by Jenni Wiltz
Viktor pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine. But let the record state that I have a very bad feeling about this.”
“We all do,” Constantine said. “But we don’t have a choice.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
July 2012
San Francisco, California
Beth’s hand shook as she slipped her key into the lock. Keep it together, she thought. The cops are still watching you. She turned the key, waving to the sergeant as she slipped through the door. A few seconds later, she heard Lopez’s patrol car slip into gear and drive away. Only then did she give in to the fear and anger racing through her veins. For once, she was grateful that Seth and Roosevelt weren’t there to greet her.
“Nat,” she moaned. “What the hell happened to you?”
Her sister’s bed had looked like an open-face feather sandwich, torn apart by dozens of bullets. There wasn’t any blood, but Natalie’s dresser and bookshelf had been overturned, her few possessions strewn around the living room. Lopez seemed convinced it was a robbery and wouldn’t listen when she insisted that Natalie had nothing to steal.
Neighbors clocked the shots at 2 a.m. Beth knew Nat had trouble sleeping, so it was possible her sister heard someone coming and simply fled before the attack occurred. Still, Lopez’s detectives hadn’t found any evidence of Natalie or her attackers anywhere in the outer Mission. He’d quizzed her on Natalie’s habits and interests to try to narrow down possible hiding places, but she’d remained purposefully vague. At the time, she’d thought she was protecting Natalie. But what if she were wrong? Was it possible Nat could hurt someone?
“No way,” she said out loud.
Prove it, her conscience replied.
She dropped her purse on the escritoire and went upstairs to her home office. In the corner stood a mahogany filing cabinet, five drawers of two-dimensional paperwork that encapsulated three lives: hers, Seth’s, and Natalie’s. She pulled a file from the bottom drawer, labeled “Natalie,” and spread its contents on the floor. The doctors were always so careful when they handed her copies of her sister’s assessments. They made sure never to touch her hands, as if Nat’s strangeness might be something both genetic and communicable. Some of the older pieces of paper had begun to yellow and curl. Much of the original ink had spread and faded, but all the hypocrisy and false empathy remained.
Patient’s coma remains unexplained. MRI reveals overdeveloped hypothalamus with extraordinary power of suggestion—possible cause of the somatic delusion described.
--Dr. Edward Hinman, St. Mary’s Medical Center, 1991
Patient displays signs of recurrent psychosis with certain long-term deterioration in functional capacity. Administered immediate dosage of Thorazine; recommended long-term treatment plan with continued use of antipsychotics and mood stabilizers.
--Dr. Thomas Gridley, SF General Hospital, 1994
Patient exhibits anhedonia, avolition, affective flattening and dysphoric mood, characteristic of moderate to severe schizophrenia. According to family member (sister), symptoms worsened with Prolixin.
--Dr. Samantha C. Thompson, Cal Pacific Medical Center, 1995
Patient is unresponsive and uncommunicative. Persistent auditory hallucinations severely affect patient’s communication and judgment. GAF score: 32 out of 100.
--Dr. Emil Berg, SF Community Health Network, 1999
Patient admitted after suicide attempt. Despite persistent auditory hallucinations, patient displays advanced metabolic function in frontal cortex. Performs exceedingly well in higher thought process tests, including abstraction and concept formation. Family member (sister) reports improvement after discontinuing Clozaril in favor of behavioral therapy.
--Dr. Jabez Harger, St. Luke’s Hospital, 2002
Not one of those doctors could tell her why Natalie chose an angel as her hallucination of preference. Not one of them could tell her how Natalie knew the things Belial told her. They couldn’t give her one good reason why any of it was happening at all—except to tell her that a very selfish little girl had probably woken up one day and decided to steal the spotlight from her normal, well-adjusted parents and sibling.
“Assholes,” Beth said, crumpling the papers in her hand. Medical degree or not, no one knew her sister the way she did. She’d seen Natalie fall prey to inexplicable fevers, bouts of depression, seizures, and enough self-loathing to crush the most egotistic Hollywood star. No matter what Belial told her or showed her, the only person she’d ever harmed was herself.
Beth knew, in the deepest core of her soul, that Natalie would never hurt anyone else. As long as she still believed that was true, Lopez didn’t need to know what the doctors had said. But that didn’t solve the problem. Natalie was still alone and someone was still chasing her—someone who was smart enough to watch Beth’s house, too. She thought of Seth and Roo, safe at June’s house. How long could she leave them there without raising suspicion?
If she called Scott and asked him to take Seth, Scott would want to know why. He’d been trying to get custody for two years now and as far as the state was concerned, his only drawback was his lack of steady income—they knew nothing about the cocaine. If Scott discovered the extent of Natalie’s paper trail, he’d use it to prove Beth put Seth in danger. So far, her only hold over him was the exorbitant alimony she paid him every month. With Natalie as his ace in the hole, he might choose to forego alimony for the chance at sole custody and child support. “Over my dead body,” she snarled, envisioning one of Scott’s dealers patting her son on the head.
As she gathered up the contents of Natalie’s file, she heard a strange sound next door in Seth’s room: the hiss and crackle of static, as if a walkie talkie had been turned on. As soon as she heard it, the sound vanished.
Seth didn’t have a walkie-talkie.
Suddenly, she wished she’d kept the dog with her. She wouldn’t have hesitated to investigate before last night, but now that she knew someone was watching her, someone who had tried to kill Natalie, even an ordinary noise was cause for alarm.
She had no weapons in the house other than kitchen knives and garage tools. She wondered if she should just leave and check into a motel with Seth and Roo until the police found Natalie. Oh, no you don’t, she thought. This is your house and you will take charge of it if it’s the last fucking thing you do.
She dropped the stack of papers in her hand and went to investigate.
Chapter Twenty-Four
July 2012
San Francisco, California
The motel’s air conditioning had been set to run at full blast despite an outdoor temperature of less than 70 degrees. Natalie set the metal box on the floor next to the bed and rubbed her arms to stave off an explosion of goosebumps. “How long can we stay here?”
“Long enough for someone to tell me what the hell’s going on,” Viktor snapped, pointing at her. “Who is she, Con?”
Constantine dropped the room key on the nightstand. “She’s not the professor.”
“Perish the thought.”
“She’s the professor’s sister.”
“Is that true?”
Natalie nodded. “Yuri lied to everyone. He never spoke to my sister about the Romanov letters. Beth doesn’t even believe Nicholas’s money exists.”
Viktor raised one thick black eyebrow. “But you do?”
“Yes. Belial told me it does.”
“You keep using that word. If you don’t tell me what it means, love, I’ll be forced to assume you don’t like me very much.”
Natalie felt her cheeks burn. Explaining Belial to Constantine was one thing…he’d witnessed her seizure and stayed with her. But Viktor seemed far more self-interested. What would happen if he decided she was a liability? Would Constantine side with him?
Belial noticed her discomfort and tilted his head, pressing his wings against her skull. Are you embarrassed by me? After all I do for you? She grunted and clamped her jaw shut.
Viktor shifted his gaze to Co
nstantine. “What’s the matter with her now?”
“You might want to sit down for this. I know I do.” Constantine pulled his gun from his waistband and collapsed onto one of the queen-sized beds. He told Viktor everything about their flight through San Francisco, including her part in apprehending the East German forger.
Through it all, Viktor leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and one heel propped against the ochre wallpaper. “Jesus, Con,” he said, shaking his head. “Vadim didn’t tell me any of this.” He flashed a crooked smile at Natalie. “Nice work with that forger. I may owe you an apology.”
“I may accept it. Can I ask a question now?”
“One question,” Viktor acquiesced.
“Did you really give Yuri all that money?”
“Of course not. The software was fake, the wire transfer was fake.”
“But Yuri called the bank and they confirmed the deposit.”
Viktor shook his finger. “Yuri used my phone, programmed to dial the North American desk, where a native English speaker told him what he wanted to hear.” He wrinkled his nose. “You don’t think we’d give that pillock ten million dollars, do you?”
Constantine touched his shoulder and winced. “Viktor, what did Vadim tell you?”
“That you were trying to get the Romanov letters from a civilian who used them to blackmail Kadyrov. He said you needed help, and told me when and where to arrive.”
“Why didn’t he warn you about Vympel?”
“Must have slipped his mind.” Viktor uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. “He sent me into a death trap, Con, didn’t he?”
Natalie watched Constantine to gauge his reaction. He said nothing and looked away from his friend. Not good, she thought.
“God, I should have known he’d only re-route me from Colombia to send me into something worse!” Viktor marched from the door to the bed and back, then punched the bathroom door. “I’m going to kill him! By Christ’s holy nutsack, I’m going to kill him.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Constantine said, grimacing as he tried to sit up.
“Shit,” Viktor said, as if noticing the blood on Constantine’s shirt for the first time. “You need a bit of patching up. I’ll go and fetch some supplies. I need some air, anyway.”
Constantine reached into his pocket and tossed Viktor a roll of bills. “Vodka. Lots of it.”
Viktor caught the money and slammed the door behind him on his way out. Natalie watched him through the window, spotting his tall, lanky form in the parking lot as it moved toward the Monte Carlo. “Is he going to be all right?” she asked.
“He’s never gotten along with Vadim, but I didn’t expect this.”
“Can you trust him?”
“Viktor? Of course. We’ve worked together since Stealth.”
She closed the curtain and Constantine patted the space next to his leg. “Come here so I can look at you while I’m still conscious. Once Viktor gets his hands on me, I’ll be out cold.”
Natalie blushed. She wasn’t used to flirting. In fact, she didn’t usually talk to any men who weren’t her shrinks. She’d botched everything last night by throwing herself at him, but now she understood that the wing-like flutter in her belly was thin and evanescent. Like a sparkling filament, it would crumble or simply vanish if she beat at it. “You mentioned Stealth before,” she said. “What is it?”
“A private security company. Dozens of our men went to work for the KGB in the late 90s. That’s where Vadim found Viktor and me.”
“Does Viktor think I’m crazy?”
Constantine grinned. “Viktor is crazy. He pretends he’s British.”
“His accent’s terrible. Why does he do it?”
“I don’t know, but it got worse in Chechnya when he started watching AbFab on satellite TV. When I first met him in Stealth training, he hung a picture of Kim Philby next to his bunk.”
Natalie nodded. She remembered reading about Philby, a decorated member of British intelligence who defected to the Soviet Union. He became a Soviet hero after his death, complete with state funeral, posthumous medals and a postage stamp. “Children cling to their heroes.”
“Who’s your hero?”
“Beth.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s not crazy, if that’s what you mean.” Natalie averted her eyes, running her fingers over the slick polyester bedspread. “Everything good went into her.”
“That’s not true.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s not the way I think about my sister.”
“Is she the girl who tried to kill herself? The one Viktor says you’re hiding?”
The smile fell from Constantine’s face. “Viktor said what?”
“He said you’re hiding someone. He warned me about it at Yuri’s.”
“Before or after he tried to kiss you?”
She grimaced, remembering Viktor’s red lips and crooked front teeth. “I thought he looked like a vampire. Why didn’t you tell him about your sister?”
“It’s none of his business.”
“It’s none of mine, either.”
He reached out and touched one of her scars. “Maybe it should be. At least you would know how to talk to her. She’s done….this….three times now. One of these days, she’ll get it right. I was supposed to go home to be with her.”
“What happened?”
“Vadim sent me here.”
“Shit.” Natalie hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Lana doesn’t listen to me. I can’t get through to her.”
Natalie bit her lip, wondering what she could say to help. Was it possible that Lana felt about Constantine the way she felt about Beth? She knew nothing about his family or upbringing, but she knew what she’d seen—he took a bullet so she could escape that house. Anyone willing to do that for a stranger would surely love a sister, even one who was broken inside. “She listens,” Natalie said softly. “I know she does.”
She took a deep breath and shifted her weight away from him on the bed. “You could go to her. I’ll tell Viktor I fell asleep and don’t know where you went.”
Constantine rolled over onto his right arm. “Do you think I would leave you here with Vympel looking for you?”
“But she needs you.” Natalie imagined herself in Lana’s place, struggling for a reason to live without Beth—her life support—at her side. “If it were me, and I didn’t have Beth…” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t make it.”
For a moment, Constantine’s blue eyes glimmered with hope. Then he blinked and shook his head. “Our parents are with her. If I left you here, I’d be no better than the people who hurt her. I can’t do that.”
“Who hurt her?”
“People who wanted to get to me. She hasn’t been the same since.”
“I’m so sorry.” Natalie let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “But I’m happy you’re staying.”
He smiled, creasing the skin around his eyes. “I wasn’t aware you were so fond of me.”
The warm blue of his eyes reminded her of the sea, shining and deep. When he looked at her, she realized she felt whole. “I’m fond of the fact that you’re really good at killing whoever wants to kill me. And I don’t want you to leave.”
“Then I won’t.”
She looked at him sideways and smiled. “Is it that easy?”
“It can be.” He pulled her close, close enough for her to feel his breath on her skin and to count the hundreds of tiny pores dotting his cheeks. She stared at him and realized how little you see of people from far away. Up close, you can actually see what they’re made of—the atoms, the molecules, the way they combine to form hair and skin and sweat.
Her eyes ricocheted between his lips, the lines on his brow, the stubble on his cheeks. “Nothing in my life is easy,” she said.
“It wouldn’t be worth much if it were.” He traced the diagonal of her cheekbone with h
is index finger. Then his finger trailed down her neck to the collar of her blouse. Heat began to build in her belly, deep in her core. She sighed and he leaned toward her with parted lips. He pressed them to her neck and she arched it, opening herself to him. The shock of his touch made her shiver; goosebumps broke out all along her legs. She held her breath and closed her eyes as his lips traveled closer to hers.
Then she heard the plastic room key slip into the electric lock. “The prodigal returns,” Viktor said, bursting through the door with a collection of plastic bags. He glanced toward the bed and raised an eyebrow. “Did I interrupt something?”
Natalie sat up straight and felt her cheeks turn red, painfully aware of the fact that she’d come close to kissing Viktor just an hour or two ago, and here she was with Constantine, sprawled out on a bed. Jesus, she thought, I can’t do this. “No,” she said sharply. She got up without meeting Constantine’s eyes and flopped onto the second bed.
Viktor tossed one of the plastic bags onto the space she’d occupied. “All right, loverboy. Let’s get you out of these wet things.”
Constantine smiled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Holy shit,” Natalie said. “You guys really did learn English by watching bad TV.”
Viktor adopted a faux baritone. “Did I mention that I’m not only the hair club president, but I’m also a client?” As he spoke, Viktor began to peel off Constantine’s blood-soaked shirt and Natalie looked away.
Her eyes drifted to the floor, where she’d deposited Yuri’s box. That’s not a very safe place, now, is it? Belial chided. You’re going to want to hide that.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why ask why?” Viktor answered. “Try Bud Dry.”
“Jesus,” she said. “Make it stop.”
Just do as you’re told, Belial snapped.
She stood up and stretched, using her toe to slide the box out of sight beneath the bed. By the time she lay down again, Viktor had the bloody shirt peeled away. Neither of them had any idea what she’d done.
“Now for the fun part,” Viktor said. He dumped the bag’s contents onto the bed: disinfecting pads, tape, gauze, iodine, bottled water, and sandwich bags. He cleaned the skin around the wound with an antiseptic pad, smiling at Constantine’s compressed lips. “Don’t pretend this doesn’t hurt. Go ahead and scream if you like.” He stopped and turned to Natalie. “As long as it won’t disturb the psychiatric ward.”