“No one is labeling you.”
“You are. You think I’m just some sort of renegade doctor, risking my life—”
“Okay, that’s true, I concede—”
“But I’m just trying to be the girl God made me to be. All my life I wanted to be a doctor. I saw it as my way to fulfill the Great Commission.” She glanced at him, and he saw hurt in her eyes. “As if you’d know anything about that. The only reason you ever liked me, if at all, was because I was David’s little sister and you thought I was easy prey. Guess you were wrong, huh?”
He opened his mouth, feeling gut punched. “That is not true. You know it. I loved you. And you shattered me when you left.”
Oh no, why did he have to say that? But she always knew how to ignite his emotions. Like a match to tinder.
She looked at him, her beautiful green eyes wide.
Yes, that’s right, Sarai, I’m still in love with you. I never stopped, and just being near you dredges up the feelings I’ve been trying to ignore—or dodge—for way too long. The words formed in his thoughts, but stuck like gum in his chest. Please, let him not be so stupid as to let them out.
He grabbed the teakettle. “I’m fine now. It’s over. I got it after you spent three months not returning my calls and about thirteen years not talking to me. But in case you’re wondering, I did love you. That was real. And so is my concern for you when I tell you that you’re going to be in big trouble if you stay in Irkutsk.” His voice sounded as if he were talking through a grate. Rough-edged. Broken.
She looked up at him as he stood there—why wasn’t he moving?—and in her eyes he saw question. Doubt. And just a little anger.
Then just like that, she blinked it away.
Just like she’d blinked him away so long ago.
He should have expected as much. He stalked outside into the snow and filled the teakettle.
She was so over him that it made him wonder if she’d ever loved him.
But before that thought could wound him, he stilled. Listened. Yes, voices. And the dart of a light.
He dropped the kettle, dashed back into the cabin. Sarai stood at the sink, opening the jar of preserves. She jumped as he slammed the door open.
“We have company. I want you to get into the other room and stay low.” Oh no, the fire had already betrayed them. How could he have been so—
“What on earth are you talking about?” She turned, opener in hand. “No one is out to get me.”
“We don’t know that, do we?”
She just stood there. He took two strides and scooped her up. The can opener fell with a clatter into the sink. “Roman!”
“Tiha!” He ignored the way she pushed against his chest, and strode into the back bedroom. “Will you just trust me for once?”
“Put me down,” she gritted, but her voice quiet. Good girl.
He set her down in the tiny bedroom. “Stay here. Close the door.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re scaring me.”
“Finally,” he snapped. Then he closed the door behind him.
“Stop it, Julia.” Bednov stood over her as she slumped across the kitchen table. The kitchen that he’d spent thousands of his hard-earned rubles to remodel. Did she think that it wouldn’t come without a price?
He barely stopped himself from grabbing her long hair, yanking her to her feet. “You knew Katya had to be dealt with.” He reached for the vodka bottle, took a swig before he wiped his mouth, and capped it.
“She was only trying to help.”
“She knew about Khanda. Do you think that American doctor won’t figure out how Sasha got sick?” He shook his head. “You’re so stupid.”
She lifted her head, stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. Oy, she looked rough, with greasy hair, no makeup. And she smelled like a garbage dumpster. “She took care of Sasha since he was a baby. She was like family.”
“She was a liability.”
He saw Julia’s dark eyes harden, saw coherency for the first time in two days. “I know why Sasha died, Alexei. And I’ll make sure you pay for it.”
He hit her. She screamed, fell out of her chair onto the floor. He didn’t need this. Not now. He’d worked too long, too hard for this time. His time. He left her there crying and went in search of Fyodor. He’d personally chosen Fyodor from the Spetsnaz. The former soldier would know how to track down the American.
And kill her before she discovered a link back to Bednov.
He’d do it for Russia.
And, if he planned it right, it wouldn’t even be a crime.
“He’s gone completely over the top, Anya,” Sarai said as she peeled a potato. “By the way, that’s American slang for ‘lost it.’ He thinks I’m going to be some sort of international fugitive or something.”
Anya smiled at her as she picked up another potato. Her blonde hair stuck out from under a white beret, and she still wore her sweater, despite the fact the fire had driven the chill to the far corners of the cabin. Across the room, Roman slouched in a fraying armchair, brooding as he read the paper in the firelight. Maybe he’d find a diabolical plot to kill the president somewhere in those pages.
“I think he’s acting like a man in love.” Anya smirked as she dropped another peeled potato in the water.
“You’re being particularly nice considering the fact that he nearly jumped you and Genye.”
Paralyzed by shock, Sarai could only listen as Roman had crept out into the main room, waiting for her “attackers.” She’d cracked the door enough to watch him pounce as Genye opened the front door.
They’d seemed pretty evenly matched for too long a moment as they rolled out onto the stoop and into the snow.
Her pulse jerked every time she remembered Roman stopping mid-punch, jarred by her scream as he pinned Genye, his armed cocked to drive his fist into Genye’s jaw.
Roman had looked at her, and she’d seen something that still rattled her. Fear. Cold, straight-out fear. As if she might be hurt.
Obviously he had no problem pouncing to protect her, even if it might be from her dearest friends. Although, was it protecting her or completing his mission to kick her out of Russia? At the least, he proved he’d become nothing but the shoot-first-ask-later cowboy she’d feared.
She dropped the potato she was peeling into the pot. “He’s not in love with me, Anya,” she whispered, casting a look at Roman. Even now he seemed like tightly coiled danger sitting there, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his arms thick in his thermal shirt. The glow from the stove turned the highlights in his golden-brown hair to fire, softened the hard planes of his face. He’d always been cute, but over the years he’d turned hard-edged handsome, with a fierceness to him that both scared her and drew her.
Much like how she’d felt when he’d scooped her up into his arms. And, for the briefest of insane moments, she’d wanted to stay there.
“He’s just an old friend. My brother sent him here to find me.” Sarai raised her voice. “To kidnap me and yank me out of the country.”
“Not kidnap. As long as you come willingly,” said a voice from across the room. He didn’t look up from the paper.
“See. He’s out to wreck my life.” She picked up another potato. Behind her, she heard the paper snap closed, perhaps with even a little tearing. She couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m going out to help Genye hook up the electricity or something.” Roman swept by, grabbed his coat, and slammed the door behind him.
Anya raised her eyebrows as she watched him leave. “I think his pride might be a bit bruised.”
“Or his ego. He’s the most frustrating, determined, aggravating man I’ve ever—”
“Oh, so you’re in love with him too.”
Sarai looked up, threw her potato into the water. “I’m not. Maybe I once was.”
Fearing for Sarai after contacting Dr. Valya in Khanda, Anya and Genye had set out to find her. When the storm worsened, they’d headed north to their dacha, prayin
g that Sarai had thought along the same lines. They’d brought with them warm clothes for Sarai and the key to their root cellar.
Anya rose, stood over the pot of borscht, and cut her potato into it. “Maybe you were in love?”
Sarai gathered the potato shavings and dumped them into the compost basket. “Okay. Yes, probably I was. I mean, it felt like that at the time.”
Anya stayed silent, picked up another potato. But her blue eyes lingered on Sarai’s.
Sarai sighed, sat back down, and wiped her hands on a towel. “We met the summer before medical school. I came over to visit David. He was going to Moscow University. The first time I saw Roman, he was playing street hockey with David. He had on a sleeveless shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and when he smiled at me I thought I felt the earth move. I should have sensed the warning then, but I fell for his charm like a teenager. He was right out of the military, going to school to polish his English before he went off to their version of FBI school. But, you see, he was a brand-new Christian, so I thought, well, maybe he could use all that energy for something else.”
Sarai twisted the towel in her hands. A candle flickered on the table, dim luminance in the darkness. Outside, night pushed against the windowpanes and hid the wind that rattled the door. “I guess I fooled myself into thinking that he wanted to do what I wanted to do—spread the gospel by helping people. I remember once, as we were riding the Ferris wheel at Gorky Park, he told me he wanted to do what it took to save lives and souls.” She glanced at him outside, in the pale light of a lantern, cutting wood. He had strong arms and a stance that made swinging the ax a sort of mesmerizing dance. “I guess he was just trying to get me to kiss him.”
She blinked away the memory of his success, of being wrapped in his embrace under a full moon while it waxed the Volga River. Yeah, at the time, she’d done a great job of lying to herself.
“The thing that hurt the most was that he seemed so perfect. Safe. I could see us together, wherever, working to save lives. He was such a great guy—compassionate, brave, sure about his faith. I got involved in the Bible League while I was in town, and we staged some outreach events, including one at an orphanage. Roman went along—I suspect to make sure I didn’t get into any trouble—but he rounded up the kids and started a game of tag. I watched him, Anya. He laughed and goofed around with them, and you should have seen their faces. A real live Russian hero, a soldier, playing with them.”
Sarai’s eyes burned. “He was tender, sweet and kind, and I probably fell in love with him right then.”
“And never stopped loving him.” Anya set down her knife, sat across from Sarai. “What happened?”
Sarai pressed her fingertips along the corners of her eyes. And here she thought she’d finished crying over Roman Novik. “The Moscow coup. It was near the end of my visit, and somehow I knew that things were going to be over. I kept hinting that maybe he shouldn’t be a soldier, that maybe he could join the Bible League. But he dodged the subject with the skill of, well, a soldier. The day of the coup really drove reality home.”
She closed her eyes, back in Red Square, hearing the explosions, the screams. “I was handing out Bibles near Lenin’s Tomb on Red Square, and suddenly I heard tanks, rumbling down the street. Then gunfire. I didn’t know what was happening. I took off toward GYM—that department store on the other side of the square—and nearly made it to the entrance when suddenly someone jumped me. Right there on the cobblestones. Wow, that hurt, but not as much as it would have if I’d kept running. A Molotov cocktail—one of those bottle bombs—went off right next to me. All I remember is screaming and then a soothing, calm voice in my ear telling me not to be afraid.”
“Roman’s.”
“Of course. He’d been looking for me, and I think he might have saved my life.” Sarai sighed, aware now that it was useless to try to stop crying. “Only, he’d been hit and was bleeding.”
She’d sat up, dazed, hurt, and very afraid. And then she’d taken a look at Roman and her world dimmed Right then she’d seen the future. Saw him beaten, bloody, and then dead—in the line of duty. And knew that her heart would shatter into a bazillion pieces if she stayed with him.
“He’s a soldier, Anya. And I can’t change that. He’s not interested in being a missionary. He doesn’t give a second thought to risking his life. Just dives right in.”
Anya smiled, covered Sarai’s hand with hers. “A lot like someone else I know.”
Sarai opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, “It’s not the same thing. I’d die for a good cause. Besides, I’m not in any immediate danger.”
Anya nodded slowly. “What exactly does Roman do?”
“I guess he catches bad guys. Risks his life, just like David, to save the world.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Because maybe that’s what he’s good at—”
Anya raised one eyebrow. “So, would you say he’s called to be a cop? That God intended him for that?”
Sarai narrowed her eyes. “Stop, Anya.”
“No, you stop. Just because you’re supposed to be a doctor and missionary doesn’t mean everyone is.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t believe it.”
“I do.”
“Just not for Roman.”
“I asked him once if he considered being a missionary. He told me that not everyone is cut out to do that. But he is cut out for it. I know it. What’s worse, he’s going to die, and it’ll be for no good reason.”
Anya leaned back, arms akimbo. “Like, ah, saving the world?”
Sarai looked away, at the crackling flames in the stove.
“I think this has more to do with your fear of him getting killed than your disappointment in him. I think you fell in love with him because he was charming, but also brave. He embodied the kind of person you respect. Then, seeing him bloody really hit home as to exactly who he was and scared you all the way to America and out of his life. And I think you carry your self-righteousness as a barricade to losing your heart to him.”
Sarai opened her mouth. Ouch. When did Anya develop X-ray vision to see all the way to her heart? “That’s not true. If he were here, helping me, we’d be risking our lives together. He just has so much potential to be more. And he’s blown it.”
“I’m thrilled you think so highly of me,” said a low voice.
Sarai looked up. Roman stood in the doorway, wearing a dark expression.
10
“You know, some women might be pleased that they had a guy around to protect them.” Roman stalked across the room and dropped an armload of wood into the bin. He turned, brushing off his jeans, his black parka.
“I don’t need a—”
“Hero. I know.” He shook his head. “Believe me, I know.” He advanced toward her just as she bounced to her feet. “Sadly, you’d better get used to it because like it or not, you’ve got one.”
He left her standing there as he strode out into the cold for another load of wood.
“You okay?” Genye asked as he passed him.
Roman said nothing, letting the snow wash over him and cool the fine layer of sweat on his brow. He gathered the logs he’d spent the past ten minutes chopping and turned back to the dacha.
Sarai stood on the porch, wearing her parka, hunched against the wind that caught her hair, ran it into her eyes. “Can I help?”
Nyet. “Yeah. Try to remember that I’m on your side.”
She leaned against the railing as he tromped in past her. Only, she didn’t follow him inside.
Women. He dumped the load, then cast a look at Genye loading the fire, and stalked back outside.
The snow continued to fall, burying them in its frozen grasp. But under the gleam of the outside light, the drifting of gentle flakes seemed wondrous in their softness. Sarai stared out into the darkness, her hands in her sleeves. She was shivering slightly, but would she put on a hat or even go back inside?
Nyet. Because she didn’t think about hersel
f or her needs. Didn’t realize that hurting herself hurt him too. And hurt the people who loved and cared for her. She thought only about her precious career.
He just has so much potential to be more. Sarai’s words dug a hole through his chest. Again, not good enough. He should be scabbed over by now.
“Roman?” Her voice sounded sad, even resigned.
“What?”
She stiffened and he felt instantly sorry. Well, a little sorry. He came over beside her, turned and leaned back against the rail. She didn’t look at him.
“Is it true that you were shattered when I left?” she asked.
He sighed, folding up his collar. “It’s cold out, Sarai. Let’s go inside.”
She glanced at him, and the wind skimmed her blonde hair back from her face. Red paths down her cheeks betrayed the tracks of tears, and he felt something chew at his stomach.
“Is it?”
He clenched his jaw. “I was hurt, yes. But I got over you.” Liar, liar.
She nodded. “Me too.” She looked back out into the cold. “The thing is, I saw our future, Roman, and I knew you weren’t going to give up being a hero…and, well, I just think you could have been so much more.”
You said that already, thanks. He shook his head, leaned up from the rail, and stalked two paces from her. “I know you think I’m just after parades and medals, but the truth is, I’m good at my job. I’m not cut out to be the guy you want…a pastor?” He gave a scoffing noise. “Right. I can’t string two words together on my reports. But I’m pretty good at untangling the right from the wrong and I usually get my man.”
Not my woman.
“I know. David tells me.” She looked down at the accumulating snow. “If I were to tell the truth, I know that what you do is good. I’m…afraid you’ll end up bloodied in my arms.”
“As could you. There are no guarantees in this life, Sar. You and I could get killed tomorrow, crossing the street.” He moved closer to her, smelled lilac on her hair as the wind turned in his direction.
She turned, stared up at him. Oh, she was so close he could trace the shades of green in her beautiful eyes, and if he leaned, just a little—
Never Say Goodbye Page 11