Vadeem was crying.
Saliva pooled in Kat’s mouth as she watched him drag in a long, ragged breath.
Panic rushed into her limbs; was he hurt?
In an abrupt movement, he whirled, balled his right hand, and slammed it into the hood of the Zhiguli. The sound thundered into the night.
Kat jerked. No, definitely not hurt. At least not physically. Her own eyes burned, watching him struggle.
The last thing he needed right now was her sudden appearance. Prayer, yes, definitely prayer, but walking into his pain would only make it worse.
Kat backed away, turned, and stiff walked past the church, to a small grove of trees beyond the wooden fence line. Leaning against a poplar, she set her backpack down, watching Vadeem out of the corner of her eye. He braced both hands on the car hood, head down, breathing hard.
She lifted her gaze to the heavens and prayed.
A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, crushed her lips to her teeth. “Don’t scream and you might live.”
Chapter 15
Vadeem braced himself against the car hood, his teeth clenched, his pulse hammering in his head.
Get a hold of yourself. He had nearly mowed down the startled babushka with his faster-than-lightning escape from the church. He put a hand to his chest, pushing against a burning deep inside. Trotting down memory lane rehashing his nightmares was the last thing he needed to do with his addled brain cells right now. He slammed his fist against into the hood of the car. What was he doing here, out in the middle of nowhere, hanging onto the heels of an American like a lonely puppy when he had a smuggler to catch?
Keep your eyes on the light. Oh yeah, he’d seen the light. Seen it sputter, burn out, and plunge him into darkness. A darkness that got deeper and colder every day he lived in the orphanage, a darkness that eventually became his friend, secreted him from feelings, from pain. Darkness became comforting in its oblivion.
Unfortunately, Kat was all light and hope, and he could feel that brightness moving into his dark places, sunshine over the frigid tundra. And, like heat moving into frozen limbs, it hurt. The sooner he got Kat and her precious book back to Moscow, the sooner he could shove her on a plane for the States and resume his stumble through life.
His throat burned. He could strangle Kat for being so breathtaking. For having amber speckled eyes that reached out to him like a gift. For having laughter and a tenderness to her touch that made him ache. He’d just have to bury it. Bury the memory of waking up to her delicious smile, bury the fragrance she left behind like a souvenir. Bury the feeling of joy that bubbled to the surface when entered his atmosphere.
Where was she?
Swiping at his eyes, he sucked in a breath and turned, his gaze fixed on the church entrance. The babushka who had nearly wrestled him into church hobbled out of the front door, hanging on another young victim. Vadeem crossed his arms over his chest. A car drove past him, kicking up dust. Around him the night was closing in, the sun to the west already gone, leaving only a dent of lavender in its wake. The church fence sent jagged shadows across the road.
Pyotr appeared in the door, looked at Vadeem, and waved like a long lost friend.
Oh yes, the pastor had definitely seen him in the back row. Vadeem looked away, jaw tight. If the guy even hinted—
“Where’s Kat?”
Vadeem looked at him, panic swelling in his chest. “What?”
Pyotr tucked his Bible under his arm and zipped up his jacket. “She left before I did. I thought she would be out here, waiting with you.”
Vadeem ran across the road, toward the church. Kat, if you ditched me—
He’d wanted to believe they’d established some sort of magical bond of trust last night. He wanted to believe she trusted him. Still, her quest had driven her beyond what he’d call normal behavior. . . “Kat!” His voice betrayed his frustration. He dashed into the church, ignoring the tightening of his chest. The gloom of dusk filled the sanctuary. A lone parishioner swept the floor and straightened pews. Vadeem stood for a moment with a hand clutched to the back of his neck. Then he whirled and strode out.
Pyotr met him at the door. The tall man looked stricken, his face white. “No one has seen her.”
Vadeem stifled a curse and instead pushed past the man of God and stalked out into the street. “Kat!”
A scream rent the night sky and speared right into his soul.
-
Kat had bit the man, right through his leather glove. He cursed, let go.
She screamed.
His hand came back hard against her face, crushing her teeth against her lips. “Tiha!” He yanked her head to his chest, sour breath in her ear. “I’m in a very bad mood, and you don’t want to make it worse.”
Her knees buckled, leaving her heart in her throat. She fought the muzzle of his hand, very aware of his cruel grip on her upper arm, dragging her back, away from the church, into the dark web of trees and vines tangled behind the church property.
Away from Vadeem and any chance of rescue.
Branches tore at her face, her jacket, her backpack as he finally packed her in a headlock and dragged her along, his other hand still clamped over her mouth, clogging her breathing. He’d dressed appropriately in black, at least from his jeans to his squared-off shoes, and his legs were moving fast.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears as she stumbled against his strides, her muscles void of strength. He yanked and hissed at her to keep up. His fingers bore into her face, the pain burning her cheeks as the forest closed around them. After a moment, she heard only his heavy breaths and the sound of her own panic raging in her chest. Wildly, she shook her mouth free, then realized, with dread, he’d released her easily.
They were so far into the claw of forest, no one would hear her if she screamed.
“What do you want?” Her voice rasped tight and high.
“Answers.”
He dragged her along, deeper into the forest. The night sky winked out as the tree line tightened above them.
“I don’t know anything.”
He stopped and threw her down in a snarl of brush. Twigs scraped her face, her wrists. The backpack thudded to the earth.
“Where is the necklace, the crest?”
Her mind blanked. She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He towered over her, the biggest man she’d ever seen, dark bulk against a midnight forest. Anger gnarled his face, hooded in shadow, yet vivid in her horrified imaginations. He leaned forward, and the wind washed the smell of alcohol and repugnant body odor across her face. She turned away, gasping.
“The Crest of St. Basil. You know where it is. Tell me.”
She shook her head, fear consuming her words, her breath.
He knelt beside her, and she turned cold when he touched her hair. “I know you have the book. You know where it is, and you will tell me.”
“I. . .I haven’t read it.” Her whisper disintegrated in the torrent of his anger. She braced herself as he bent even closer, his lips next to her ear. “Are you ready to die? I don’t think Brother Papov was.”
Shock clogged her chest. The image of the young monk, his hands twisting as he talked about his sheltered, safe life hit her like a slap. Oh, God! Save me now, if ever!
Mercifully, the man backed away, began pacing, looking back toward their broken trail, as if expecting someone.
Oh, please let him think Vadeem is hot on his tail!
Kat gathered her feet under her.
“Give me the book.” The hulk turned, and she bristled. Adrenaline had already flushed into her legs. She sucked in a breath, and forced herself to pick up the backpack, the bag that held something more precious than Anton’s journal, the one book that might hold the sketchy answer fragments to her piecemeal past. It held her Bible, the only book that held answers without end—and her heirloom picture.
“You want it?” She asked as she pounced to her feet. “Here!” She flung the bag at him, not w
aiting to see where it landed, and bolted.
The branches whipped her face, bushes tore at her jacket, but darkness was her ally. Terror ignited her muscles. She flew through the dark woods, one step behind her heart.
Crashing and the curses of a man hampered by bulk spurred her to recklessness. She ran without thought. She slammed into trees, tripped, scrubbed her palms, tore her pants. Her mouth bled from the hard slap of a branch. But, as distance muffled the threats, she knew she’d won.
Thank the Lord, she’d inherited speed from one of her ancestors.
The clasp of forest eased. She shot toward a gray patch of light. Victory filled her lungs. She burst out of the brush, onto pavement, into freedom.
Brakes squealed. Burning rubber reeked the air. Kat turned into the headlights of an oncoming car and froze.
She left her scream to echo and dove for the ditch, knowing she wouldn’t make it.
-
“You can stop pacing.”
Vadeem turned, jabbed a finger in Pyotr’s face. “Back off.”
Pyotr didn’t flinch, obviously accustomed to dealing with people strung tight with stress. Instead, he gripped Vadeem’s shoulder “She’s going to be fine.”
Vadeem shrugged him off. “She’s not going to be fine. Look at her.” He didn’t have to turn around and point at the pale woman on the rickety wooden hospital bed to know he’d made his point. Kat looked like she’d been through a war, and beyond. Swollen lips, one of them cut, a scrape along the other side of her face to match the now yellowing bruise from the Moscow thug, bloodied hands, and a spidering of red welts and scratches up her arms and along her neck. It turned him inside out to look at her. He braced two hands on the wall and shuddered.
But she was alive. Thank heaven, she was alive. And he’d done some thanking today. Need brought him to his knees beside her bed, trembling. He didn’t actually address the Almighty, just a general gratefulness to the Being up there who had delivered her safely out of the Zhiguli’s path. Obviously, she’d hit the ditch, hard. Two hours had passed and she hadn’t roused. But the CAT scan showed no brain swelling. He touched his forehead to the cool wall. “I don’t get it. What was she doing out on that road?”
The driver of the car had called the ambulance. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots when the ambulance screamed by the church, toward the dirt road outside of town. On a hunch, Vadeem had followed it.
He’d nearly cried when he saw them lifting her crumpled body onto the stretcher.
Pyotr sighed and sat down on the bed opposite Kat’s. The bed groaned with his bulk. “Maybe the person who attacked her in Moscow came after her—”
“1000 miles away?” Vadeem turned, wincing. Kat moaned and he skidded to his knees beside her bed. “Kat?”
Her chest rose and fell in the rhythm of a deep sleeper. Vadeem curled his fists into the sheets. Despair stretched his voice thin. “What if she doesn’t wake up?”
“She’s a Christian, Vadeem. She has faith in God, and God is not going to abandon her—on either side of heaven.”
Vadeem looked up and met Pyotr’s gaze. The pastor had his hands folded, elbows on his knees. He leaned forward, earnest. “I am the Resurrection and the Life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.”
Vadeem glared at him, not needing Pyotr’s religious rhetoric at the moment. He needed reassurance, not platitudes. He struggled for breath in his constricting chest, unable to find a comeback.
“Vadeem, why did you come into the church tonight?”
He winced. “You saw me.”
Pyotr nodded, face expectant.
“I was tricked by a babushka.”
“I saw your face.” Pyotr said. “You were listening,”
Vadeem ran a circle around the back of Kat’s hand with his finger. “Yeah, I listened. I’ve heard it before. The resurrection of Lazarus. My parents were believers.”
Pyotr sighed heavily, paused. “What happened, Vadeem? You have the look of a man with secrets.”
Vadeem pushed back the hair from Kat’s face then entwined it in his fingers. She looked so vulnerable, it was all he could do not to gather her in his arms. He’d been fighting that urge for the past two hours, and if Pyotr didn’t leave soon, he’d do it in front of the pastor, not caring what the man of God thought. In Vadeem’s wildest dreams, Kat woke up, nestled in his embrace, touched his face with those beautiful hands of hers, and assured him that she hadn’t tried to ditch him, hadn’t tried to push him out of her life.
No, in his wildest dreams, Kat simply woke up. He’d unsnarl the truth later.
What was she doing out in that road?
“Have you ever heard of Wreckers, Pyotr?” Vadeem said, not looking at him.
“Of course. Enemies of the state. Wreckers.”
“It was a convenient term used to destroy anyone who disagreed.”
“Of course.” Pyotr’s voice was low. “We lived in a dangerous time. No one could trust anyone.”
Vadeem touched his forehead to Kat’s hand, the feel of it cool against his hot skin. “I was a member of the Pioneers, did you know that?”
Pyotr sighed, deep and sad, like he’d heard this story before. “Most people were. The Communists had a way of making a child want to belong.”
Vadeem nodded, afraid of Pyotr’s perception. He couldn’t look at the pastor as he continued. “I wanted to be a Pioneer more than anything when I was eight years old. I joined up, against the wishes, and counsel of my parents.”
“Because they were believers.”
“And they knew the Pioneer party line was atheism and selfishness.”
“Yes. But eight years old is hardly an age of reason, Vadeem.”
Vadeem shook his head. “I believed in the Motherland, in the Pioneers. I believed what they said. I believed in my comrades. I should have known better.”
Pyotr leaned forward, clasping his hands, as if in prayer. “Your faith was just misplaced.”
Vadeem harrumphed, acknowledging the truth of Pyotr’s words. “I’ve learned the hard way that faith is empty. It’s for fools.”
“No, faith is a gift from God. It’s also a choice. You must put it in the right place. In the New Testament book of Second Timothy it says, ‘If we are faithless, God will remain faithful. He can not disown himself.’ There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother, and this friend is Christ, Vadeem. He’ll never betray you.”
Regret tasted like acid in Vadeem’s mouth. He rubbed his thumb over Kat’s limp hand, touching her blue veins through such perfect, translucent skin. His voice came out wretched. “Pyotr, can you leave me alone, please?”
He felt the man’s gaze searing through him. He counted time with his heartbeat.
“I’m not going far, Vadeem. Something in my gut tells me you need that Friend, and I’m going to be out in the hall praying you choose to put your faith in Him.”
Vadeem didn’t look up as the pastor left the room. The door closed with a whoosh, and suddenly all the emotions he’d piled up erupted in a wretched moan. “Kat, why did you run away?” he whispered. Without thinking, he pressed his lips to her forehead. It was cool, and her skin tasted of sweat.
Come back to me Katoosha. Please, Kat, open your eyes. Look at me with those beautiful eyes. He stared at her face, willing his words to come true, eerily aware of Pyotr’s voice, like a hum, in the hall.
Faith was a choice…either you bought into the veritable helplessness of man and clung to the unseen Source, or you trod your own path. Alone. Vadeem had no doubt exactly what choice he’d made as he heard his mother’s screams and saw his father’s blood seep into the thawing soil. Even if he wanted to turn around, run back, and throw himself at the feet of the Almighty, faith in God—or anyone else for that matter—had dwindled to a drip in his life. If he were to admit that he needed a friend, and frankly, only God knew how desperately he longed for one, God would have to slap down some pretty vivid proof that he wasn’t going to leave him in the lurch again
before Vadeem cast his vote in the Almighty’s favor.
Then again, Kat lay there, breathing in and out, prognosis positive. So maybe God might have heard his desperate gasps for help.
But she wasn’t awake yet.
Even if Vadeem did possess the slightest urge to glance back over his shoulder at the God of his father, faith wasn’t going to rush over him like a flood. Not after twenty-plus years of parched soil.
Perhaps, however, the trickle of faith could start with gratefulness. Yes, he could choose to be thankful.
He shadowed his eyes with his hand. “Thank you, God.”
Like the whoosh of oxygen to a dormant fire, his words raked across his heart, and he gasped against the rush of pain consuming his breath, clawing across his chest. His throat began to close as he rasped it out again, “Thank you for saving Kat.”
Tears burned his eyes and he clutched his hand to his head.
Then he wept for the emptiness that roared through his soul.
-
The top of her head felt like it was coming off. Kat groaned as she clawed her way to consciousness. She ached everywhere, feeling like she’d been mauled, then dragged by a car about a mile. What happened? She scrabbled to the last clear moment. Headlights. Her heart pumping through her chest. Sour breath on her face.
Her backpack, her Bible—the picture! Gone. Oh Lord, no, please.
She was suddenly aware of a thumb moving across the back of her hand. The movement sent a current of warmth through her.
She opened her eyes, blinked in the glare of the room, and heard muffled snuffling, unsteady breathing.
Hand over his eyes, breathing in raggedly, shoulders slightly shaking, Vadeem was. . .crying.
Her breath caught as she stared, horribly, wonderfully mesmerized. This man, who tackled everyone who got near her, who made her feel safe just by being in the room, who’d admitted that he wanted to kiss her and then held himself back, was crying. For her?
If she questioned it before, she didn’t now. FSB Captain Vadeem Spasonov had serious feelings for her. And, as she watched him suffer, she knew she’d never felt this way about a man. Ever. Matthew had never stirred such feelings of anger, or delight. He never made her want to hide inside his embrace, or hold him, desperately, back.
Ekaterina (Heirs of Anton) Page 17