Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

to be fearless.
    I climb out the window, inch my way along the ledge, and with a heavy sigh of relief, settle down beside her on the roof. She shakes out the blanket and throws it over our shoulders so that we sit snug together, under a warm mantle of wool.
    “It’s my secret,” she said. “You’re the only one I trust to keep it.”
    “Why me?”
    “Katya would sell me out for a box of chocolates. And that Nadia is too stupid to keep her mouth shut. But you’re different.” She looks at me, a gaze that is thoughtful. Almost tender. “You may be a scared rabbit. But you’re not stupid, and you’re not a traitor.”
    Her praise makes the heat rise in my face, and the pleasure is a rush better than any drug. Better than love. Suddenly, recklessly, I think: I would do anything for you, Olena. I move closer to her, seeking her warmth. I have known only punishment from men’s bodies. But Olena’s offers comfort, and soft curves, and hair that brushes like satin against my face. I watch the glow of her cigarette, and how elegantly she flicks off ash.
    “Want a puff?” she asks, offering it to me.
    “I don’t smoke.”
    “Heh. It’s not good for you anyway,” she says and takes another drag. “Not good for me either, but I’m not going to waste them.”
    “Where did you get it?”
    “The boat. Took a whole pack of them, and no one noticed.”
    “You stole them?”
    She laughs. “I steal a lot of things. How do you think I got the key? The Mother thinks she lost it, the dumb cow.” Olena takes another puff, and her face briefly glows orange. “It’s what I used to do in Moscow. I was good at it. If you speak English, they’ll let you into any hotel where you can turn a few tricks. Pick a few pockets.” She blew out a lung full of smoke. “That’s why I can’t go home. They know me there.”
    “Don’t you want to?”
    She shrugs and taps off an ash. “There’s nothing there for me. That’s why I left.”
    I stare up at the sky. The stars are like angry pinpricks of light. “There’s nothing here, either. I didn’t know it would be like this.”
    “You’re thinking of running, aren’t you, Mila?”
    “Aren’t you?”
    “And what would you go home to? You think your family wants you back? After they find out what you’ve been doing here?”
    “There’s only my grandmother.”
    “And what would you do in Kryvicy, if all your dreams were to come true? Would you be rich, marry a nice man?”
    “I have no dreams,” I whisper.
    “It’s better that way.” Olena gives a bitter laugh. “Then you can’t be disappointed.”
    “But anything, anywhere, is better than here.”
    “You think so?” She looks at me. “I knew a girl who ran. We were at a party, like the one tonight. At Mr. Desmond’s house. She climbed out a window and got away. Which was just the first of her problems.”
    “Why?”
    “What do you eat out there? Where do you live? If you have no papers, there is no way to survive but to turn tricks, and you might as well do it here. So she finally went to the police, and you know what happened? They deported her, back to Belarus.” Olena blew out a cloud of smoke and looked at me. “Don’t ever trust the police. They’re not your friends.”
    “But she got away. She went home.”
    “You know what happens if you run away and make it back home? They’ll find you there. They find your family, too. And when they do, you’re all better off dead.” Olena stubbed out her cigarette. “Here it may be hell. But at least they don’t skin you alive, the way they did to her.”
    I am shaking, and not from the cold. I’m thinking of Anja again. Always, I think of poor Anja, who tried to run. I wonder if her body still lies in the desert. If her flesh has rotted away.
    “Then there’s no choice,” I whisper. “There’s no choice at all.”
    “Sure there is. You play along with them. Fuck a few men every day, give them what they want. In a few months, a year, the Mother gets her next shipment of girls, and you’re just used merchandise. That’s when they let you go. That’s when you’re free. But if you try to run first, then they have to make an example of you.” She looks at me. I am startled when she suddenly reaches out and touches my face, her hand lingering on my cheek. Her fingers trail heat across my skin. “Stay alive, Mila,” she says. “This won’t last forever.”

FOURTEEN
    Even by the lofty standards of Beacon Hill, the house was