CHAPTER TWELVE
Karina was seated on the center cushion of a large, comfortable sofa wrapped in soft brown leather, her slight figure sinking deep into it. The home around her was elegant yet cozy, unpretentious. Above the flat-screen television was a ship in a bottle, and art on the walls, and a fireplace nestled along the southeast of the large living room. It looked as if the place had been staged by a professional decorator to make guests feel invited—which was made all the more bizarre by the fact that she was flanked on either side of the sofa by Secret Service agents with pistols in their laps.
The handcuffs had been taken off, but that was of little comfort considering that across from her, seated in a recliner that matched the sofa, was Aleksandr Kozlovsky. Behind him stood a thi
