“I’m going upstairs.”
“Be careful.”
“Will you stop saying that? I’m being careful.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t like this, and I don’t want you —”
“Shh!”
She knew, in her brain somewhere, that no one could hear him—in fact, she’d tested that fact in Trish’s house, with the earpiece in Trish’s ear and Roman nearly shouting. However, it felt exposing, and she didn’t need any distractions as she crept up the back stairs and into another cement hallway. It contained a door, parallel with the one below. She tried the knob, but it was locked.
“I need to pick this,” she said, wishing David, for once, could see her. This was why she’d had field training, for moments like this. Oh, and for when she was handcuffed in the middle of the ocean on a rubber dinghy. As she pulled out the lock-pick kit she’d taken from Roman, that old adrenaline, that idealism she’d had when she first joined the FSB, rushed through her. Too many years with buzzing fluorescence in her office at FSB HQ had made her forget that she had other skills than just how to decrypt a computer.
She worked the lock and opened it easily. “Going in.”
“Be careful.”
“There’s a hallway, like before. I can smell rice or something cooking. There’s a door at the end of the hall.” She moved toward it, her heart thundering, and she resisted the urge to hold her breath to listen.
“What?”
She also resisted the urge to rip the earpiece from her ear. She put a hand on the door, eased the handle open.
Swung it in.
Her breath caught. It was a house, or a dorm, or something, because whoever had been here had slept on the uncarpeted floor on pads.
“What? Talk to me, Yanna!”
“There’s a room. It’s empty. But someone was here not long ago.” She moved around the room, lifting the pads, the silky bedspreads perhaps used as blankets. And in the center of the room, a rice cooker with bowls stacked up, the rice in the cooker half-eaten. “Whoever was here, they’re gone.”
She stopped, her heart cold inside her. “Oh, no. Oh, no—”
“Yanna, what is it? What is—forget it, I’m coming in there—” Somewhere in the back of her head, she heard muffling, Roman’s voice yelling, the sound of the van door opening.
But that was all drowned out by the increasing siren going off in her head, the one making her sink to her knees, reach out and pick up the silver locket lying smashed on the floor. She curled it in her hand. “Oh, no—”
Deep inside, she’d hoped that this might all be some sort of nightmarish misunderstanding, that Elena would call and say, Hey, sorry, sis, my plane took a detour to Bali. But it’s all good, and I’m in the States. Better even would be, I decided not to marry Bob, and I’m on my way home. Throw a party.
But as Yanna opened the locket, peeling up the cutaway picture of her taken only a year ago, something inside Yanna gave way. Something huge and holding back the last layers of hope and self-control.
Which was right about the time David rushed in, finding her there, crumpled on the floor. She looked up at him, at the expression he wore, his don’t-get-in-my-way face, and she didn’t even want to imagine the scene he’d made downstairs. But it didn’t matter. All she knew was that he was there and she needed him—oh how she needed him.
“Oh, Yanna,” he said.
She held out the locket, and he took it from her. He stared at it, and the agony on his face told her that he got it. “She was here. Your sister. She was here.”
Yanna didn’t answer. Just, for the second time in twenty-four hours, let herself buckle into his embrace.
And, being the friend he was, he held her without saying another word.
Was Vicktor jumping to conclusions? Yes.
Was he probably costing them his chance to live in America? Possibly.
Could he live with himself if he didn’t go? Not a prayer of a chance.
But praying was what Vicktor was doing. Praying that he wasn’t making the biggest fool out of himself in history. Not that he cared much about his reputation, but he did care about his future with Gracie.
A future that he planned on having out with her, once and for all. This living on two sides of the world just didn’t work for him. Never had, and well, he might be going crazy, but he felt it in his chest, way down deep that she needed him. Now.
And she might think, once he appeared on her doorstep, that he had gone all cave-man and I-will-protect-my-woman, but that was just the way he was built.
Besides, well, he needed her. Especially seeing the way David was dodging his feelings for Yanna like an offensive lineman in the World Cup, he was so ultra glad that he and Gracie had something real and true and honest.
At least he hoped so. He hoped, with everything inside, him, with his entire future riding on the line that she still loved him, that the sparkle in her beautiful green eyes was because she thought of him every waking minute, that he had gotten under her skin like she’d done to him.
His greatest fear—and it was suddenly so crystal clear it should have been outlined in neon with blinking lights—was that loving a Russian had turned out to be more than she wanted. That, in fact she’d only fallen for him—or said so— because she was afraid, and then relieved that he’d saved her. Or sorta saved her.
And even though yes, the thought of living without her made him want to curl into a ball and scream, even he could admit that a relationship based on gratitude would morph quickly into bitterness.
Oh, please, Lord, he didn’t want that. He’d choose to have his heart broken, crushed into dust before he’d let her hate him.
And he couldn’t rule out the fact that they’d been playing this game for over year now, and maybe time had simply unraveled what they’d had. What he’d dreamed they’d had.
So maybe this trip wasn’t about holding onto Gracie. But letting her go.
Or, giving her the choice.
“Passport?”
He handed over his Russian passport to the Taiwanese controller.
“On business, Mr. Shubnikov?” she asked, as she stamped his passport.
“Yes,” he said. Only, he wouldn’t be Vicktor Shubnikov when he landed. No, then he’d be Dr. Vladimir Zaitsev, in Seattle for two days to attend a medical conference.
Two days to find Gracie. And discover just how much this trip was going to cost him.
If anything, the discovery of Elena’s locket only fueled David. Only solidified the panic that had been a sort of poison in his chest, only made it into a nuclear ball of rage, of purpose.
If he ever needed a reason why he did his job, he found it written on Yanna’s face as she sat on Trish’s sofa, running her thumb over the broken, crushed locket. They’d found Yanna’s cell phone in the dumpster in the alley behind the teahouse. Yanna had fished it out, hoping to figure out why Kwan might have used it.
But apparently, the cell phone was the last thing on her mind at the moment.
“She’s alive. I know it, deep inside.”
Oh, he wanted to touch her, to hold her hand, to wrap his arms around her. Instead he kept working on her computer, trying to access his online files about Kwan and his contacts. “We’re going to find her, Yanna. I promise.”
Her face changed at that, her expression hardening. She looked up at him, nodded. “I believe you.”
With everything inside him, he wanted to stand up and shout hooyah! But it only sent off explosions of fear inside him. What if they didn’t find Elena? What if Elena had already been gobbled up, swallowed by Kwan’s organization?
Then, where would that leave his promises?
Sometimes, he just wanted to live outside his body so he could wave himself off from making stupid statements. What he should have said was, While I have breath left in my body, I’ll help you find Elena. That promise he could keep.
Yanna reached up and wiped her cheek with the heel of her hand. Oh, he couldn’t take it anymore.
David got up and came over to sit beside her. She didn’t look at him.
“Elena used to be the homeliest thing I’d ever seen, all big eyes and greasy hair. When we were younger, I never let her forget that she was annoying. When she was three, I made her sit in the bathroom when my friends were over, just because she couldn’t stop talking and annoying us.”
David could almost see Yanna like that, eighteen and just as gorgeous as today, only perhaps less jaded, with more laughter in her eyes, hungry for life to begin. How he wished he could have known her then, but perhaps that would have only started his agony four years sooner.
“She was about nine when she came to live with me. I was just out of university —”
“I remember. You were heading into the academy. You wrote to me.”
Yanna lifted her gaze to his. Smiled, only it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, I did. I guess you remember then how Elena and I fought over the years. When she became a teenager, she always had boyfriends, as if she were desperate for a man.”
“And you hated that.” He reached out, took the locket from her.
Yanna looked up at him. “It made me angry. Because out of both of us, she was the one who should have been happy. She had a father who loved her, doted on her…”
He lifted his hand to touch her hair, then settled it behind her, on the sofa.
“Yanna, could it be possible that you, uh, might have been…jealous? I mean, your sister had all these boyfriends…”
Yanna recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “Are you suggesting that I couldn’t get a man?”
“What? No—”
“Because I have news for you, David Curtiss, there are men who come to see me play volleyball from across Russia, I have men flocking outside the locker room, and—”
“Calm down. That isn’t what I’m saying.” And no, he didn’t need to hear about other men. In fact, he had a sudden sick acid in his chest. “It’s just that your sister has a different outlook on life, and like you said, she had this good relationship with her father, and maybe that let her trust men a little more, and…”
David didn’t know whether to flinch or maybe duck, and he certainly didn’t know why he’d said that—it just snuck out. But it was suddenly so clear to him what this was about all along.
Yanna was still jealous. Her sister had clearly made abysmal choices. But at least she’d tried. At least she’d made room for love, or the hope of it.
He ran his hand down his face. “I’m sorry I said that. I just thought that maybe that was why you never dated any…other…”
But Yanna looked up at him, the strangest look on her face, and in a blinding second of pain he realized why she’d never made room in her life for any other men.
Oh, no. His chest tightened with a strange but frightening explosion of joy.
She’d been waiting for him. All this time, him.
Oh, Yanna.
He swallowed as the truth whammed him right in the chest and took away his breath.
“Yanna,” he said, lifting his hand to her cheek. She stared at him, all her emotions suddenly right there, in her pretty eyes, those eyes that haunted him, that never left his dreams, his memories.
He could hear the voices in his head starting to warn him off, even feel some ethereal force pulling him back, reining him in. But aw, she was so beautiful, and he didn’t even realize he was putting his arms around her until they already were. And then, before he could stop himself, and as he always feared, and always hoped, he was kissing her.
It was just like it had been—fireworks and confetti, a flood of emotions that knocked him off his feet. She melded right into him, as if she always belonged there, as if they had been made for each other. She was just so gorgeous and strong, and he was so proud of her, and scared at the same time, knowing that she’d do anything for the people she loved. So he kissed her, wove his fingers into her silky hair, letting his heart right off its leash.
And just like before, she kissed him back, as if she, too, had been waiting for this moment—please let it be true—for over ten years. She tasted like tears, so sweet and gentle, so willing.
He pulled her close and put his other hand to her cheek, and she made a little noise in the back of her throat, like she might be crying—
It was that little noise that snapped him out of it. That made him take a breath and pull away, his heart thumping. She stared at him, all wide-eyed, blinking, and he knew…
He was a jerk. A huge he-couldn’t-believe-he’d-done-this-twice-to-her and what-was-his-big-problem kind of jerk. He had no business kissing Yanna when he had no intention—despite the desires of his heart—to tell her how he felt, much less make anything permanent.
And he hadn’t a clue how she might really feel. Hadn’t even asked.
“Yanna, oh, I’m sorry. I’m so—”
Her face instantly hardened. “Oh my—I can’t believe this.” She shook her head. “I am not going through this again.” She put up her hand. “Stop speaking. Right now.”
Right before him, as if she might be some sort of shape-shifter, she morphed back into a tough FSB agent. Clearly, he wouldn’t have to ask how she felt about him. She backed away, lifted her chin. “I know you think I’m upset—”
“That’s not it—”
“And I know I’ve been a little needy and emotional lately, but it’s only because I’m a tired—”
“Yanna—”
“And I know that you’re still pretty freaked out, and I might have given you the wrong impression when I collapsed into your arms back at the teahouse, but the thing is, I’m good now.” She smiled up at him. “I don’t need any more…uh, comfort.”
David raised an eyebrow, even though he felt skewered straight through. “Comfort?”
She patted his knee. “It was nice. Thanks.”
Thanks? Nice? His heart was still doing cartwheels in his chest and she was getting up, going to the computer, logging on, as if, well, as if they’d had a nice chat?
David stared at her.
“I have an idea about Kwan. Didn’t you say that you had a file on him? Why is he here, in Taichung? Just to pick up his girls? And why did he hang on to my cell phone, then ditch it at the teahouse?
“Wait—Yanna, I just kissed you—”
“Yeah, I know.” She turned to him. “It was nice, but I won’t tell anyone.”
Just like that, he was back there, at the sanatorium, seeing her face as he walked out on her. And the shame overtook him at the way he’d treated her ten years ago. The way he’d left her.
She met his gaze. Didn’t even blink.
Oh. His throat burned. So much for her believing in him. Trusting him. Way to go, champ.
He nodded in response to her words.
“So, while I try and read the SIM card on this cell, tell me everything you know about Kwan. I want to see if I can figure out what he’s got next on his agenda.”
It took him a second to regroup. Especially since while she might have ice in her veins and be able to hop up after that, well, rather steamy—from his point of view—kiss, he was still trying to figure out how to take a full breath.
He could hear voices outside—Roman and Trish returning with Cho after they parked the van in the garage down the alley. He got up, sat next to Yanna at the desk, all smiles and lies when Roman walked in.
“Hey,” Yanna said, looking up. Roman glanced at David, then back at Yanna.
“So, what have you found out?”
That David wasn’t at all the hero Roman made him out to be? That deep inside, he was still that twenty-two-year-old creep who’d made Yanna feel cheap and unwanted? Worse, he did it this time when she felt vulnerable and broken.
Yeah, a real man of integrity.
He cleared his throat. “There’s something that’s been bothering me since I met ‘Kwan.’ He just doesn’t fit the part. Kwan’s reputation precedes the man I saw on the boat by about twenty years. The Twin Serpents is an organization that is pa
ssed from father to son, and the torch passed to Kwan two decades ago, at least. The man we saw was a decoy.”
“Or an heir. Maybe you met Kwan-in-training.” Roman sat down on the sofa while Trish went to the kitchen.
She turned and looked at the group. “Tea?”
Roman lifted his hand in response. Yanna too.
What David wouldn’t give for an espresso. Something to wake up his brain, maybe keep him out of trouble.
“So you think the real Kwan is grooming his son for the job?”
“The Twin Serpents is an international operation. To keep a tight ship, they keep family in all the top slots. If Kwan has a son or more than one son, they’re being groomed for leadership.”
“So, we find mini-Kwan, we find Kwan,” Yanna said, taking the tea Trish offered her. “Thanks.”
Trish delivered Roman his tea.
“So, why is this Kwan in town?” Roman asked.
“We know he has a house here. We watched him for three months before I hopped on board. He also has a house in Taipei, only that one is for his mistress and when he goes to the symphony.”
“The symphony? Kwan doesn’t seem like the symphony type,” Yanna said, not looking up from her keyboard.
“I think his mistress likes it—maybe. Or maybe he’s just a man of hidden tastes. But he’s been to the symphony and the opera a number of times.”
“Did you say opera?” Yanna put down her tea, punching in addresses. “The Taipei opera is playing tomorrow night in Taipei. You don’t suppose…”
She looked at David. “I’ve never been to a Taiwanese opera. And I look great in an evening gown.” She smiled, as if he hadn’t just had her in a clench, as if she didn’t have the foggiest idea that she’d look downright breathtaking in an evening gown. “Anyone want to take me to the opera?”
Roman glanced at David. “You’re going to look great in a tux.”
13
Gracie felt like a spy, a super sleuth, just like Vicktor. Only, with her heart beating in her throat and her hands slick against the plastic housekeeping trolley, it was a wonder that everyone who passed her didn’t stop, point their finger and scream, “imposter!”
Run to You Page 17