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drapes and woodwork. Shadows shifted, like a ghost unfolding its limbs. A thin, pale face floated free. Artur saw a skullcap of blond hair, an impossibly slender body clad in a fitted gray suit.
    “Greetings,” said the woman. Her voice was melodically quiet. She looked unarmed.
    Artur straightened slowly, gathering enough strength to step away from the bed. A stupid mistake to have assumed he was alone. He wondered what else he had missed about his room, which was filled with many hiding places: voluminous drapes, a large wardrobe, even the space beneath the bed.
    The woman in front of him stood quite still, cold and gray as a spindly statue. Artur had trouble focusing on her face; his headache seemed to radiate into his eyes, blinding him with quick, short bursts.
    “Who are you?” he asked, struggling to speak clearly.
    A thin smile touched the woman’s pale lips. “That is always the first question. I can think of so many others that would be more useful. More intelligent.”
    Artur briefly closed his eyes. “If you are looking for intelligence, you chose the wrong man to take from his home.”
    The smile widened. “Very nice. A Russian smart-ass. I like that.”
    “Surely I am not such a novelty.” Artur ran his hands over the end of the bed. The woman shook her head.
    “You are the perfect novelty. And really, don’t bother. You won’t discover anything about me or my associates in this room. Even my shoes are new. Quite impersonal. The only people who have been allowed here are those without any real connection to my life or organization. Your gift is useless.”
    “I could touch you” Artur said, disturbed by the woman’s knowledge. Tatyana’s fault, probably. He had no doubt this woman was responsible for the men who had approached his former lover. He did not believe in coincidence. Nor did it matter that he already knew of Tatyana’s betrayal; to be faced with his secrets and have them used against him by clear enemies was profoundly unsettling.
    “Touch me?” She looked amused. “Oh, I’m sure . That, however, would be cheating. Some things must be earned the hard way, Mr. Loginov. Like the truth. Like certain… rewards.”
    “Rewards.” Artur narrowed his eyes. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
    The woman tilted her head: a sharp motion, precise and measured. She reminded him of the serial killer that cold assessment, ruthless calculation hidden by the facade of human expression.
    “You may call me Ms. Graves,” she finally said. “I represent the Consortium.”
    “I have never heard of your organization,” Artur said, because there was something in her voice that suggested he should be familiar with the name. Unfortunately, she looked pleased with his response, which made Artur uneasy—and rather nauseous. He wanted to lie down. He felt as if someone were hammering a nail into the base of his skull.
    Graves said, “I’ve brought you here for a job. The Consortium hires men like you.”
    Artur said, “No.”
    “Really. That was a speedy decision. You’ve heard so little. I had no idea curiosity was such a rare commodity in the criminally reformed. Not to mention all the work that has gone into acquiring your services or making you comfortable in a familiar setting. Surely you can suffer us a moment.”
    No, he could not. Artur did not have time for patience, especially not for a woman who used serial killers to kidnap him from his home. He lunged toward her, hands outstretched for the truth. He took one step—
    —and found a gun pointed at his face. A fast draw; Artur never saw her move.
    She looked very calm. “I was told you are a patient man. Unemotional and calculating. I believe my source was wrong.”
    Tatyana . Artur struggled not to vomit. Moving so quickly had almost incapacitated him. “I am an opportunist. A survivor. Whoever you spoke with forgot to mention that, as well.”
    “No. I simply expected more self-control.” The woman gestured for Artur to sit