“So after you bonked your head on the door, and he had you by the jacket, then what did you do?” Mae sat back on the wooden floor of their living room, leaned against the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest. She acted as if Gracie might be telling her a campfire ghost story, all wide-eyes and fear on her face.
Probably exactly how Gracie had looked as she’d driven to the apartment and stumbled up the three flights of stairs, banging the door open and slamming it behind her, dead bolting it. Good thing Mae was inside unpacking or she wouldn’t have gotten in for at least a week.
“I don’t know Mae, I just lost it. I guess I was right back there in the past, with the Wolf dragging me out to his getaway plane, about ready to blow me up and I just, reacted. My therapist says that it’s normal to feel like you’re right there, for the smallest things to trigger a memory, and that—”
“What did you do, already?”
“Oh, I hit him. Right in the hollow place in his neck, with my keys. Then I went for broke and kneed him, just like I learned in self-defense, jumped in my car, locked the door and floored it home.”
Mae sat back in her chair. Stared at her, a new admiration on her face. See, she wasn’t helpless. Mostly.
“Do you think you were followed?”
“I doubt it. It was a pretty crazy drive home.”
Gracie lowered the peas, touched the bump on her forehead. “Think I should tell Vicktor?”
Mae got up, and went to the pile of boxes in the corner. She opened one, began to dig through it. “Want him to lose it? Because he will. He’ll be on your doorstep by morning.”
Gracie made a face. Yeah, that pretty much summed up her fiancé.
She put the bag of peas on the ground, began to break up the ice chunks that made sharp edges under the plastic. “I think I need to go back there.”
“You need to go to the police is what you need to do. Right now.” Mae returned, holding a hand mirror. “You might think you’re fine, but take a gander at this.” She handed Gracie the mirror.
Gracie held it up, grimacing at the black and purple swelling on her forehead. She touched it gingerly, wincing. But as she put down the mirror, she shook her head. “And what do you propose I tell them? That I think a young girl is being held at the hotel, against her will? How do I even know that? Do you know how stupid that sounds?”
“It’s not stupid if we can get her parents to file a missing persons report.” Mae raised her eyebrows. “Her parents’ testimony, combined with your Rocky Balboa sized goose-egg and maybe you can get someone to listen.”
Gracie let those words sink in, looked again at her wound. Smiled. “See, I knew I’d enjoy having you for a roommate.”
“I’m getting my keys, I’m driving, and I’m going with you to the door, because I might look skinny, but I do know how to take down an attacker.” Mae grabbed her jean jacket, slipping it on.
“Wow, my own bodyguard,” Gracie said, climbing to her feet. Her head did a slow whoosh and she grabbed the sofa, closing her eyes.
“Methinks one with a near concussion shouldn’t be so sassy,” Mae said, and looped her arm through Gracie’s.
The Luduko’s townhouse house seemed dark and quiet as they drove up, the blanket in the window making it even more unwelcoming when combined with the absent outdoor light. Gracie noticed that the toy truck had been picked up, placed in the garden. But the tomato plant had fallen from the stairs, cracking, the mud spilled out onto the stairs and down the walk.
They sat in Mae’s Jeep Liberty, staring at the house. Down the street, they heard a dog bark, then another in response. Ten feet further, a streetlamp pooled light on the pavement, but Mae had parked far enough out that it didn’t splash against the black of her jeep.
“They don’t look home,” Gracie said, remembering the last time she’d knocked. Then again, they’d surprised her then, and maybe Luba was in there, in the dark, not sure what to do, needing a friend.
Gracie toggled the car handle. “Let’s go. Before I go home and climb into my bed, and hide under my down comforter.”
Mae turned off the car, and reached past Gracie to open the glove compartment. She grabbed a small spray can. “Pepper spray.”
“Oh.” Of course Mae would be prepared. Gracie got out, rounded the car, took a breath. The fresh redolence of rain tinged the night air, and down the street, one of the dogs had begun to whine. Shouting came from another house. Somewhere in the distance, a car started. Gracie’s heart thumped, threatening to climb up her throat and maybe lodge there for safekeeping.
“This is silly.” But memories of the day in Russia when she’d stood outside her best friend’s apartment, creeping inside only to find her worst nightmare, rooted her feet to the pavement. She swallowed, but her throat tasted of bile.
“I’ll go first. Or maybe you should just stay here,” Mae said.
Gracie nodded, then followed Mae as she crossed the street. Sometimes, probably more than she wanted to admit, she wished she were like Mae. Tall, redheaded, Gracieful. Mae knew how to fly a plane, wasn’t easily rattled. And had been Vicktor’s first love. Although Gracie had never viewed Mae as competition, she couldn’t help but compare.
And in all her measurements, she came up shorter. She even stood at least four inches below May’s chin.
What did Vicktor see in her, or worse, was she just the consolation prize?
Mae stopped at the steps, looked at the plant, then the front door. She put her hand out to stop Gracie. “The front door is ajar,” she said quietly.
Gracie came up behind her. Sure enough, the front door hung open by an inch. Mae started up the steps, but Gracie touched her arm. “I know them. Just in case someone is home, maybe I should go in first.”
Mae moved aside. “I’m right behind you.”
Although her words felt so very action-adventure movie, Gracie felt a rush of relief.
She might not be as tall and beautiful as Mae, might not be able to fly C-130s, but she could speak Russian, and most of all, she could be just as gutsy as Mae. Really.
“Luba? Yakov?” She pushed the door open. “Zdrazevootya?”
The small shadowed entry way led right into an eating area, and then the kitchen. And running right up from the front door, a stairway led to more blackness. Gracie’s eyes couldn’t adjust to the darkness, and she saw nothing. “Hello?”
A blue light flickered from over her shoulder. Mae, with a pen light on her key chain, scanned the room.
Now why didn’t she think of that? Obviously she’d have to work on her super sleuthing skills. That, and maybe talk her legs into moving a bit further into the house. Mae even gave her a nudge. “Let’s check upstairs.”
Somehow, Gracie got her legs to work and found herself moving upstairs. “Luba? It’s Gracie Benson, I was here—”
“Did you hear that?” Mae grabbed her arm. “Shh.”
Gracie stilled, and strained to hear above her thumping heart.
She held her breath.
Moaning.
“Luba?” Gracie ran up the stairs, felt for a hall light, found it and flicked it on.
The luminance bathed the destruction in the hallway. Books scattered onto the floor, a picture broken. And in the shadowed doorway beyond, whimpering.
“Luba?”
Mae panned the light toward the door. In the bluish glow, Gracie barely made out Luba, hunched over a still form.
“Oh no—” This from Mae who rushed past Gracie. She flicked on the bedroom light.
Yakov lay in a heap, blood coming from his ear, his face cut and bruised. Luba sat above him, rocking, her hair loose and disheveled, her shirt torn.
As Mae checked for Yakov’s vitals, Gracie pulled Luba away. “We need to call 9-1-1—”
“Nyet. No militia!” Luba practically screamed. “Nyet!”
“Okay, okay,” Gracie said, glancing at Mae. She was probing his head for wounds, her hands covered with blood.
She gave Gracie a grave look. “H
e’s still alive, and breathing, but he needs medical help, right now.”
“What happened?” Gracie asked Luba.
Luba covered her hands with her mouth, shaking her head, staring at her husband. One side of her face had already turned purple. Someone had hit her, and hard. “Ya neznaio, neznaio—”
“She doesn’t know?” Mae translated, although Gracie got it. “What does she mean?”
Gracie pushed back the hair from Luba’s face, grimaced. “I think she was knocked out when she was hit.” She translated this theory into Russian, and Luba nodded.
“Did you get a look at who hurt you?” Mae asked in Russian.
Luba stared at Gracie, eyes wide. Then she closed them, and began to sob. “Da, Da.”
“Who, Luba? Kto?”
Gracie had no idea how to translate her answer.
Ina.
Yanna had seen many beautiful sunrises in her life, one off the Kamchatka Peninsula, one from the Caucasus Mountains in Georgia, and one in Vladivostok, the night after her team had won last year’s volleyball tournament. But the sunrise creeping over this section of south Taiwan, exploding over the tops of houses and rice paddies to rise glorious, hot, and triumphant made her nearly burst into idiotic tears.
And when David maneuvered the raft past a shoal, and only clear, calm water rippled between them and the beach, she wanted to break out into song.
If she never saw the ocean again, she’d die a happy woman. She’d emptied her stomach not an hour ago over the side of the raft—not that there’d been anything in it, but after holding out for nearly twelve hours, she couldn’t stand the nausea one second longer. She stopped caring what David thought of her.
Okay, she still cared but she didn’t want to. Because she had no doubts their friendship would come to a crashing and ugly end in about thirty minutes when they got ashore. Because he’d have to keep her in these cuffs and maybe toss her over his shoulder to get her to leave Taiwan without her sister.
And she didn’t plan on being handcuffed one second more. She might have been shell-shocked after their Mission Impossible–style escape, but all her faculties had awoken with a vengeance when she spotted shore.
Or maybe that had happened when David revealed just how little finding her sister meant to him. He’d look around for Elena? Like she might be a basset hound hiding behind a dumpster?
Right then, all Yanna’s training came rushing back.
First thing on her agenda would be to get free. Then she’d simply disappear into some crowd.
Probably that would be the easiest for both of them. If she didn’t, she could imagine the fireworks. David was like a dog with a bone—when he dug in, he refused to surrender.
Some might say the same about her. Which added up to two bulldogs in a jugular hold. Pretty.
No, she had to cut David loose, for both their sakes.
“What are you doing?” David asked as she scooted to the back and unlatched the motor, pulling it up out of the water.
“One of my mother’s boyfriends used to take me fishing. His motor broke every time he was out.” She reached down, clunking her chin on the top of the motor as she did, and groped for the prop shaft. Then she worked her way up to the nut that secured it. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.”
She felt around the nut and finally found the cotter pin that kept the nut from unscrewing. She fought with it, turning it, wiggling it. Twice she shook out her hand as it cramped. Finally the pin came free.
She let the motor fall back into place and leaned back into the dinghy, holding the pin high in triumph.
David just stared at her, a strange expression on his face.
She went to work on her cuffs. Inserting the pin into the place where the arm locked, she pulled it slowly out, pressing against the arm lock.
The cuff clicked open. She shook it off and repeated the process for the other arm.
She held up the cuffs, letting them dangle.
“I would have opened them for you once we were ashore,” David said quietly, turning back to his paddling.
The floor of the ocean seemed close enough to touch, clear nearly twenty feet or more down. David set his paddle down as the sea took them into shore. Although early, Yanna could make out traffic—scooters and compact cars—on the road beyond the beach.
“Where are we?” She dropped the cuffs over the edge of the boat.
David gave her a sharp look. “I could have used those.”
“Sorry.” She rubbed her wrists where the cuffs had chafed.
“I believe we’re just south of Kaohsiung Harbor, in one of the suburban villages. I figure we can rent a scooter, or maybe catch a bus, and head north to Taipei. I’ll call Roman along the way.”
Yanna said nothing, staring out toward the beach. On the south side, a small row of kiosks advertised coconut and fruits. And she could smell something cooking, probably fish, from one of the morning markets just beyond the roadway.
“I want you to stay with me. Like glue, you hear me?” David rose to his knees. “I don’t know where Kwan’s men might be or if they’ll be able to find us, and I need to you be on your toes.”
Oh, she’d be on her toes, all right. But she had no intention of being his shadow, thank you. Still, she nodded. “Konyeshna.” Of course.
David shot her a look. “I’m not kidding, Yanna. Kwan has men every—”
“Don’t worry about me, David.” She didn’t intend the edge in her voice. Not entirely.
David looked away, obviously scanning the shore for unfriendlies. He dropped his paddle into the boat. “Stay put. I’ll bring us in.” Then he slid overboard and into the water.
I’m really sorry, David. But she couldn’t voice her thoughts. Not when her voice might break and destroy the veneer of anger she so desperately needed.
David grabbed the edge of the raft and waded toward shore, his colorful silk shirt whipping in the wind, the water soaking his jeans.
She couldn’t walk into town wearing her wet, spiky heels, so she unzipped her boots and pulled them off. She flexed her wrinkled toes.
When the water reached knee-deep, she too jumped over. Though not as cold as it had been way out in the South China Sea, the water still made her gasp. Thankfully, the blazing sun would dry her in minutes. The waves, nothing like they’d been last night, hit against the backs of her knees as she waded in.
David let the raft go and followed her to shore. The sand mortared between her toes, and she stood just inside the rim of water, watching David. Although he’d been up all night, paddling to keep them afloat, he looked energized, even fierce as his long hair tangled in the wind. An ethereal energy buzzed around him that both fascinated and frightened her.
He scanned the beach briefly before he reached out and took her hand.
“C’mon. We’ll have a better chance at the market.”
Da, she would. She followed him, letting him hold her hand, his strong and confident in hers. Sand kicked up behind them as they walked the twenty or so feet to the grassy edge and finally hit the pavement. Two lanes of traffic piled tight, and they waited at the light like two vacationers who’d been strolling the beach. Tourists…with ocean-crusted clothes and sporting a couple nasty bruises.
“I thought you said this was a village.” She had expected rolling countryside, perhaps an occasional house, running dogs, a central pump, and a train station like her village of Georgivka. But no, this seemed a sort of extension of the city, with three-story buildings side by side along a main street that ran as far as she could see on either side. The smell of exhaust mixed with the ocean and the faintest scent of meat cooking somewhere. Oh, lead her to it, her stomach begged, now feeling like a cavern.
Scooters jammed the road, some with one passenger, many with two, along with the occasional car. Riders wore face masks in bright colors over their mouths, one set of dark eyes after another. Beside her at the light on the sidewalk, a short, elderly Taiwanese man in black polyester pants
and a short-sleeved shirt glanced at her. She smiled. He smiled back, his teeth bathed bloodred.
“Betel nut juice,” David said softly. “It’s like chewing tobacco. Don’t panic.”
She kept her smile but beneath it muttered, “Phew.”
“It’s really not that bad,” David said and winked at her. “But you’ll really like the fried frog burritos.” He nodded at the building across the street. “Tastes just like chicken.”
Yum. So maybe she wasn’t quite as hungry as she thought.
Although her ability to read Mandarin—or rather pinyin, the Latin-alphabet translation—was rough, she guessed that she correctly read the word market above the long, low warehouse-style building. Despite David’s descriptions, the smells were enough to make her stomach do cartwheels. Worse, her mouth felt on fire. She needed a drink and soon. But nothing bloodred or made from amphibians. “Do you think we can find a Coke somewhere?”
David glanced down at her as they waited for the light to change. “Can your stomach handle that?”
She made a face at him. “Sorry you had to see that.”
He lifted his shoulder in an easy shrug. “Feeling better?”
“Are we on land?”
His hand tightened over hers. “We’re going to make it through this,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him, swallowed, forced a smile. No, in fact, they weren’t.
7
“I’ve never understood this airport. I always get turned around and end up in the Korean section, ordering kimchi.” Vicktor stood in the center of Incheon Airport, or at least what he thought might be the center. The place seemed as large as his hometown, with a concourse that stretched from one end of Korea to the other. And to make matters worse, not only was it divided into two sections—the inner and outer court—but also by culture—Asian and Western. And Russia fit where?
“Do you have any clue where we are?” He walked over to Roman, who stood staring at a giant multicolored map of the airport. Written in Korean.
“Yanna said her sister was registered to stay at the hotel in the airport, Incheon Gardens. I say we pay them a visit.” Roman tapped a point on the map.
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