“She wasn’t with George?”
Luba seemed to crumple, then, and she shook her head. “I don’t know where she is. There are…rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?” Mae asked.
Luba looked up at Mae, her eyes fierce. “George has a cousin, Kosta. He’s mafia, and runs the hotel Ryss, where Ina worked. There are people who know that Kosta takes girls and kidnaps them.” Her voice lowered to a wisp. “Sells them.”
Gracie couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Mae, however, crouched before Luba, her voice turning tender. “Is it possible that the men who hurt Yakov weren’t doing it because Ina wanted them to, but to scare her? To remind her of what she could lose if she didn’t obey them?”
Luba’s expression told Gracie she’d already gone there, already worked that scenario through her head, because although tears ran down her face, off her chin, she looked at Mae, and nodded.
“Okay. Can you identify the men who attacked you?”
Luba looked down at her hands, then at Gracie, finally back to Mae. “Da.”
Mae stood, and spoke in English. “Then this isn’t over. And we have to get them someplace safe. Because when we go after Ina, we don’t want them to get hurt.”
When they went…? “Okay, you do make a very, very scary Vicktor impersonator.”
One side of Mae’s mouth slid up in a chagrined smile. “Now, where is Grumpy Officer Williams?”
“He nearly killed you!” Yanna snapped, as David pulled her by the shirtsleeve away from the heavy drama and mess inside the so-called safe house. Her mind reeled, sorting through what had just happened.
“But he didn’t, so move!”
But she couldn’t, caught in the moment they’d nearly been ambushed by a knife-wielding thug who would have stabbed her right in the center of her chest had it not been for David’s quick thinking.
Instead, David had nearly taken the hit, because with all that Black Ops, or whatever training he had that made him faster than a speeding bullet, he dodged and managed to land on top of said bad guy.
Who, sadly, landed on his own blade. David had given him about ten seconds of medical intervention before he pounced to his feet, turned, and pulled Yanna out the door behind him.
She noticed that he had confiscated the knife.
“Though the gate. C’mon!” David opened the gate, pulled her through, and yanked open the garage door. Climbing onto the seat, he pulled the scooter upright, and started the motor.
He backed it out. “Get on.”
She leaped on behind him and it was a good thing she had a decent hold because he gunned it without her even yet seated.
Apparently, Mr. Cool was a little freaked out too.
She hunkered down, her arms around his waist, feeling the beat of his heart against her chest. Yes, definitely rattled.
They sped through the streets, cutting through alleys, down obscure streets, David barely slackening his speed as they took corners. He finally braked in the shadow of a Buddhist shrine.
He cut the motor. Then just sat there, breathing. In, out, in, out.
She felt his hand on her arm. Then he pulled her off the bike and around to face him.
The light from the still-flickering candles inside the shrine illuminated his face. “You okay?” His voice sounded rough, as if just barely holding back emotions. And truly, his eyes said it too, that their close call had shaken him. It was moments like this, when she saw a chink in his cool exterior, when all those carefully guarded emotions simmered right below that layer, that she realized how much she loved him. Loved him for his passion and his control, for the good that seemed so much a part of him. Loved him for his strength and his friendship and even loved him because he couldn’t seem to let her go. It took her breath away.
It didn’t help in the least that the last two hours had almost felt like a date. Had she really raced through the streets of Taichung with her arms wrapped around David, leaning against his strong back, feeling for the first time in days—no, probably years—safe?
With his scruffy beard and his long hair, he appeared downright dangerous, rough and anything but safe. But the way he looked at her, concern in those blue eyes, she knew without a moment’s doubt that he would have given his life for her.
Then why, oh why, didn’t he love her? At least the way she loved him?
She reached out to touch him, and he grabbed her hand. “You okay?”
She nodded. “You scared me.”
“Yeah, me too.” His words came out clipped. “I’m starting to see a connection to my activities and Kwan’s ability to ambush me.”
“How do you think he found us?”
“I think I’ve been trusting the wrong person.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I think I found the CIA mole, and his name is Bruce. Or rather, I knew it and tonight just confirms it.” He gave her a look that seemed connected to whatever scenario played in his head. “C’mon, we need to get someplace safe.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
He pulled her close, arm around her neck, more a hug of relief than anything. And she put her arms around him. “I’m sorry, David.”
His embrace tightened. “That’s enough of that,” he said. “It’s not your fault—”
“No,” she said, pulling away. “I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you. That I took off. That I didn’t listen to you.”
He touched her cheek, ran his thumb along her chin. His eyes fixed on hers, and her breath clogged in her chest. She traced his face and remembered—oh, how she remembered—what it felt like to be in his arms, kissing him with everything she felt inside. Probably she betrayed that memory in her captured breath. And maybe even he was there, too, in the past because he swallowed, and his jaw tightened. “I forgive you, Yanna. After all, what are friends for?”
He let her go. “Get on. I’m going to call Roman.”
She tried not to show her disappointment as she climbed on behind him. For a second, a wild second, she’d hoped that maybe the concern in his eyes was more than just…concern. That he still loved her like he had years ago.
But maybe he hadn’t really loved her then either. Distracting, he’d called her.
As in, distracting him from what he really should be doing—saving the world.
In fact, it was worse than that. Regardless of what language was spoken, “friends” meant “just friends.”
“Here’s hoping the phone I boosted has an international calling plan.” He dialed Roman’s number, and she wondered at how he had it committed to memory. How many times did he call Roman, really? Because, and she shouldn’t forget, Roman was David’s friend too.
“You’re not going to believe where I am,” David said into the phone. “Or who I have with me.”
Yanna sighed, closed her eyes.
“You’re kidding,” David said with a laugh that Yanna couldn’t interpret. “Then I guess I don’t have to kill you. Now tell me you have someplace safe for Yanna and me to hide.”
10
“Apparently, one of us is a righteous man, because our prayers have been heard and answered, my friend,” Roman said to Vicktor, clenching the phone. “You’ll never guess who that was.”
Vicktor stood up from where he’d been holding up the wall in the office of passport control, showing Elena’s and Yanna’s pictures to various control agents. So far, they’d had no hits, but with the traffic that came through in a twenty-four-hour period, no surprise there. They did confirm, however, that both Elena and “Olga” did enter Taiwan.
And vanished, of course.
Until…now? “I’m tired, Roman. Too tired for games.” And he desperately wanted to talk to Gracie. He kept looking at the clock, wanting to wait until at least six in the morning before he woke her. But everything inside him screamed to call her now, just to hear her voice.
Just to tell her that he loved her too. And that he’d back off. But calling at four in the morning certainly would communicate “giving
you space” loud and clear, wouldn’t it?
He hated time zones and distance and even at the moment, his cell phone.
“That was David,” Roman said.
“You’re kidding me.”
Roman turned his attention to the director of passport control, who’d had an eagle eye on them for the past two hours. “We found her,” he said, reaching out his hand. “Thank you.”
“We found her?” Vicktor eyed Roman, who shot him a smile. He followed Roman out of the office. “We found her?”
Roman headed into the lobby. “I gotta make a few calls.”
Vicktor grabbed him by the jacket. “You’re going to have to fill in the blanks for me, Roma.”
Roman dialed, held the phone up to his ear. “I don’t know how David got into all of this, but he has Yanna. And needs a safe spot to stay while he—Zdrazvootysa, Lena, it’s Roman. Can I talk to Pastor Yee?”
Vicktor moved away while Roman waited, lifting his own cell out of his pocket. He plugged in Gracie’s speed-dial number, waited. Then couldn’t stand it and pressed Send.
The phone took an eternity to connect. Vicktor closed his eyes, imagining Gracie turning on her bedside light, groping for the phone. He smiled at the image of the woman he loved all tousle haired and sleepy eyed—he couldn’t wait until they were married and he woke up every day to that. The phone rang once and clicked over to voice mail. Vicktor hung up, then pressed Redial. Maybe she was on the other line.
Voice mail again. Vicktor shot a look at Roman. He was off the phone. No, redialing. Roman looked at him, grinned, as if amused.
Victor didn’t see the humor. Roman’s girlfriend lived in Russia, where he could see her every day. It was true that Vicktor did let his everyday life spill out into his worst nightmares. It was hardly likely that Gracie—safe, conservative Gracie—was going to get into trouble of the sort he saw every day. Maybe, occasionally, she’d lock her keys in her car, but the girl he knew and loved didn’t go looking for trouble.
Yes, she probably found it more often than most—which gave him enough reason to worry—but she wasn’t stupid. She didn’t deliberately put herself in danger. She’d been there, done that, and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. A girl who had stared death by a serial killer in the face and won didn’t take risks with her life.
Which meant that when her phone shifted over to voice mail the third time, he opted not to say any of the crazy things that had plagued him, simply hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Roman motioned him over, and by the time Vicktor joined him, Roman was thanking whoever was on the other line. He ended the call. “Okay, Yanna is headed to a friend’s house, courtesy of my Chinese friends at church. Apparently, they have members who have cousins in Taichung. She can land there and we’ll go pick her up. Meanwhile, that name you gave me earlier has been bugging me, so I called a pal back at HQ who looked it up.” Roman glanced outside. “Did you get ahold of Gracie?”
“No.” Vicktor gave him a smile that said, So what, yes, I called her.
“Call her back. That guy—Sokolov. There’s a mob boss out of Seattle who’s on our radar. He makes trips in and out of Russia to see so-called family. He’s been on international watch lists for years—for human trafficking, child pornography, the works. He’s got family everywhere, especially in the big Russian hubs—Florida and New York. Seattle.” Roman shrugged, but his eyes didn’t match the no-big-deal body posture. “Tell her to steer clear.”
Vicktor pulled out his phone again, wrapped his hand around it, and that old, painful feeling returned, right in the center of his chest. The one that said, You idiot, why aren’t you married already? He hit Redial, glancing at Roman. “Find me the next flight out of Taiwan for America.”
Was it too much to ask that his son obey him? Kwan rose from the pool in the private room of the Ming Shan spa, the room so filled with steam from the natural spring it seemed to take over his lungs, his eyes. As he stood, dripping from the square, tile-lined pool, his skin barely recognized the difference between water and the humid air. A towel, slightly damp, lay folded on the floor, next to the bucket he’d used to wash himself. As he sat on the edge, exhaustion wrung him out, the water sapping his strength.
Or perhaps he should blame his fatigue on his son’s failure, again. The fact that he’d put them all at risk. He couldn’t believe that twice now, Curtiss had gotten away, and this time with a Russian spy who could only put a snarl into his operations.
Kwan picked up the towel, wiped his face, then his hair. Out of all the Asian customs, this treasure nestled in the Taiwanese mountains, used in secret by people of his position, ministered to him the most.
This, and the masseuse waiting in the next room, hopefully with a tray of sea bass baked in lemon sauce. He stood, wrapping the towel around his waist.
The woman stood next to the door, her head bowed.
He smiled, but his attention cut to his cell phone vibrating in his pants folded over the chair. Debating a moment, he wrestled it out of the pocket.
“I thought I told you not to call me on your—”
“This isn’t my phone. It’s safe.”
“You’re a fool if you belie—”
“Father—”
He gritted his teeth against the Mandarin—why had he spent years teaching the boy English if he never planned on using it?
“I only want to know that our problem has been taken care of. No more mistakes.”
Silence. Then, “He got away from the safe house. But I found a way to find—”
“Finish it. And then I will talk to you.” He hung up, turned his phone off.
Tough love—wasn’t that what they called it in America? Thankfully, his other son, the one stationed on the other side of the ocean, understood the importance of obedience. He was a son a man could count on.
He slid the phone back into his pants pocket, next to his diplomatic pass, and smiled at the woman waiting to ease from him the stress of his position. Obedience—was that so impossible?
David had very few dreams. He had goals—like fixing up the 1967 Mustang in his storage unit or learning to paraglide. But the dreams he’d sacrificed a decade ago when he signed on the dotted line committing his life to Uncle Sam and his whims, he rarely took out to regret. He liked his life, the challenges, the travel, even the friends. It suited him.
Or had. Until lately. Until his friends started getting married, and he was the guy at the party petting the dog or seated next to the other single person in the room. Until he preferred to spend his Friday nights at home with his laptop computer, chatting with Volleygirl on the other end. And until this morning when he headed downstairs in the simple Taiwanese three-story home Roman had directed them to last night and saw Yanna in the kitchen, an orange apron around her waist.
Cooking.
Cooking?
David stopped on the stairs before she could see him and just watched. He had to admit surprise last night when, after Roman called him back and sent him to an address in Taichung, his knock at the door opened to a Chinese man…and an American woman. Cho Yung had married Trish, a student from Taiwan University, and settled down to teach English as a second language to the students in Cho’s church where he was the pastor.
David had a long moment of misgiving when he saw Trish’s slightly rounded belly. He stood on the stoop, flicked off the overhead light that Cho had turned on and said, “Did Roman tell you—”
“You’re safe here under God’s watch,” Cho said and touched his elbow. “Come inside. We’re happy to help a brother.”
Oh. Something full and overwhelming filled David’s chest at that—he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be among people who thought like he did. He’d been sniffing around the scum of the world for so long, blending in, watching them prosper, while his frustration tightened like a noose around his neck. This feeling of fresh air seemed to almost hurt.
Still, he drank it in. Especially as he watche
d Trish welcome Yanna, lead her upstairs to draw her a bath, and give her all those girly things a woman needed.
It surprised him how much Yanna had taken to Trish and her ministrations. As if, perhaps, Yanna wasn’t beyond mothering, or perhaps in this case, sistering. Possibly, he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.
Or maybe he only looked at the things he wanted to see. Because if he thought of Yanna as a woman, sweet-smelling, soft and gentle, well, there went another layer of defenses.
Which was why, as he stood in the stairwell spying on Yanna as she made…pancakes, it shook him right to his core.
She looked good, really good. Fresh and clean, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting her regal face, and those pretty dark eyes that could swallow him whole. Like they nearly had last night in the candlelight. Wow, he’d come so close, again, to forgetting why they were here…
Until he remembered that she’d nearly been killed. And then it rushed back to him, and all he could think about was getting her safe. He had to wonder at God’s timing that Roman might be in Taiwan, armed with hints as to how to accomplish the keeping-her-safe part. And the only reason David had let himself step over the threshold into the Yungs’ home was that he felt pretty sure Bruce, and thereby Kwan, didn’t know the Yungs, or even that David and Yanna might still be alive. Yet.
At least David had found the mole. Because if he did the math, only Bruce knew—twice now—where David would be. Only Bruce knew that he’d be meeting Kwan.
Fool him once, shame on Bruce. Fool him twice, well…somewhere in David’s list of things to do was to have another face-to-face with Bruce and make him painfully aware of everything he’d nearly cost them.
Like Yanna, who looked at Trish and laughed at something she said, her face lighting up, her eyes twinkling. It made a sort of explosion in his chest, and he had to ease back into the shadows lest he make a fool out of himself by breaking into tears.
In every buried dream, every unlikely Norman Rockwell painting, Yanna was always front and center. And for that very reason, David had stopped dreaming.
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