Capture Me by Anna Zaires, Dima Zales Page B

words. “Sooner. We’re sending a plane for her tomorrow.”
    “What? No, that—”
    “Should be enough time to get everything ready,” I interrupt the translator. “Remember, we expect to get her and the files. You don’t want to disappoint us, believe me.”
    And before he can voice any further protests, I disconnect from the video call.
----
    T he next morning , I train with Esguerra and the crew, as usual. Like me, he’s almost back to normal, having kicked ass with our three new recruits. Since my leg is still healing, I’m sticking to boxing and target practice, and I’m more than a little envious that he’s able to spar properly.
    As we leave the training area, I fill him in on the latest developments with Peter Sokolov. Turns out the Russian somehow got his list from Esguerra, and is now going through the names and systematically eliminating them one by one.
    “There was another hit in France, and two more in Germany,” I tell Esguerra, using a towel to wipe the sweat off my face. This area of Colombia, near the Amazon rainforest, is always hot and humid. “He’s not wasting any time.”
    “I didn’t think he would,” Esguerra says. “How did he do it this time?”
    “The French guy was found floating in a river, with marks of torture and strangulation, so I’m guessing Sokolov must’ve kidnapped him first. For the Germans, one hit was a car bomb, and the other one a sniper rifle.” I grin. “They must not have pissed him off as much.”
    “Or he went for expediency.”
    “Or that,” I agree. “He probably knows Interpol is on his tail.”
    “I’m sure he does.” Esguerra looks distracted, so I decide it’s as good a time as any to bring up the Yulia situation.
    “By the way,” I say, keeping my tone casual, “I’m having Yulia Tzakova brought here from Moscow.”
    Esguerra stops and stares at me. “The interpreter who betrayed us to the Ukrainians? Why?”
    “I want to personally interrogate her,” I explain, draping the towel around my neck. “I don’t trust the Russians to do a thorough job.”
    Esguerra narrows his eyes, his prosthetic eerily lifelike. “Is it because you fucked her that night in Moscow? Is that what this is about?”
    A wave of anger makes my jaw tighten. “She fucked me over. Literally.” That much I’m comfortable admitting. “So yeah, I want to get my hands on the little bitch. But I also think she might have some useful info for us.”
    Or at least I’m hoping she does, so I can justify this insane obsession with her.
    Esguerra studies me for a second, then nods. “In that case, go for it.” We resume walking, and he asks, “Did you already negotiate this with the Russians?”
    I nod. “Initially, they tried to say they’d only deal with Sokolov, but I convinced them it wouldn’t be wise to get on your bad side. Buschekov saw the light when I reminded him of the recent troubles at Al-Quadar.”
    “Good.” Esguerra looks grimly pleased. In the world of illegal arms dealing, reputation is everything, and the fact that the Russians backed down bodes well for our relationships with clients and suppliers.
    “Yes, it’s helpful,” I say before adding, “She’ll be arriving here tomorrow.”
    Esguerra’s eyebrows lift. “Where are you going to keep her?” he asks. It’s a measure of his trust in me that he doesn’t question my initiative. Ever since I saved his life in Thailand, he’s been giving me tremendous leeway.
    “In my quarters,” I say. “I’ll be interrogating her there.”
    He grins, and I know he understands. “All right. Enjoy.”
    “Oh, I will,” I say darkly. “You can bet on it.”
    I’m literally counting down the hours until Yulia is on the plane. I considered flying to Moscow myself to get her, but after some deliberation, I decided to send Thomas, a former Navy pilot, and a few other men I trust. It would’ve looked strange if I’d gone; as Esguerra’s second-in-command, I’m needed on the estate, not