in the ring—he tended to fight dirty. The way his opponent kept shielding his face, he wondered what maliciousness the man had been up to during this particular practice fight.

In years past, he would have stopped at the ring and chatted with the trainers and fighters. Now, they glanced at him in his navy suit and leather shoes, then looked past him like he wasn’t even there. He ducked into the office and nodded at his uncle Boris, who listened on his phone, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He’d shed his standard black leather coat and openly wore a shoulder harness with two customized wooden-handled Tokarev TT-30s in each holster. He had carved some notches into one of the handles.

Next to him, his son, Marco, sat in front of two laptops, typing on one, looking at another. By the back door, a blonde woman in a leather miniskirt sat on a wooden chair, her head thrown back, eyes open, staring off in a drugged haze.

Marco looked at Victor, spoke in Russian very softly, and then hung up the phone. “Well. If it isn’t the crown prince himself come to mingle with the peasants and the kulaks. What can I do for you, Victor?” Boris asked, squinting at him through the smoke.

Victor held up the envelope in his hand. “I got subpoenaed by the state to testify at father’s trial.”

Boris took a long drag of his cigarette and ground it out in the ashtray. When he spoke, smoke came out of his nose and mouth. “Why would they need your testimony? They already have your loud-mouthed girlfriend, and her eye-witness account is supposed to be so very damning, is that not so?”

Heaving a sigh, he kept his voice flat and said, “She is not my girlfriend.”

“No,” his uncle replied, standing and walking around the desk. He stopped when his toes touched Victor’s, so close to him, their noses almost touched. His nose filled with the odor of cigarette smoke and sweat, “But it was because she once was your girl that your father is now sitting in prison, waiting for trial. You made this mess. You.” At the last “you,” Boris dug a finger into Victor’s chest, and Victor held his breath in defense against the offensive odors. He didn’t wince. They’d had this same conversation every time they had met in person for six months. He grew tired of Boris’ accusations after the first day. “Tell me, Victor. How do they even know you were there, eh?”

“Clearly, someone mouthed off.” He pushed Boris’s hand away and waved the paper at him. “I don’t know why they subpoenaed me. What do you think I should do? Huh?” Raising his voice, getting intentionally loud and defensive, he added, “Scamper away to the motherland and hide until all of the trial is over? You know as well as I do that papka can beat this. Our sources have all said that her testimony is weak because of the rain that night.”

Boris ran his hands over his thinning, greased back hair, and nodded, stepping away from Victor. “You’re right. Reasonable doubt. That’s how they do things here.”

“We don’t have anything to worry about, uncle.”

“No, but when we find that girlfriend of yours, she’ll know what it means to worry.” He gestured to the man sitting at the computer. “Marco finally hacked the TSA system last night. He’s preparing a program to run facial recognition software. We’ll be able to spot her the second she steps into a terminal in New York.”

Victor met Marco’s eyes. His cousin smiled a rather feral smile, showing off his gold front tooth.

“With the security she’ll likely be under, why risk it if her testimony isn’t supposed to be reliable in the first place?”

“To send a message,” Boris said as he squinted at his phone screen and dialed a number. “Apparently, her sister’s untimely death didn’t teach her a clear enough lesson. No one can threaten the Kovalevs.” He turned his back on Victor and spoke rapid Russian into the phone, clearly dismissing his nephew.

Victor looked at his cousin. “How does that work?”

“It accesses all of the cameras in the city,” Marco said, turning a screen to point at a grid of a dozen camera angles. “When the program finds her face, it will track her from camera to camera until we know where she is staying.”

Knowing how brilliant Marco was with programming, Victor didn’t doubt for a second that what he said the program could do, it would do. “What if she has a hat or a wig or something? Or if she had plastic surgery?”

Marco turned the screen back toward himself and went back to typing on the other laptop. “It’s not a perfect plan, but right now, we don’t know where she is at all, so it’s better than nothing.” He gestured at one of the screens. “I have the same facial recognition scanning social media and news sites. It’s possible we find her before she even comes to the trial next week.”

Boris ended his call and walked over to the girl sitting in the chair, kicking at her legs and jarring her out of her stupor. “You have a client,” he said, handing her a piece of paper. “Remy will drive you.”

Victor watched as the look of disgust and fear crossed her face when she saw the address, but she did not argue. She stood to her feet, looking rather wobbly, and teetered a bit on her four-inch heels. Slipping her purse strap over her shoulder, she left the office, casting a glance at Victor as she brushed by him.

Six Months Ago

“You would have more energy if you would eat something other than this,” Victor said, pushing his finger against the foil-wrapped hamburger. “I would think that as a medical professional, you’d know better.” He uncapped his pen and started writing in his notebook, preparing for a testimony their pastor had asked him to give that Sunday. At his elbow, his Bible sat open. Ruth wanted to ask him what he planned to speak on, but she knew he’d tell her to wait until Sunday.

“I’m a poor resident,” she replied, scooping up the burger and unwrapping it. Before she took a bite, she grinned at him, sitting rather uncomfortably in the orange plastic chair. “It’s what I can afford.”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head, making her laugh around her bite of food. The tangy pickle added a crunch to the bite loaded with savory hamburger topped with mayonnaise and ketchup. She had always thought the flavor combination one of the most perfect tastes in the world. It helped that she’d not eaten since dinner last night. Her hand shook a bit from hunger as she dipped a French fry in the ketchup.

He took a sip from his bottle of water. “I think a plate of rice and beans would offer so much more nutrition than that hamburger and cost a fraction of the price.”

“You need to be more adventurous in your food,” she proclaimed around a second bite. “In moderation, occasional fast food won’t kill you.”

“This is true. Occasionally.” He raised an eyebrow. “How much fast food have you eaten this week?”

“Be nice.” She took another bite and washed it down with her iced tea. “I’m trying to get a handle on my schedule so I can prepare meals before going to the hospital, but these hours are killing me. If I survive this residency, I’ll deserve a medal.”

He winked charmingly, making her heart flip with love for him. “I’ll give you one of my championship belts.”

She stared at him as she chewed a fry. He had taken a hard hit in his last match, and she didn’t like how long it had taken him to recover. “How are you feeling about Saturday’s fight?”

The hesitation he gave in answering her question answered her more than his words. “Fighting the last fight of my career in Madison Square Garden on New Year’s Eve? Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better exit.” Despite the words, his voice sounded unenthusiastic, almost bored.

With narrowed eyes, she tried to study his pupils. “You in fighting shape?”

Victor shrugged. “He is a brawler. I plan to stick and move for the first few rounds, then keep him on the ropes when he gets tired.”

“You avoided my question. Are you in shape?”

As a grimace crossed his face, he set his pen down and closed his notebook. She thought maybe she should have kept that thought to herself. He looked at her with a long, studying look. Just when she opened her mouth to withdraw the question, he reached out and took her hand with his. “I have a question for you. Will you marry me?”

Her mouth fell open. They’d talked about this six months ago, but she’d asked him to wait for another year. She wanted to finish her surgical residency before they got married. So many details would go into planning a wedding, and she wanted to have the freedom to focus on those details rather than work. “You know I will. Just give me another six months.”

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out the jewelry box that contained her ring. “I don’t want to wait six months or a year,” he said, setting the box in front of them and taking her hand in both his. Passionately, he leaned forward. “I don’t want to wait another minute. Let’s go get married and go away from the city. You can transfer your residency, right?”

Her eyebrows came together in a frown. “What are you talking about? Why would we leave the city?”

For a moment, he stared at her with such intensity it took her breath away. Then his face relaxed, and he sat back, letting go of her hand and slipping the ring back into his bag. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.” He scooped his Bible and notebook into his bag and zipped it shut. Ruth just sat there, staring at him, unsure of what just happened. “I have to go. I’m meeting Joe at the gym in an hour, and I know you have to get back to the hospital.” He slipped out of his chair. As he walked by her, he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Breakfast at your place, right?”

“Right,” she whispered as he left. She stared at her leftover dinner, no longer hungry, worried about what had just happened. She put her leftover food on the tray and dumped it into the trashcan by the door. The whole way back to the hospital, she thought about it. For a few moments, Victor had seemed almost frightened. Why would he want to leave the city? Why would he ask her to give up all that she had worked for here just to have to start over somewhere else? Did he not know what life was like for her behind the scenes in the hospital? She had one of the most sought-after surgical residency positions in the state. Surely, he knew that. And unlike him, who would retire from his career this weekend, she had just started hers. Nothing about moving would hold any kind of reason right now.

Something made him scared. She was sure of it. What could it be?

By the time she made it to the locker room, worry fully occupied her mind. What was wrong? What had spurred that whole conversation?

“Doctor Friedman is looking for you,” her friend, Jane, said, opening the locker next to hers. “He said you were to get some lab work for him that he needs in an hour.”

“I did it,” she said absently, touching the sleeve of her white coat hanging in the locker, but not putting it on. “The lab texted me five minutes ago.” She watched as Jane slipped out of her own coat and pulled a sweatshirt out of her locker. “Are you off?”

Jane grinned, pulling the sweatshirt over her head. “I am. I have some of my Aunt May’s leftover Christmas pecan pie sitting in my fridge with my name on it.”

Plunging forward, she shut her locker and stepped closer to her friend. “Can you take the rest of my shift for me?”

Clearly, the urgency in her heart translated to her face and voice because Jane immediately put her hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Ruth said, shaking her head, “but I need to go find out. Please. I’ll work New Year’s Day for you.”

Jane narrowed her eyes, as if in contemplation, then nodded. “And the night before.”

“After Vic’s fight. I’ll come straight here.”

“Deal.” Jane grinned and whipped the sweatshirt back off. “What patient are those labs for?”

An hour later, after briefing Jane on all her patients, she went to her apartment. Major and Esther were not home yet. She took a long shower, changed into fresh clothes, and slipped back out of the apartment. Victor said he had training with Joe. She knew Joe mainly worked at the main gym. Halfway there, it started raining, and she could see streaks of sleet in the rain illuminated by the streetlights. Shivering a bit in the cold, she pulled her umbrella out of her bag and kept walking, bending into the driving rain, using the umbrella almost like a shield. Finally, she made it to the gym.

The closed sign made her frown. She knew this place stayed open until eleven most nights. Why would it say closed? Maybe since Victor was training for such a big fight, they closed the gym so he could train in private.

She tried the door anyway, almost surprised when it opened. Bright fluorescent lights lit the room, shining on the mats and pads. Mirrors along the walls reflected everything back at her. The smell of stale sweat mixed with antiseptic and leather eased into her nostrils. Usually, the gym was full of men working out, sparring in the rings, or lifting weights. Tonight, she saw no one. She heard no clangs of weights, no voices sparring, no music playing, but dirty towels lined the mats, and she saw a couple of gym bags, including Victor’s, by the ring. It looked as if everyone had left in a hurry.

She heard a voice from the back of the gym. Looking all around, she walked through the large room. As she turned a corner, she jumped a bit, startled when her peripheral vision caught her own reflection in a mirror. Heart pounding, every sense heightened, she put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath. This sudden terror didn’t have a place here, in Victor’s family’s realm. She couldn’t understand why she felt so nervous.

She heard the sound of a man’s voice again. Continuing through the building, she passed the open door of Victor’s uncle Boris’ office. Knowing he managed the fighters, arranged the fights, and worked with the promotions of the fights, she hoped to find Victor and his team in there, talking about the upcoming match.

She peered into the office but saw no one. Several hundred-dollar bills lay scattered on the floor, and a chair lay overturned near the back door. Turning another corner, she saw the door to the alley propped open and heard a voice even through the sound of the driving rain. As she walked closer, she realized the man spoke in Russian. Hoping she’d find Victor out there, she put her hand on the door and pushed it open.

In the dim light of the alley, through the rain, she saw three men on their knees in front of Antoly Kovalev, Victor’s father. She froze. Part of her brain realized the extent of what she saw. Another part of her brain completely rejected the image. Two of the men had their heads bowed, hands behind their backs. Streams of water from the rain ran down their heads to the ground. The middle man had his head raised, his hands folded in front of him as if praying. She couldn’t tell if tears streamed down his face or if it was rain. A man she did not know walked up behind that man and put a gun to the base of his skull.

The sound of the gunshot made her whole body jump. She immediately clasped both hands to her mouth to block the scream lodged in her throat. As the man fell forward, the other two men raised their heads and started talking rapidly in Russian, but both of them met the same fate as their companion.

Eyes wide, heart pounding so hard she could hear it through the roaring in her ears, she slowly stepped backward. She moved out of the door’s path, and it slammed shut, knocking the doorstop away. Through the window glass laced with a net of wire, she saw Antoly raise his head and stare right at her. His eyes narrowed, and she saw his mouth move.

Run, she told herself. Run! On shaking knees, she turned and scrambled through the gym, sprinting, arms pumping. She burst through the main doors and onto the sidewalk. Frantic, she looked around. Which way to go? As she spun, her feet slipped, and she stumbled forward into the road. Bright lights and blaring horns made it hard to focus. Her hands came down on the hood of a cab. Keeping her hands on the hood, as if she had the power to hold it in place, she rushed to the door and opened it.

The cabbie did not even look surprised by her appearance. “Drive!” she yelled as the man with the gun came out of the alley. “Go!”

They sped past the man just as Antoly emerged from the alley. She looked through the back glass as the cab turned and merged into the traffic on Fifth Avenue.