Page 130 of The Wrong Brother

“Stay back,” he says quietly.

The perfectly pressed pajama set should look ridiculous on him, but I can’t concentrate on that now with my heart ricocheting in my chest.

Frank moves decisively, stepping between me and the front door. His shoulders remain relaxed, up and back in that perfect posture, but something about the way he carries himself makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

“You know how to use the deadbolt?” he asks.

I nod.

“Good.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but instinctively, I know what he wants. It’s a call back to my training days: how to case the room, clear it, move into the next space when you can’t see ahead of you.

The silence stretches until whoever is outside knocks a fourth time.

“They can’t have bad intentions, right? Why knock?”

“That might be what they want us to think.”

I swallow. He’s not wrong.

“Do you think it’s Andrei?”

“I think,” Frank says evenly, “that we’ll find out.” He gives me a brief nod toward the door. “Open it.”

Even though I knew it was coming, every muscle in my body feels tense with the thought. When did I get so scared? Once, Iused to linger in back rooms, listening to handshake deals being made.

“Leave the chain on.”

My hands feel strangely numb as I cross the room. I slide the deadbolt free but leave the security chain latched before opening the door a cautious few inches.

Darkness greets me.

Then a face.

The eyes are wide, the face pale and practically glowing in the night. A step forward, and blonde hair spills around her shoulders.

Victoria.

For a heartbeat neither of us speaks; she looks as shocked to see me as I am to see her, though this can’t be an accident.

“Emma.”

Her voice is barely audible.

“I...please...”

She pushes another step inside, catching me off guard. The chain, my hand still around the catch, rattles and comes free with a fumble. Victoria slips in, and those wide eyes and bulky wool coat are anything but reassuring.

Behind me, everything happens at once.

Frank steps forward with startling speed. The metallic click of a handgun being drawn slices through the cabin.

“Stop.”

Victoria freezes immediately. So do I. We’re shoulder to shoulder, she and I, layered. If he shoots?—

I turn into the room, and Frank is standing several feet away, one hand extended, the pistol unwavering. His expression hasn’t changed at all. He doesn’t look frightened or angry.