“Obviously,” she barked out a laugh, but it sounded hollow. Mechanical. He cleared his throat and glanced at the mirror.

“Look, Mischa. Your boss is in a lot of trouble, but luckily, it's obvious that you weren't involved. You were brought as a cover, to throw people like us off,” he told her.

“Who are 'people like us'?” she asked.

“I work for a security company – have you heard of Black Water?”

“Huh?”

“It's a private military company, it became kind of famous a couple years ago. They've since changed their name,” Tal filled her in.

“Oh, yeah, I remember them. You work for them!?” Misch exclaimed. He shook his head.

“No, but I work for a very similar company, it's called Ansuz. Like Ruiz said, the Turkish government hired our company to help with the growing al Qaeda presence in Turkey. That included your boss, once it was discovered that he would be making a trip here. I have to ask this, Mischa, did you ever notice anything strange, in the U.S.? Hear any names? Meet anyone?” Tal questioned her.

How did I end up here? Oh yeah, I lied and I cheated and was a horrible person. Touché, karma. Tou-fucking-ché.

“No. I swear, Tal. I never spent any time with him at work, at all. I was actually shocked that I was offered this job, I figured it was because my sales had been really good that year,” she answered him.

“Yeah. Okay. I know. I'm gonna get you out of here, don't worry. This never would've happened, if I hadn't come and gotten you from that shoot out. I'm sorry,” he told her before starting to stand.

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“So I never would've known …,” she let the sentence hang.

“I would've told you.”

We'll never know if that's true, and you've already lied about everything else ...

She refused to look at him, so he turned to walk away. But panic started clawing at her; she'd been alone for so long. She was upset and she was nervous and she was scared out of her mind. She dragged her nails up the table, reaching for him but not wanting to touch him.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, get me out of here soon.”

He groaned, noticing the handcuffs for the first time.

“Fucking Ruiz,” he growled, digging something out of his jacket pocket. A key was produced and a second later her restraints were removed. He went to rub at the raw marks on her wrists, but she yanked away from his touch.

Tal stared at her for a long moment, his eyes sad. So sad. Worse than when he'd left her in Rome. Worse than anything, ever.

Don't. You don't know this man.

He turned and walked out of the room. Misch sat there, pulling her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible. But his word was still good, and maybe twenty minutes later a female police officer came into the room. She murmured words in Turkish that Misch didn't understand, but they sounded comforting. She was given a blanket, which she folded in half and wrapped around her waist like a giant towel, then followed the cop out of the room.

The sun seemed ridiculously bright to her, and she blinked a lot as they drove across town. The other woman prattled on, not seeming to care that Misch couldn't understand her. When they got to the hotel, the cop walked her all the way to her room, then checked the room over.

Thorough.

Mischa had to all but shove the chick out the door, but finally she was alone. Not that she was even sure what to do with herself. She wandered around the room, the towel-blanket falling to the floor. She half-heartedly looked for her phone, but then realized it was in her purse. Which was at Tal's house. Which she would not be going back to.

She wound up sitting at the foot of the bed, just staring at the dresser across from her. An hour passed. Then two. Then she laid down flat, stared at the ceiling. She didn't know how many hours passed, how many thoughts went by.

He knew you. He used you. So many times. He was doing his job. And you never even questioned him.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a gold-orange glow in the room, when she heard a key in the lock. Remembered the time he'd picked the lock to get in her room, in Rome. Remembered him being everywhere, being everything.

Sad, sad, girl.

“Are you okay?” Tal's voice was soft as he lowered himself in front of her. She shrugged and sat up.

“Not really,” she repeated her answer from the prison, staring over his shoulder.

“Misch, you have to know, I never -,”

“Tal,” she whispered his name, then took a deep breath. “When was the first time you saw me?”

“At the -,”

“The first time, ever.”

There was a long pause. Enough time for her heart to sink even further.

“About ten months ago,” he kept his tone even, his voice low. “It was a grainy surveillance photo. You were leaving your office building in Detroit. You looked different.”

She shocked herself by laughing.

“I had just started my diet.”

“You looked amazing, even in black and white. Your hair was a lot longer.”

“I cut it for the trip.”

“It looks good.”

“How long? How long did you study me?” she asked.

“A long time. When we first got word that you had been chosen to travel with him, we did a general background check. When it got closer, and your tickets were bought, we did a thorough check, all the way back to high school,” he explained.




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