Sofia sent the address nine minutes later. A private house on the North Shore. I read it twice. Then I forwarded it to Mikhail. Not because he owned the rescue. Because I wanted him in it. That difference mattered. Mikhail called immediately.

"Anton is verifying the property."

For forty-seven seconds after Sofia sent I'm coming, nobody spoke. Then Anton's voice came through the speaker.

"We have her."

My knees almost gave out. I gripped the back of a chair instead.

"Is she hurt?"

"She's walking. Shaken. No obvious serious injury.

Sofia corrected the lie at ten the next morning. Not from the Orlov estate. Not from Moretti Blooms. From my attorney's conference room. Neutral ground. Her choice. Mine too. She sat at the end of a long table in a borrowed navy blouse because she still did not have