Page 35 of Wyatt

“Prevyet. I…I was in town and wanted to see Mikka.”

“Of course. I’ll get him ready for you—”

“No. I just…I’ll just stand here and watch him.”

She’d hired Lana because of the way she had looked at Mikka, a softness in her eyes, as if she could truly love him. She now gave Coco a smile, the same softness in her eyes. “Come in and spend time with him. He knows you. He has your picture by his bed. He will want to see you.” She cast her gaze on the bag, the lion peeking out from it. “And he’ll be delighted with the gift.”

Coco didn’t know why her eyes glazed, but she seemed to have no mind of her own when Lana motioned her to the gate entrance. She pressed in the digital lock and opened it.

A couple children were riding the merry-go-round. A couple more looked up from where they were teeter-tottering. She walked over to the edge of the play yard. Mikka was digging in the sandbox, motoring a truck through a tunnel he’d made. His dark brown hair fell over his face—he probably needed a cut, but it reminded her so much of Wyatt, she just wanted to touch it. He pursed his lips, making a motoring noise.

“Mikka, someone is here to see you,” Lana said.

Mikka looked up, first at Lana. Then at Coco.

She held her breath.

His concentration dissolved into a slow, perfect smile. “Mamichka!”

Oh—uh—

He got up and sprinted toward her. She had enough presence of mind to crouch. To open her arms.

To catch him when he flung himself into her embrace.

He caught her around the neck, his strong little body melded into hers.

She pulled him against her. He smelled of the laundry soap, and perhaps his morning kasha, and the outdoors, and crazily, a little like Wyatt, as if he embedded the skin of his son.

Coco could do nothing but hold on and weep.

I’m assuming your plan ends with assassination?

Yes.

If you kill him, we’ll never have the opportunity to discover who hired him and what he is after. Or how he works. Or his alliances.

“Seriously, RJ? An oldAliasrerun?”

The voice, not on the television screen, jerked RJ’s attention from the drama and over to where her big brother Reuben leaned against the doorframe to the wood-paneled den of the Marshall family ranch home.

Reuben wore the mantra Big Brother well, from his rank in the Marshall family to his actual size. The former smokejumper-slash-sawyer-turned-ranch-foreman had the shoulders of a buffalo, his arms thick, not a spare inch around his waistline. No wonder he’d won awards in high school for his football prowess. But the man was a gentle giant and his voice was soft as he came into the den and sank down on the recliner.

“It’s 2:00 a.m. What gives?”

RJ sat on the sofa, a knitted afghan pulled up over her, a mug of hot milk in her grip. Darkness pressed against the windows, and the house smelled of tonight’s pot roast and homemade bread.

For a prisoner, she was living well.

She shrugged, not sure where to start. “This is my favorite episode. It’s where Will finds out that Sydney is a secret agent. She saves him and blows his mind.”

“You were addicted to this show when you were a kid. I remember you saying you wanted to be like Sydney when you grew up.”

He smiled. She didn’t, painfully aware of what she’d said.

What a joke she’d turned out to be. Oh, she’d had big, high-flying visions of who she’d be. And a crash-and-burn reality.

She lifted a shoulder, keeping it casual. “Mostly, I watched it for the romance between Vaughn and Sydney.”