Say It Again (First Wives, #5)(4)

“I know. My father is dead.”

“I’m aware.”

That surprised her. “You knew who he was the whole time?”

Linette nodded. “Of course. I am in charge of the safety of the students here. Not an easy task with a parent that would just as soon see you dead. Why do you think we pushed you so hard?”

“Because I was difficult.”

“Willful, not difficult. I knew that the day would come when you’d learn the truth of your parentage and need to protect yourself.”

Memories surfaced of the one and only time she addressed her father, on the day he attempted to kill her. He nearly succeeded.

Sasha’s hand moved to her neck. The pain of her recovery from his hands attempting to snap her windpipe turned her cold.

Silence filled the room.

When she looked up, Linette’s practiced stoic expression replaced whatever smile had been there before.

“Students return to Richter for one of three reasons. Answers, refuge, or direction. Which are you?”

An unfamiliar knot caught in the back of her throat.

“All three.”





Chapter Two



Linette picked up her private phone once Sasha left her office. Her contact answered the call in German and quickly switched to English when she identified herself.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” his smooth voice asked.

“You will not believe who just walked back through my door.”

“You know I hate guessing games.”

Linette grinned as she looked out her office window toward the public courtyard. “Budanov.”

She heard him sigh. “The untouchable one who got away?”

“Yes, well, the ties that kept her back are no longer there.”

“But is she still worthy? Eight years makes most soft.”

“She appears harder, if that’s possible. I, too, am anxious to find out what she has lost and what she’s gained. I’ll be in touch.”

“I look forward to it.”

Linette lifted her chin as she hung up the phone.

“Very anxious.”



The duffel Sasha carried on her bike sat on the end of the bed in the room she’d been given. It was the same two hundred and twenty square feet as the university students shared. The difference was there was only one bed instead of two. That beat the high school dorms, which offered a lofty four hundred square feet but had double bunk beds crammed into the larger space. The headmistress had offered refuge for as long as she needed it. All the privacy rules of Richter were still in effect, and Sasha was expected to follow them. Basically, everything that went on inside the walls of the school, from the classes that had nothing to do with math, science, and literature to the disciplinary actions, was sworn to secrecy. Like the faculty, she could keep her cell phone and use the Internet. Although she wasn’t sure either would be a hundred percent secure.

She’d been given a faculty bracelet that allowed her access to nearly every room on campus. Considering she’d been in most already, she wasn’t sure if there was more to learn from the place she’d called home since she was nine. Some things change, but Richter didn’t invite that concept.

She slipped out of the thick leather pants she wore when riding and into something easier to move around in.

In front of the mirror, she brushed her long hair back into a sleek ponytail. Her naturally olive complexion set off her dark eyes, made a little more striking with the eyeliner she liked to use. She applied a nude color over her full lips and tilted her head to the side.

This was as close to her personal choice in appearance as she came. Well, when she was relaxing, in any event.

She left the small bathroom, shuffled past her bedroom space, and out the door.

Sasha told herself she wasn’t being nostalgic, yet she couldn’t stop her feet from moving the rest of her down memory lane.

How many of her instructors would still be there? It had only been eight years. In fact, there might even be students who would recognize her, although she doubted she’d remember any of them. She’d hardly known her own class, let alone one eight years her junior.

The academic building held no interest. She moved deeper into the campus and over to the dining complex. Long rows of tables like something out of Harry Potter, minus the floating candles, lined the room. Meals were a choreographed and orderly deal. The front of the room was for the youngest students. As the tables moved back to the doors of the hall, the age progressed. Faculty sat in front of everyone. Food was fuel, nothing more, nothing less. There were few indulgences at Richter when it came to meals. Birthdays were celebrated with a pat on the back or a practical joke from one student to another, not with cake.

She’d hated that when she was young. As an adult, she applauded the fact that she never struggled with food cravings. It helped that she was naturally thin. If not for her dedication to pushing her body past its comfort zone in her workouts to keep her muscles conditioned, she’d probably appear anorexic. The figure gods didn’t hand her any significant curves, and she wasn’t interested in buying them. The men she slept with didn’t complain. Then again, they’d probably concluded that a complaint would be met with a broken bone. Or a broken ego, at the very least.

Through the empty dining hall, Sasha walked past the entry to the kitchens, where she could smell the staff working on the next meal, and to the locked double doors leading to the lower levels.