Capture Me by Anna Zaires, Dima Zales

yeah, I’m awake. Where are you? Why didn’t you pick up?”
    There’s a short pause on the line. “I just landed in Chicago.”
    “What?” That’s the last thing I expected to hear. “Why?”
    “Esguerra’s wife. She wants to be Al-Quadar bait.”
    “What?” I almost jump off the bed, the cast be damned.
    “Yeah, I know. That was my reaction too. Turns out Esguerra, that obsessive bastard, implanted some trackers in her. If they take her to use as leverage against Esguerra, we’ll have a fix on their location.”
    “Fuck.” The plan is brilliant, and dangerous as hell. If the terrorists find those trackers in her, Esguerra’s pretty little wife will pray for death. And if Esguerra somehow survives, he’ll dismember Peter—slowly—for using the girl like that. “Nora came up with this?”
    “She did.” There’s a hint of admiration in the Russian’s cool voice. “I don’t know what hold he’s got over her, but she’s pretty determined. I was against it at first, but she convinced me.”
    I inhale and let the air out slowly. I should be surprised—Esguerra did kidnap the girl, after all—but I’m not. However their relationship started, it’s obvious that whatever’s between them now is mutual. I’m tempted to rip into Peter for going against Esguerra’s orders, but that would be a waste of time and energy. What he’s set in motion can’t be undone. “So what’s the exact plan?” I ask instead. “Are you going to hang out in Chicago to make sure they take the bait?”
    “No. I’m heading to Tajikistan right away. The rescue team is already on the way there. As soon as Majid’s men bring her over, we’ll come for her—and for Esguerra.”
    “You know they might not bring her to him. A video of her getting tortured would be just as effective as the real thing.”
    “I know.”
    Of course he does. Like me, he’s used to life-and-death gambles. I could point out the risks from now ’til eternity, and it wouldn’t change anything. The plan will either work or it won’t, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
    “Did you figure out what happened?” I ask, changing the topic. “Sharipov said it may have been some kind of error on their part.”
    “An error?” I can hear Peter’s derisive snort over the phone. “More like lax security. One of their officers has been in the Ukrainians’ pocket for years, and the idiots had no clue until he fired a missile at your plane.”
    “Ukraine?” It makes sense; now that Esguerra’s sided with the Russians, the Ukrainians would want to eliminate him. Except... how could they have found out about our conversation so quickly? Was the restaurant in Moscow bugged? Did Buschekov play for both sides? Or did—
    “It was the interpreter,” Peter says, voicing my next guess. “I had her detained in Moscow as soon as I learned what happened.”
    A loud beep sounds in my ear, and I realize I squeezed the phone so hard I nearly crushed one of the volume buttons.
    “What the fuck—”
    “Sorry. Pressed the wrong button.” My voice is cold and steady, even as burning lava moves through my veins. “The interpreter is a Ukrainian spy?”
    “It appears that way. We’re still digging into her background, but so far at least half of her story appears to have been fabricated.”
    “I see.” I force myself to unclench my fingers before I crush the phone completely. “That’s how they were able to act so quickly.”
    “Yes. They somehow figured out exactly when you’d be passing through the Uzbekistani airspace and activated their agent there.”
    The phone emits another angry beep as my hand tightens involuntarily. I know exactly how they figured out the timing: I all but told the spying bitch our departure time.
    “Lucas?”
    “Yeah, I’m here.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so furious. Yulia Tzakova—if that’s even her real name—had played me for a fool. Her initial reluctance, her peculiar air of