And then I saw him. Sitting at a table at the back of the reading room, leafing through a magazine, there he was. The man from the train. He had changed clothes, but I recognized him immediately. The same expressionless eyes, the same calm, predatory aura. He looked up, met mine, and smiled slightly, almost imperceptibly. He was holding my brown folder in his hand.
The world spun beneath my feet. He's been after me all along. All my precautions, all the lawyer's elaborate plan, were for naught. He just let me lead him straight to his destination.
He stood up slowly, put down the magazine, and walked toward me. In the vast, silent reading room, his footsteps on the wooden floor echoed like the beats of a drum. I had nowhere to run. I was trapped.
He stopped a few steps from me.
“Are you looking for something, ma’am?” he asked in a surprisingly soft, almost polite voice that was completely at odds with his appearance.
I didn’t answer. I was speechless.
“I think this is yours,” he said, picking up the folder. “Your husband, Mr. Peter, is very keen to have it. He sent me. We have an appointment to meet and deliver it to him. But he insisted that you come with me. For your own safety, of course.
He was lying. I could feel it with every fiber of my being. Peter would never send this man. This was a trap.
“I don’t believe it,” I managed to say.
His smile grew wider.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. It matters what you do. Now we’re going to get out of here together. Quietly and quietly. Without attracting attention. Are you coming?”
He opened his jacket slightly. I saw the handle of a gun on his belt.
At that moment, all the fear that had paralyzed me until now evaporated. In its place came an icy, crystal-clear anger. Anger at this man, at Ivaylo, at Petar for getting me involved in this, at the whole world.
“No,” I said, my voice surprisingly strong and firm.
