Watch Over Me

by Susan May Warren

  She met Andrei’s glacial stare. He pursed his lips and looked away.

  Vicktor’s eyes were on her. She shifted, feeling a blaze start at her toes and rush clear to her ears. “I really am sorry, Vicktor,” she said. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. It was truly an oversight. I’ll trust you from now on.”

  Raw shock flickered in his eyes so briefly it could have been a blink. Still, Gracie saw it and it rocked her. Her trust meant something to him.

  Beside her, Andrei harrumphed.

  Silence stretched between them. Vicktor cleared his throat. Gracie drew her coat around her. Andrei glared at traffic.

  “How about some lunch?” Vicktor offered a wry smile, and she saw in it forgiveness. And the smallest beginning of friendship. Oh no, she should not, should not, unlock her heart for this man.

  Even if he did make her feel beautiful, greasy hair and all.

  Gracie nodded and followed him to his car, aware of the steam rising off Andrei. She hoped he followed them.

  Vicktor opened her door as she climbed in, then shut it behind her. Gracie clasped her hands in her lap. He slid into the driver’s seat and tossed a bag into the back.

  “What’s that?” Gracie asked.

  “Your American outfit.”

  “Oh,” Gracie said, realizing she’d completely forgotten to pick up her clothes when Andrei dragged her from the store. “Thanks.”

  Vicktor shrugged, but she saw him smile. So, he was thoughtful too. And taking her out for lunch.

  And a FSB agent. Where was her voice of reason when she needed it?

  It was behind her, closing in on their rear bumper, a look of fury on his face. Gracie turned around and waved, hoping that Andrei wouldn’t think she had ditched him. Despite her chauffeur’s caustic behavior, she was still grateful for his hovering. She wasn’t quite ready to be abandoned into the hands of a Russian cop, regardless of the fact that she felt a thousand times safer with him around.

  And with her less-than-stellar history with men, how strange was that?

  Gracie buckled herself in and fiddled with the shoulder strap.

  “So, do you have any idea who might be following you?”

  “Not the faintest.”

  Vicktor picked up his cell phone and dialed. “I’m going to send someone to check on Andrei’s parents.” She heard him fire off rapid Russian, grateful he’d moved past anger to action. He closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. “How would the Wolf know you were in the village?”

  “Are you sure it’s the Wolf?”

  Vicktor glared at the Moscovitz in front of him and did a quick lane change. “No, but we have some pretty strong evidence pointing to him.”

  Every nerve in her body pricked. The Wolf. What a horrible label. Please, God, don’t let this Wolf be after me.

  Vicktor drove down Karl Marx Street, past hot dog vendors and babushkas selling barely-lavender lilacs. He turned toward the wharf. “I know a great little lunch spot.”

  Gracie cracked her window open and the fresh smell of the Amur River spiced the air. Her stomach growled, and she pressed the palm of her hand against it.

  “I don’t know how such a small person can have a growl that large.”

  Gracie blushed, aware that his sweet words tugged at her defenses. He was going to make her enjoy his company despite herself.

  “Let’s see if we can silence that monster.”

  The street opened up into a scenic parking area. A wharf, with an ancient ferry moored at the end of a cement pier, took center stage. Thick ropes hung from post to post, ringing the parking area and protecting the boardwalk that meandered along the riverfront.

  Down the beach, beyond a cluttering of fishing boats and ferries, smoke spiraled from a shish kebab vendor’s grill. A slight wind scurried off the river and brushed the willows and evergreens standing sentry on the hills above the river port.

  Vicktor pulled up to a stone wall pushing back a grassy hill at the far end of the lot. He got out and moved around the car and opened her door.

  Gracie frowned, searching for a restaurant. “Where are we eating?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Gracie couldn’t help but warm to his smile. He stuck out an elbow.

  “Protection.”

  She nodded, but her pulse skipped as they walked close, her hand resting on his arm, his hand cupped over hers. Her edginess calmed under his protective stance, and as they walked up a set of wide stone stairs, she twined her fingers in his trench coat. Oh, he smelled good. She barely felt like the same, grimy girl next to him.

  Okay, that wasn’t quite true, but she did like the dress. And with her hair up, she didn’t look so pitiful. In fact, on his arm she felt nearly ethereal and not at all like she’d been dodging bullets in a farmyard earlier that morning.

  It hadn’t escaped her that maybe, just maybe, God was answering her prayers for protection in a six-foot-something, muscles-and-grins Russian cop. And wasn’t that a surprise?

  They walked on a blacktop path along a cliff high above the river. The breeze nuzzled the shoreline, and the sun sifted through the forest to their right, winking from behind the trees in dazzling explosions of light. Springtime fragrances—lilac, jasmine, and honeysuckle—saturated the air. As they walked in silence, Gracie felt her anxiety slough off her. She sighed, long and deep.

  “Are you okay?” Vicktor asked, casting her a worried look.

  Gracie met his eyes and nodded.

  His gaze lingered on her face, searching. He smiled. “You really do look incredible in that dress.”

  She grinned, and something passed between them that made the little hairs rise on the back of her neck. No, she should not like him this much. Not when she was on the next plane out of Russia, never to return.

  Maybe.

  “Where are we going?” Gracie asked.

  “My friend runs a little café overlooking the river. He’ll give us a private room for lunch.”

  Gracie couldn’t ignore the lurch in her stomach when he said “private.” Obviously her demons hadn’t quite died. A chill washed through her and her smile faded. “Sounds great,” she squeaked. Peeking over her shoulder, she was horrified to see Andrei nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s Andrei?” she asked, fighting the tremor in her voice.

  Vicktor glanced behind him, then shrugged. “Maybe he decided to trust you to my care.”

  Right, when the moon turned blue. “Maybe,” she murmured. She couldn’t help but wonder, however, if FSB Agent Vicktor Shubnikov had ditched her poor chauffeur.

  She loosened her hold.

  They climbed a small rise and ambled toward a lighthouse. Vicktor led Gracie around the front, to a walled lookout. On the beach below, the cheers of volleyball players dressed in sweatpants and jackets drifted up and mingled with the caw of magpies and crows. Ships dotted the river, which stretched like a blue ribbon into the far horizon. On the far bank, she glimpsed tiny dachas—garden homes of Khabarovsk’s city dwellers—nestled into the trees. Larissa’s dacha sat somewhere among them. Sadness thickened her throat. A nippy breeze whistled off the river, and she shivered.

  “Ready for lunch?” Vicktor asked.

  Gracie forced a nod, wishing she didn’t have a past to haunt her, to push against the pleasure of being in this handsome man’s company.

  Vicktor turned and opened a little door tucked in an alcove of the lighthouse.

  “It’s in the lighthouse?” Gracie asked in surprise. Vicktor smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. She walked past him and stood inside as Vicktor met a maître d’ and shook his hand. The thin maître d’, dressed in black pants and a sailor’s jacket, led them through the café.

  Gracie’s boots clicked on the white tile floor as she passed aquariums of neon fish and baby sharks. She identified strains of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto drifting on hidden speakers. Vicktor took her elbow and guided her down a set of spiral stairs toward a tiny room. Nestled inside, like a ship’s cabin, was a booth n
udged up to a floor-to-ceiling picture window. Gracie gulped a deep breath and slid into the private alcove. All grins, Vicktor slid in opposite her. He took the menus and the maître d’ closed the door behind him.

  They were alone.

  Together.

  Gracie folded her hands on the table, battling to still them. She swallowed her irrational fear and forced a smile.

  Vicktor laid a hand over hers. “Don’t worry, Gracie. The Wolf won’t find you here. You’re safe.”

  At the moment, it wasn’t the Wolf she feared.

  Her hand was ice. Vicktor studied her vain attempt to conceal her fear, and his heart sank. If he didn’t know better, he’d wonder if she was afraid of…him.

  Oh no. He cleared his throat and withdrew his hand. Burying his attention in the menu, he scanned the choices without seeing them. A smart man would have noticed the way she tensed up after noticing Andrei’s absence.

  And here he thought she actually trusted him. In fact he’d thought…no, it didn’t matter what he thought. “Do you know what you want?” Women. Every word he’d spoken to Roman suddenly seemed gut-wrenchingly true. “They have great salmon steaks here.”

  Gracie’s eyes went to the window. “Sure.”

  He set his jaw and thumbed the menu. Silence ripened between them. What an idiot he was to—

  She sniffled.

  What? He stared at her. A tear hung on her lash and another streaked down her face, despite her clenched jaw.

  “Gracie. What’s the matter?” He couldn’t keep the worry from his tone at seeing her come apart. Not Gracie, the woman who had kicked him black and blue in the train car. Unable to stop himself, he reached across the table and thumbed away a tear. “What did I do? I’m…sorry.”

  A smile came to her face. She met his eyes. The look in them only made his throat thick. Just when he decided she was hiding something, she had to go and be…vulnerable.

  “You are a kind person.”

  His breath staggered. “Not usually.”

  She squinted at him, taking in his words. He withdrew his hand and tucked it under the table, hiding a sudden annoying tremor. The piped-in strains of a concert violin drew out a mournful and sad note.

  “Maybe you bring out the best in me,” he said, wanting it to be true.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh. Wow. That’s…” She looked out the window.

  “Please, Gracie, tell me what’s wrong.” And please, don’t let it be anything to do with Andrei. Like suddenly missing him.

  Sadness colored her expression. “It’s nothing. Just something that happened a long time ago. Occasionally it creeps up on me.”

  “I see.” His mind conjured a number of horrid scenarios that made him wince. “I’m sorry if I caused it.” Boy, was he sorry, especially when he’d wooed himself into really enjoying this unplanned lunchtime escape. He’d wanted that smile, those green eyes, maybe even her laughter all to himself.

  But, honestly, he hadn’t been trying to ditch Andrei. Not once.

  Gracie scanned the room. “It is a safe room, isn’t it?”

  Vicktor frowned, nodding.

  She laced her hands on the table, playing with her thumbs. “Do you come here a lot?”

  So they really were changing the topic. Okay, he wouldn’t push. Not yet. He shook his head as he answered, wishing he could lie and ignite a spark of jealousy. The truth was, however, he’d never been here on a date…if he could call this a date, which he couldn’t. “My buddy Roman has money in this place. He helped a mutual friend fix it up after the FSB ran out the local mafia.”

  She looked impressed. “It’s nice. Cozy.” She reached for the menu. “Have you been with the FSB for a long time?”

  Her voice stayed light, but he wondered what his answer would mean to her. Could a missionary trust a man who had dedicated his life to an organization that had sent thousands of Christians to their deaths during the Communist reign?

  He cleared his throat, thankful he could answer honestly. “No.”

  She interrupted her scan of the menu and caught his eye. “But you seem so…practiced.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her search for the right word. He hoped she meant capable or even…brave? “I’ve been a cop for over ten years. Before that, I was a soldier in the Russian Army for a number of years. I even served in Special Forces.” He liked the interest written on her face. Usually cops scared the general Russian population into deep freeze. He appreciated a woman who didn’t bristle at the sight of militia.

  “Do you enjoy it?” She folded the menu, eyes glued on his face, her concentration chipping at his walls of privacy.

  “Yes.” He shrugged out of his suit coat. Honeyed light dappled the white table through lace curtains, and the white rose in the center of the table perfumed the room. Maybe it was a date, after all.

  Leaning forward on her bench, her body language spoke anticipation. “Yes?”

  “I never thought I’d be a cop.” That felt good to finally admit. Her wide smile reeled him in and he felt himself relax. “I always enjoyed detective work, but since my pop was a cop, I didn’t want to live a cop’s life.”

  Her eyebrows arched in silent question.

  “Because he couldn’t shake the darkness. It rode him home every night and seeped into his moods.”

  A shadow fell across her face, her eyes.

  “No, he wasn’t ever abusive or anything. He’s a pretty good guy, and a great cop.” He fixed his gaze on his drumming fingers. “It’s just that he couldn’t shake the frustration of seeing lives shattered and killers escape.” He met her piercing gaze and attempted a wry smile. “I guess I inherited his indignation.”

  “Or his sense of justice.” She reached across the table, cupped her hand over his.

  Hers was remarkably warmer. He stopped his drumming.

  A knock at the door made them both jump. Gracie yanked back her hand. Vicktor grabbed the menu. The waiter entered the room, surveying them like choice cuts of meat.

  “Decided?” Vicktor asked, ashamed at his rocky voice.

  Gracie peered at him, her head lowered. “Whatever you’re having.”

  He noticed the tinge of pink on her cheeks.

  Vicktor frowned. “Gracie, can you read the menu?”

  She shrugged.

  He held up a finger to the waiter. “One minute, please.”

  “Gracie,” he said gently. “How is it you’ve lived in Russia for three years—”

  “Two—”

  “Two,” he corrected. “And you haven’t learned to read Russian?”

  She fingered a rebellious hair that had fallen from her hair clip. “I was only here short term, so I never learned. I had a translator and fumbled my way through.”

  He leaned back in the booth, watching her smooth her hair, then her dress. She smiled at him, her eyes rich and sweet.

  He was suddenly thankful that Roman and Yanna would be at his apartment to chaperone. Maybe he wasn’t quite as trustworthy as he claimed.

  She shrugged. “I know how to say, ‘I don’t understand.’ I use it a lot.” She wiggled her brows.

  He had to admire her for the pluck it took to live and work in a country where she could barely buy bread.

  “How did you survive?”

  “The grace of God, I guess. He always gave me the right charades and lots of bilingual friends.”

  She reminded him of Roman and Mae, with her faith in God. He felt a pang of emptiness, and he stared at the menu, seeing nothing. A woman like this didn’t just wander through a man’s life without turning it inside out. If he kept hanging around Gracie Benson, he’d either have to dodge her faith or slam right into it.

  He felt her hand on his arm and nearly jumped.

  “A salmon steak and fried potatoes sounds good.”

  “I’ll go tell the waiter,” he said, scrambling for a quick escape.

  Gracie watched him leave and blew out a shredded breath. He certainly had a way of wheedling inside her goo
d graces. She had nearly cracked when he touched her cheek and placed the blame for her fears on his shoulders. Poor guy. She’d had to restrain her tattered emotions and construct a hasty defense. Thankfully, he didn’t press her. The last thing she needed was to dissolve into tears, reliving the horror of her nightmare with Tommy.

  She couldn’t tell Investigator Shubnikov that she’d been…raped. By a man she’d been dating. Yeah, that would make their relationship take off with a roar. Either he’d peg her into a category…or he’d never touch her again.

  Relationship? Touch? Just because she felt somewhat safe in his protection didn’t mean she was going to give away her heart.

  And…she was leaving. Pay attention to your future, Gracie.

  Except, he had the most intriguing, nearly transparent blue eyes. And a voice that made her tingle. And he was kind, despite his offhanded compliment meant to give her the credit. True, it had delighted her, but the guy had a history of kindness…even when she’d aimed for his shin with her boots on the train. He could have just as easily handcuffed her and hauled her away.

  Instead, he’d let her cry, without criticizing.

  He’d fetched her coffee.

  He’d bought her a dress…a dress that made her feel beautiful. Or was that due to the appreciation in his eyes?

  And didn’t that feel good.

  Her face grew hot as she realized how much she enjoyed his ministrations. Someone better write it on her hand, and fast, that he was a Russian cop. More than that, she barely knew him. Most of all—and this was something that should make her get up and run for the border—he wasn’t a Christian. She closed her eyes. “Oh, God, please give me wisdom and help me to think clearly. Help me not to fall for him.”

  The door handle clicked and Gracie added a hasty, “My heart can’t take another disappointment.” She opened her eyes.

  Her breath caught in her chest.

  “I’ve found you.”