“You’ve been there twice?”
“I went there when Mikhail brought me to America. I told you about that. I went there a second time, four years ago. I didn’t understand the reason then. Reece told me that we were going there to get closer. He was acting like he wanted to be my husband, not just my owner. He called it a belated honeymoon. I should have suspected the truth.”
“The truth?”
“I hated Reece Whitton. I loathed him. I was with him because of Mikhail, and he knew it. There was no marriage—not in my eyes and not in his. I went where he told me to go and did what he told me to do, but we had no marriage, so there would be no honeymoon. He brought me to the cabin to keep me from hearing about Zoya.”
I started to understand. “Her death was in the news,” I said. “We posted her picture on television. We were hoping someone might identify her.”
Ana nodded her head. “That is what I assume. When I saw the file you had on Zoya, I understood why Reece brought me to the cabin. There is no television there. No newspapers. He kept me there for six weeks. I did not understand why. Now I know. They needed me in the dark until the story about Zoya’s death faded away.”
“You didn’t know that your sister went missing? That was four years ago. What did you think happened to her?”
“At first, when Mikhail offered to bring Reece into the operation, Reece did not agree. He saw how the path could only lead to his destruction. But he also saw few alternatives. In the end, Reece agreed to Mikhail’s proposition, but only if Mikhail gave me to him as part of the deal. I would become his wife on paper, a title that exaggerated my true role.
“I told Mikhail that I did not want to go. That’s when Mikhail told me that he was bringing Zoya to America. The trip had already been arranged. Mikhail would do to Zoya what he did to me. I begged Mikhail not to bring her here. I promised him that I would go with Reece if he would send Zoya back to Belarus. I did not want her to suffer what I had suffered.
“Mikhail agreed. He said that if I went with Reece, he would send Zoya home. I could never talk to her again, but she would be safe. He knew that my love for Zoya was my final strength. Mikhail knew that if he deceived me on that score, I would turn on him.
“I believed him when he made that promise. But Mikhail Vetrov is not a man of honor. He brought my sister here and did not tell me. I was told that she went back to Belarus to be with our mother. She sent me a letter. I believed it. But I know now that her letter was a lie. They must have made her write it—probably from the same locked room at the cabin where he kept me prisoner. Mikhail’s people mailed the letter from Lida, but she was here in America, being murdered.”
“You never tried to contact her?”
“I am not permitted to have contact with my family. I am not permitted to use the Internet. My phone does not have data. Reece spied on me for Mikhail, but it was not necessary. I promised to obey Mikhail if he sent Zoya back to Belarus. I kept my promise. Mikhail did not.”
I slowed the car as I saw a set of tire tracks diverging down a narrow path to the right, their faint outline barely visible beneath the fresh snow. There were still other tracks that continued straight.
“Is that it?” I asked, coming to a stop at the mouth of the turn.
Ana sat up straight and looked down the trail, studying it for a good ten seconds. “No, that is not it. It is farther ahead.”
At ten minutes before 6:00 a.m., the night still maintained its dark cloak, but it wouldn’t be long before lighter shades of gray began to filter into the sky. We were running out of time. I lowered my window to let in some fresh air. I needed to wake up. My hands were cramping from holding the steering wheel so tightly. Had it really been over ten hours since we left Minneapolis? The Gunflint Trail hadn’t been plowed yet and we’d been on it for an hour and a half but hadn’t yet gone forty miles.
That’s when we rounded a turn and came upon another thin road cutting to the north. Ana locked onto that road with the sharpness of a hunting dog approaching a pheasant. She held her hand into the air to signal me to slow.
“This is it,” she whispered. “His cabin is down there, about a mile and an half. He will still be sleeping—or maybe he is getting ready to leave.” She looked to the east as if to gauge the rise of the sun. “I don’t think he’ll leave before the sun comes up. The trail is very dangerous in places. It is very steep. We can catch him by surprise.”
I kept driving.
“Where are you going?”
“I let you come along to show me where to find him. That’s all. Your part is done. I’m dropping you off up here a ways.”
I’d been watching the signs for a resort called the Gunflint Lodge ever since we turned out of Grand Marais. The turnoff to Mikhail’s cabin was only ten miles from the resort. I needed a place to deposit Ana before I finished my hunt.
“You cannot do this,” Ana shouted. “You have no right to do this.”
“I can’t have you with me,” I said. “I’m going after Mikhail, and you’re going to wait at this lodge up ahead. That’s all there is to it.”
“I will not—”
“This isn’t up for discussion. You’re not coming with me.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I’ll pick you up after—”
“I will not be denied!” Ana screamed and grabbed for the steering wheel.
I shoved her back into her seat, gripping the front of her coat and holding her at arm’s length. She tried to bite my wrist, and I pulled my hand back.
Her eyes blazed with hatred as she cursed at me in Belarussian. Then she said, “If you think you can get me out of this car, you’re sadly mistaken. I will fight you. That man killed my sister.”
“That man killed my wife!” I yelled.
I had blurted the words out before I had time to think. Ana stopped her attack cold. What had been hatred and rage in her eyes now melted into confusion.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Mikhail killed your wife?”
I didn’t answer.
“Please.” She reached across and laid her hand on my arm. “Please tell me.”
I thought about the risk of opening myself up to this woman, a woman I’d known for a matter of hours. But then I thought about her tears as she told me about her life and about her love for her sister, Zoya, the girl who connected Mikhail to Jenni. In a way, I felt that Ana had earned the right to hear the truth. Somewhere in my sleep-deprived brain, it became important that I tell her about Jenni.
“Not long before Zoya was killed, someone threw her through a plate-glass window, sent her to the hospital. My wife, Jenni, was a social worker there. She took care of your sister, and Zoya told Jenni some things. She spoke in Belarussian, so my wife didn’t know what she was saying. I know now that Zoya was trying to talk about Mikhail. I didn’t know who Mikhail was until tonight.”