Brigitte opens her mouth to respond, but before she can formulate a coherent sentence through her anger, my phone rings.
I rip it out of my pocket. It’s Gennady. “What?” I growl into it.
“Caravan headed your way,” he says breathlessly. “I just passed them on the highway.”
“What do you mean, ‘a caravan’?”
In the motel room, Brigitte and Arya go deathly quiet.
“Armored cars, tinted windows. Three of them. They’re five minutes from you right now. You have to go.” He sounds panicked. “Do you want me to come back?”
“No. Keep driving. Thanks.” I hang up on him and grab Arya by the arm. “We have to go. Now.”
“Are people coming for us?”
I nod. “Get everything and go.”
“She’s already packed,” Brigitte says. “She can ride with me.”
I pivot towards Arya’s friend and tower over her. “You can
