An angry Sasha stormed into his control room.
"What do you mean there's a boat approaching?" he demanded.
"It's just a launch, sir," his underling offered. "Two people on it, one's a woman."
"A woman?" Sasha asked, raising an intrigued eyebrow. "Danielle? Katya, maybe." His eyes focused on the screen that was tracking the boat's movements. "Oh, I don't believe this. Tiffany Hill Donely."
"Want us to blow it out of the water?" another of his minions said.
"Uh, no," Sasha responded. "This is far too intriguing to handle in such a manner. Bring her to me when she lands."
"Yes, sir," they both said in unison.
An hour later, an unhappy Tiffany was escorted into Sasha's living room, a dark place that seemed more like a lair to her.
"Search her," Sasha ordered.
"We already did," one of his henchman said.
"Do it again, in front of me," he said.
Tiffany and Popovic stared at each other as the men followed his orders. One of them dumped her bag on the floor and started rifling through the possessions while the other did a rather thorough search of her person - including her locket and her shoes. Neither Tiff nor Sasha flinched.
Finally the one searching her pulled away. "Was it good for you?" she chided.
"Nothing, sir," he said, ignoring her and talking to his boss.
"Really, you got nothing out of searching such a beautiful woman. There must be something wrong with you," Sasha said. His minion didn't react. "You both can go."
"I guess now is the point where I ask you what the hell you are doing here," he said to his new guest.
"I think you already know."
"Tell me anyway," he said.
"You killed my husband. I want some answers."
"Answers?"
"Yes, like why."
"Don't you know I'm a crazed madman? It was on the news and all over the Internet."
"Oh yes, I think I remember hearing something about that."
"Then why on Earth would you come out here?"
"I don't know," Tiffany said and part of her meant it. "I was sort of compelled to. Sort of like the compulsion you have to make people pay for how you feel you've been wronged."
"Hmmm," he said.
"I mean, didn't I wrong you? I was one of the reasons your plan didn't exactly pan out, right? Aren't you still looking for revenge on me?"
"Not quite at this moment," Sasha responded. "You're very intriguing." He started circling around her. "I mean, I don't usually go for older women, but I might be willing to make an exception. You're downright fascinating."
"So you don't mind that I'm here?" she asked. "The reception I got earlier sort of indicated otherwise."
"Well, you caught me a little off guard. I wasn't exactly expecting you."
"Starting to regain your composure?"
"A bit." Sasha's eyes were drawn to her locket and he moved closer to her to touch it. He flipped it open, barely looked at the picture of Sean and ran his finger down the picture of Maren. Tiffany fought every impulse in her body to either pull away or to punch him and concentrated on trying not to appear rattled.
"How is Maren?" he said smarmily.
"I'd rather not talk about my daughter," she said.
He ran his finger along the picture again and popped the locket closed. A sigh of relief ran through Tiffany's mind, but she didn't actually exhale.
"Come on, how are we supposed to get better acquainted if you don't talk about something so important in your life?" he asked.
"I don't know. I don't really know much of anything right now. I'm exhausted ... from my trip, from my life. I'm not real sure what I'm doing here."
"Like you said, you felt compelled to be here."
"Yes, but to what end?"
"I'm not real sure of that either," Sasha said. "Well, we're not going to figure it out right now. So I'll tell you what, I'll set you up in one of our delightful guest bedrooms. Maybe you can get in a nap or something and we can talk more at dinner."
A servant appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and without a signal from Popovic. He took Tiffany's bag and motioned for him to follow.
"Go ahead, I have some business to take care of," Sasha said. Tiffany followed the servant out of the room. A henchman appeared in the doorway a second later.
"Go to the control room and turn on the recorder for those rooms," Sasha whispered. "I want every moment she's in there documented."
"Yes, sir, right away," he said and promptly disappeared from view.
"Not exactly how I thought my day would go, but I can work with this," Sasha said, smiling smugly as he walked out of the house.
Upstairs, Tiffany entered a gorgeous bedroom, obviously decorated with female visitors in mind. "And I thought the living room was a lair," she said under her breath. The servant placed her bag on a mahogany table and disappeared without further word. Expecting that she was being watched, Tiff did a cursory examination of the room and adjoining bathroom, then gingerly kicked off her shoes - trying hard not to let thoughts of the microchip register on her face - and laid down on the bed.
Twenty minutes later, Sasha entered a stone cabin on the far side of his island. He walked through the door to a back room, another makeshift control room.
"Any problems?" he said to the man watching video feeds of a darkened room.
"No, nothing, sir."
"Very well, thank you. Would you mind turning that off until I come back up here?"
"Of course." The man switched the video knobs off and Sasha exited the room.
He descended a staircase also made of stone, then took out a giant antique key that looked like some kind of movie prop from his pocket and swung open the huge stone door.
"I really love this room," he said. "Don't you?"
He turned to face a figure who could be barely be seen in the darkness, but who was obviously slumped on the cold stone floor. "Actually I don't," came a weary voice. It was Sean.
"Such an ungrateful houseguest," Sasha said.
"Oh yeah, much for me to be grateful about," he said. "Like I haven't gotten my daily punch in the face ... jaw ... gut yet."
"You will. This one's a little more proverbial, though." Sean waited on the revelation. "Your wife is here."