An Uncommon Honeymoon

by Susan Mann

  Marina moved off, so Quinn looked down at Klara and squeezed her hand. “Come. I want to show you something.” They walked to an empty spot on a couch and sat. “Anatoly saw me once before,” Quinn said. “So I had to wear a disguise so he wouldn’t recognize me.” She was stretching the boundaries of her Russian vocabulary, so she asked, “Do you understand?”

  Klara nodded slowly in rapt attention.

  “I don’t really wear glasses,” Quinn said. She removed them and set them to the side. “And my hair isn’t really red.” She slipped her fingers under the hairline of the wig and lifted it off. Once the fishnet cap underneath was peeled off, she shook her head. Her blond hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

  Mouth agape, Klara stared at her. Then she blinked several times and, with a sage nod, said, “It is a good disguise.”

  A smile erupted and Quinn dipped her head. “Thank you.” She shot Klara an inquisitive look and held up the wig. “You want to try it?”

  Her eyes like saucers, the girl scooted back in surprise. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  For the first time, a smile reached Klara’s eyes when she gave Quinn a jerky nod.

  Quinn slowly lowered the wig onto Klara’s head as if it were a coronation. The wig was too big, but it didn’t matter. She grabbed her phone and took a picture.

  Quinn lowered it so Klara could see the photo. The girl’s hands flew up to her mouth, and the delighted giggle that burbled up had Quinn grinning along with her. A shaft of light had pierced the darkness of that precious girl’s life. In the coming weeks, months, and even years, there would be times the seam of light would widen into a bright beam. And there would be moments when it would nearly be extinguished by the haunting shadows of her captivity. Quinn hoped for Klara, and each of the children, one day the light would overcome the darkness for good.

  “I want to find Pyotr and say hello,” Quinn said. “Would you like to come with me?” With the way Klara had become Quinn’s shadow, she wasn’t surprised when the girl gave her an enthusiastic nod.

  Quinn plucked the wig from Klara’s head and tossed it next to the glasses. They explored the house while they searched for Pyotr. It was big and bright and airy, with windows everywhere. And as Yonatan had said, with six bedrooms and plenty of couch space, it would easily accommodate all the kids and the adults sheltering them.

  When she didn’t spot Pyotr on the first floor, she climbed the stairs with Klara by her side. After peeking into a couple of empty bedrooms, she poked her head into the bonus room. Six kids sat piled together on a large sectional in the corner, their eyes glued to a flat-screen TV showing Friends dubbed in Russian.

  “Pyotr,” Quinn said.

  At the sound of her voice, six heads turned toward Quinn. Five immediately returned their attention to the TV.

  Pyotr slid off the couch, scampered across the room, and skidded to a stop in front of Quinn. For the first time, she realized he was almost as tall as she. He grinned at her.

  “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your help at the flat earlier. You were very brave to hit Viktor with that chair like that,” she said in Russian.

  Pyotr squared his shoulders. “I was happy to hit back.”

  Quinn smiled. “I bet you were. He’s in jail now.”

  “Good. He is a bad man.” Pyotr’s head tipped to one side. “You are speaking Russian.”

  “I’ve been learning so I could talk to you when I saw you again.”

  “It is not bad, but you need more practice.”

  “I will keep practicing,” Quinn said with a laugh.

  “I will practice English,” he said, switching to that language.

  She patted Pyotr’s arm and beamed at him. “Deal.” She said in Russian, “Are you hungry? We’ll be having lunch soon.”

  “Always.”

  She imagined Pyotr, like any teenage boy, could down three cheeseburgers and call them appetizers. To Klara, she said, “Would you like to help me get it ready or stay with Pyotr and watch television?”

  “Go with you,” Klara said and took Quinn’s hand again.

  “We’ll call you in a few minutes,” Quinn said to Pyotr.

  Hand in hand, Quinn and Klara bounded down the stairs, the steps creaking under their feet. They were headed for the kitchen when Mila and two younger children approached. One glance told Quinn who they were.

  “This is my sister and brother,” Mila said in English. She tipped her head toward the older, “Sasha,” and then toward the younger, “And Ilya.”

  Other than being a boy of about ten, Ilya—with the same startling blue eyes and light blond hair—was Mila’s clone. Sasha was clearly their sister, but her slightly darker hair and green eyes set her apart.

  “I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” Quinn said.

  “You’re American?” Sasha asked, her eyes challenging. In that way, she definitely took after her older sister.

  “I am.”

  “Mila said you told her our parents looked for us. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they want us to come home?” Sasha’s intense gaze probed Quinn’s face, trying to discern any cracks of insincerity.

  Quinn’s candor never faltered. “Very much.”

  “Are we going back to America with you?”

  That caught Quinn off guard. “I don’t know. It’s not up to me to decide.” This time it was Quinn’s turn to search Sasha’s face. “Do you want to?”

  Quinn’s breath caught at the flash of fierce determination. “Yes. They can’t find us there.”

  Ilya looked up at his sister. His huge, somber eyes turned on Quinn. The nod of agreement was almost imperceptible.

  Quinn’s gaze fell on Mila. There, she saw unwavering resolve.

  The conversation with Reem had nearly extinguished the fire to get them to the U. S. as soon as possible. The tenacity she read in the faces before her now stirred the cool embers. They flared hot again when she said, “I’ll do everything I can to get you back to the U. S. But I can’t make any promises. Like I said before, I don’t make the final decision.”

  “I know you’ll do whatever you can,” Mila said.

  The front door flew open. James sauntered in, holding aloft large bags emblazoned with golden arches. With one of the biggest smiles Quinn had ever seen grace his face, he called out in Russian, “Lunch has arrived!” He winked at her when their eyes met.

  His tie was gone, his pants had a rip in the knee, and his dress shirt was smudged with dirt. But he was safe and they were together. She blew out a sigh. That was all that mattered.

  Quinn strode over to him. “You could be Santa Claus with these bags of goodies. All we need to do is turn that beard of yours white,” she said and relieved him of two of the bags.

  He slipped his arm around her waist and hugged her to his side. “You can shake my belly like a bowl full of jelly anytime.”

  She kissed his cheek and whispered a throaty, “I’d rather jingle your bells.”

  “Ho, ho, ho.” His salacious tone and accompanying eyebrow waggle made her giggle.

  Kids converged on them from all over the house, interrupting their tête-à-tête. The noise level grew to a roar when they realized the food had arrived from that mystical nirvana called McDonald’s.

  Marina clapped her hands and called for attention. While she gave them instructions, James and Quinn went to the kitchen and set the bags on the counter. Quinn found several serving plates in a cupboard while James made another trip to the van to retrieve the rest of the food.

  Dave went straight for the refrigerator and began to haul out plastic bottles of Coke.

  “Contraband,” Quinn said in mock indignation. “Glad the police aren’t here to witness us giving Russian minors fizzy drinks.”

  “They’re only banned from buying it.” He reached into the fridge and this time brought out two six-packs of Mountain Dew. “And only the caffeinated stuff, like this.” Dr Pepper came out next. “After
the hell of slavery those kids have endured, I’m totally okay with giving them something unexpected and wonderful to drink.”

  Quinn dumped the wrapped cheeseburgers out of the bag and began to stack them on a plate. “Amen.”

  James returned with another armload of bags and set to work unloading bags of French fries.

  When the food was ready, they gave Marina the go-ahead.

  The kitchen fell eerily quiet as the teens and children, now lined up, filed in. With awe and reverence, they approached the counter laden with food like an altar. One after another, they each picked up a paper plate and put on it a cheeseburger and a bag of fries.

  The fact that fast food could trigger such sheer wonder had Quinn swallowing at the thickness in her throat. It was so easy to take the little things in life for granted. It was a stark and sobering reminder of how extraordinarily blessed she was.

  Loaded down with food and drinks, they scattered throughout the house and sat down with their lunches. They ate like kings and queens at a feast.

  Now that the kids were fully occupied with lunch, James and Quinn took the opportunity to make one more trip to James’s van to get their overnight bags.

  James opened the back door, but didn’t reach in. Instead, he pulled Quinn into a kiss. His lips slid to her cheek. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

  Her arms around him tightened. “I’m glad you’re safe, too.” After a long stretch of simply holding each other, Quinn leaned back and rested her palms on his chest. “What happened exactly? That phone call tipped Yefimov off, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah. We think it was someone in the police department. It’s hard to keep an op like that on the low-down. Someone mentions Yefimov’s name in passing and one of his inside guys gives him a heads-up. That’s all it takes.”

  “I take it this”—she brushed at the dirt on his shirt—“is from when you took Yefimov down. How far did you have to run?”

  “Several blocks. It was a magnificent open field tackle if I do say so myself.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure it was spectacular.”

  “I hauled him into an isolated corner of a random courtyard and used my tie to gag him.”

  “Did you go straight to the police station? I thought you’d have wanted to interrogate him, see what he knows about Borovsky.”

  He shook his head. “I asked him a few questions, but he wouldn’t answer. I couldn’t get too persuasive with him. Didn’t want to risk blowing the case we built by having him show up with a black eye.”

  “So we won’t be able to get any intel on Borovsky,” she said with a frustrated sigh.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I synced Yefimov’s phone to my computer. Got every text, every call, every phone number. That’s why I insisted Yonatan take us to my van. Pickpocketed it when I dumped him on the floorboard behind the front seats. Had it sync while we were in transit. Put it back when I hauled him out. He never knew it was gone.”

  “I guess I should start calling you the Artful Dodger.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Sorry I doubted you.”

  “You are forgiven,” he said, his tone magnanimous. Concern clouded his face when he asked, “What about you? What you were dealing with sounded pretty bad.”

  She recounted the events from chasing Mother Olga to flying through the library to fend her off. “We hightailed it out of there after I decked her with a wooden stool.”

  A grin bloomed on his face. “What, no OED?”

  “Sadly, no.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! And we stole a library book.”

  He gaped at her, scandalized. “What would the Librarian Cabal say about such a treasonous act?”

  “Given the circumstances, I think they’d give me a pass.” She cut her eyes up to him. “Besides, you know I’ll return it, even if it means mailing it back from the States.”

  “Of course you will.” He kissed the tip of her nose and said, “We’d better get back inside before they send out a search party.”

  “You’re right.” They grabbed their bags, returned to the house, and stowed them in a downstairs bedroom. They removed their bulletproof vests and changed into more comfortable clothes. Their colored contacts were taken out, and James peeled off his fake beard.

  “One more thing,” Quinn said. She unclasped her necklace and let their wedding bands drop in her palm. They slid them on each other’s fingers. “That’s better,” she said and admired her shiny gold rings.

  “Sounds like lunch is over,” James said at the increasing noise level.

  They left the bedroom, and within a couple of minutes, Klara found them. “You are really her husband?”

  “I am.”

  “You are also American?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your Russian is very good,” she said with approval.

  His façade of solemnity never faltered. “Thank you.”

  Klara’s eyes flicked to Quinn and then back to James. In a conspiratorial tone, she said, “Her Russian isn’t as good. She promised Pyotr she would practice. You will help her?”

  “Always.”

  “Good,” Klara said, obviously pleased Quinn would receive desperately needed instruction. “Everyone should speak Russian.” An amused look passed between James and Quinn when Klara took one of their hands in each of hers and tugged them toward the stairs. “Now we watch television.”

  And so they did.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Barefoot, Quinn padded down the hallway and peeked through the half-closed bedroom door. Like the two rooms she had already checked, this one had six kids clad in brand-new pajamas crowded into beds or lying on cushions on the floor. There was plenty of room for them to sleep spread out throughout the house. None of them were remotely interested in that. In the face of the tremendous upheaval they’d endured that day, Quinn didn’t blame them for craving the security of surrounding themselves with those they knew and trusted.

  Unlike the other rooms, the kids in this room sat spellbound as Mila read aloud the Russian version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Quinn leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb and listened. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but she thought it was the part where Hagrid made his smashing entrance into the miserable shack on the rock on Harry’s eleventh birthday. She smiled to herself. Pyotr and Klara were right. Her Russian needed more practice.

  She left them to their story and stole down the stairs, pondering the parallels between Harry’s wretched existence under the Dursleys’ staircase and the children’s forced imprisonment and labor, before they were given abrupt and disorienting freedom.

  It was an interesting premise that would have to be explored another time. All she longed for now was sleep. She slipped into their bedroom, where James was already stretched out on the bed. It took her less than a minute to strip down, throw on a tank top and a pair of boy shorts, and flop onto the mattress next to her husband.

  “Bed check complete?” James asked.

  “All present and accounted for.” She stretched and gave in to a jaw-cracking yawn. “I think this has to be one of the most emotionally draining days of my life.”

  “It’s right up there for me, too.” James reached up and switched off the lamp on the nightstand. The last light of the long summer day filtered into the room through thin curtains.

  “I can’t imagine what it must be like for those kids,” she said.

  “It’ll take some time for it all to sink in. They’ll need a lot of support.”

  Quinn rolled onto her side and draped an arm over James’s bare chest. “I want to take the Semenov kids back to the US with us when we leave.”

  “What about your conversation with Reem?”

  “I agreed they shouldn’t leave until they’re ready. But they came to me earlier today and said they want to go where their captors will never find them. They are ready.”

  His fingertips lightly trailed back and forth over her forearm. “They may think they are, bu
t are they really?”

  Her head lifted off the pillow. “Why are you taking Reem’s side?”

  “I’m not. There aren’t any sides in this,” he said evenly, his gaze on the ceiling. “It’s about what’s best for the kids.”

  She levered up on her elbow and looked into his face. “But what if they don’t want to stay here? Don’t you think they’ll be more receptive to therapy if they’re in a place they want to be? Otherwise, we’re just adding more layers of abandonment and resentment on top of the mountain of crap they already have to deal with.”

  When he didn’t respond, she pressed on. “I’ve already done some research on places they could go to that do intensive therapy for kids and teens coming out of trafficking.”

  A smile danced on his lips. “Of course you have.”

  She nudged his thigh with her knee in response. The next part was sure to seal the deal. She moved closer and lowered her voice. “There’s a rehabilitation center in Colorado.”

  His eyes snapped to hers at the mention of his home state.

  “It’s a ranch up in the mountains,” she continued. “They have chickens and goats and horses and dogs. And it’s super secure because they keep the exact location secret. The kids would live there until they’re ready to go home to their parents.”

  “Okay, that does sound perfect for them. Say we get the go-ahead to take them back to the States. We can’t take them on a commercial flight. They don’t have passports.”

  “The grandmother in Slavnoye might still have them.”

  “Maybe. The parents could have taken them back, too.”

  She huffed in frustration. “You’re right.” Her brow knit as she thought. “What about the American consulate in Saint Petersburg? Or the embassy in Moscow?”

  James chuckled and said, “How about we remember who we work for?”

  “Of course.” Quinn’s head dropped back on her pillow. “They had a fake passport ready for me in just a few hours when we went to London.”

  “I blame exhaustion for not thinking of the agency first. I’ll call Meyers in the morning. Who knows? Maybe he can wrangle a plane for us and I can fly us home.”

  “I’m all for that. You’re so incredibly sexy, sitting in a cockpit, wearing your sunglasses and headset.”