Capture Me by Anna Zaires, Dima Zales

survivors?” My voice sounds choked, and I have to clear my throat before continuing. “That is... are you sure the target’s been eliminated?”
    “We haven’t received the casualty report yet, but I don’t see how Esguerra could’ve survived.”
    “Oh. Good.” Bile rises in my throat, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Swallowing thickly, I manage to say, “I have to go now, find that taxi.”
    “All right. Keep us posted if there are any issues.”
    “Will do.” I press the button to hang up and lean my head back against the wall, taking in gulps of cold air. I feel sick, my stomach roiling with acid and emptiness. I have a fast metabolism, and I’ve never handled hunger well, but I don’t recall ever feeling this bad from lack of food.
    Pale blue eyes blank and unseeing. Blood running down a hard, square jaw...
    No, stop. I force myself to straighten away from the wall. I won’t allow myself to go there. I’m just hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. Once I address these problems, everything will be fine.
    It has to be.
----
    B efore trying to catch a taxi , I head to a small coffee shop next to the station and use their restroom. I also get a cup of hot tea and scarf down three meat-filled pirozhki—small savory pies. Then, feeling much more human, I go outside to see if I can find a taxi.
    The streets around the station are a nightmare. The traffic appears to be at a complete standstill, and all the taxis look occupied. It’s not unexpected, given what happened with the trains, but still extremely annoying.
    I begin walking briskly in the hopes that I can get to a less trafficky location on foot. There’s no point in getting into a car, only to crawl two blocks in two hours. Now that the plane has gone down, I need to get to my handlers as quickly as possible.
    The plane. I suck in my breath as the sickening images invade my mind again. I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about this. I’d known Lucas for less than twenty-four hours, and I’d spent most of that time being afraid of him.
    And the rest of that time screaming in pleasure in his arms, a small voice reminds me.
    No, stop.
    I pick up my pace, zigzagging around slower-moving pedestrians. Don’t think about him, don’t think about him ... I let the words echo in my mind in tempo with my steps. Y ou’re going home to Misha ... I pick up my pace some more, almost running now. Moving this fast not only gets me to my destination quicker, but it also keeps me warm. Don’t think about him, you’re going home...
    I don’t know how long I walk like this, but as the streetlights turn on, I realize it’s already getting dark. Checking my phone, I see that it’s nearly six p.m.
    I’ve been at it for two and a half hours, and the traffic around me is as bad as ever.
    Stopping, I look around in frustration. I’ve been walking along major avenues to maximize my chances of catching a cab, but that appears to have been a faulty strategy. Perhaps what I should do is get away from the main zones of traffic and try my luck on smaller streets. If I find a car there, the driver may be able to take me out of the city via some more obscure routes. I’ll pay him whatever extra money he demands.
    Turning onto one of the cross streets, I see a park a block away. I decide to cut diagonally across it, and then go up one of the smaller avenues on the other side of it. I’ll still be heading in the right direction, but I’ll be away from the busiest area. Maybe I’ll find a bus there, if not a cab.
    There’s got to be some way I can get to my destination in the next few hours.
    My phone vibrates in my bag, and I fish it out. “Yes?”
    “Where are you?” Obenko sounds as frustrated as I feel. “The team leader is getting nervous. He wants to be across the border by the time the Kremlin learns what happened.”
    “I’m still in the city, walking for now. The traffic is impossible.” The snow crunches under my feet as I enter the park. They