Vermilion Justice

by Sheri Lewis Wohl

  “I remember,” Riah said. She had never seen Adriana quite this wound up. Something interesting must have happened.

  “Yeah, well, if you remember, in the cemetery that night I had to use the dagger with the precious stones to open the veil between here and Tigeran. A mad skill, if I do say so.” Her words were a breathless rush of pure energy.

  A mad skill was an understatement. Riah had been on the other side of the country on that horrible night, although she’d been able to sense the danger that confronted the woman she loved with all her heart. Adriana had been under incredible pressure and yet, even in the face of almost certain death, managed to save herself and all of them as well. “Right, and your aunt took the dagger back to Tigeran.”

  “Why, yes, she did, and I figured that was the end of that. Not so, my pretty. Now, with these—” she waved her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers, “I just managed to open a righteous doorway.”

  “To Tigeran?” If she wasn’t impressed enough before, Riah certainly was now. She loved watching Adriana progressively embrace her potential and was even more awed by the sheer power packed into one tiny body. Why she’d resisted the love that grew between them for such a long time was a mystery to her these days. Usually she was a little brighter than that.

  Adriana shook her head. “No, not the motherland. Different. More like I peeled away layers and opened up a window to the past. I was here but it wasn’t the same, if you catch my drift. I wish I could describe it better because it was incredible. Pretty sweet.”

  “Time travel?” A tingle flickered up Riah’s spine. The idea was both intriguing and alluring. Through the years she’d heard whispers that some had the ability to walk between worlds, to open portals or wormholes and move from time to time. Until now, she hadn’t given the rumors much credence. Now she wondered if she should have listened a little closer to those whispers. What if she could go back…say five hundred years before a certain Rodolphe showed up in her life? How great would that be?

  Then again, if that happened, she’d lose Adriana and the chance to know the kind of love that made everything worthwhile. Going back would change everything, bad and good. As much as she hated Rodolphe, she guessed she’d stay right here. The advantages weren’t worth the risk.

  Adriana shook her head. “No, not like that. It didn’t feel like time travel, more like opening a door that was already here, and all it took was a little presto-chango magic for me to see it. Whatever it was, let me just say it was righteous.” Waving her hands out in a wide arc, she said, “If I can do that, who knows what else I can make happen. Yeah, I rock.”

  Riah took one of Adriana’s hands and pulled her down to the sofa. She captured her face between her palms and kissed her. She loved the feel of her lips against hers, the soft, sweet touch. If she lived a thousand years, she’d never tire of her. “Yes, you most certainly rock and are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”

  Adriana’s smile was slow and sexy. She winked. “You just say that ’cause you’re hot for my body.”

  Those chocolate eyes staring into hers made her breath quicken and pulse race. “I say it because it’s true. On the other hand, no doubt about it, I’m absolutely hot for your body.” And she proceeded to show her exactly how hot.

  *

  The cab driver pulled up in front of a three-story white hotel with tidy red shutters dusted with the finest trace of snow. The paint was just beginning to peel here and there, the front steps chipped at the edges. Not exactly the Davenport Hotel back home with its gold-covered entrance and gleaming front façade. Or the gorgeous luxury hotel with its baroque style in downtown Bucharest. Charming nonetheless. She’d like to care but didn’t. It was a place to sleep, that’s all.

  As far as she’d been concerned, she could have slept in the airport. Alexandru wouldn’t hear of it. He’d made the reservation, telling her it was a quiet place where she’d enjoy a relaxing and comfortable evening. He’d told her it embodied the true flavor of Romania, to make her stay memorable, and she’d simply gone along.

  It was difficult to worry about details like where to stay. One place was as good as any. She had to hand it to Alexandru, though. He certainly knew his city. So far, it was definitely living up to his recommendation. Hopefully the relaxing and comfortable part held up too.

  At the moment, a bed—any bed—would be welcome, even if she seriously doubted sleep was an option. Away from the hustle and bustle of the heart of the city, this quaint hotel might turn out to be a nice place to rest before continuing her difficult journey. Alexandru had sensed her real needs from across the Atlantic, even if she’d been oblivious to them. Quite the guy, and she hadn’t even met him yet.

  Maybe she would sleep and maybe she wouldn’t. It was time to put one foot in front of the other. The sooner she moved forward, the sooner she could go home. She paid the driver and got out of the cab, holding the single suitcase she’d traveled halfway around the world with.

  The woman who greeted Lura as she stepped up to the check-in counter was about forty, with dark hair cut short and curled around her friendly face. The woman gave her a smile that broadened as Lura dusted off her Romanian and gave it a go. Once again she said a silent prayer of thanks for her parents’ emphasis on early language education. The words and phrases came back to her with surprising ease.

  A foreign diplomat, Father had always insisted she have at least a conversational grasp of the language in whatever country her family happened to be stationed in. Her mother, a first-generation Mexican American, was fluent in her immigrant parents’ native Spanish. Lura grew up speaking it as easily as she did English. Still did.

  The choice of Sofia as her nanny was part of their grand plan to expose their only child to other languages as a small child. They weren’t content with gifting Lura with her father’s English and her mother’s Spanish. Their aim for their only child was so much higher.

  Their linguistic gift had served her well through the years, though frankly, she’d never really expected to use Sofia’s Romanian. Though it came back to her quickly now, she didn’t possess a skill with the language anywhere close to Vic’s fluency. Still, it was enough to make her exchange with the desk clerk go very well, and she and the clerk seemingly became instant friends. The little things did make her grateful.

  The room the clerk, Rita, showed her was small and clean, though it didn’t have its own bathroom. Instead, it shared one with the guest room next door. Alexandru had neglected to mention that part of the hotel’s charm when he sang its praises. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing those details of her life and didn’t much care for the thought now.

  Not to worry, Rita told her before she had a chance to protest. The other room wasn’t rented so the bathroom was essentially all hers. She hoped the relief she was feeling at that news didn’t register like a neon sign on her face. Company was about the last thing she wanted at the moment, particularly when it concerned things like a shower.

  She thanked Rita, then closed and locked the door before leaning back against its solid wood surface. For a long time she simply stood there while she concentrated on breathing in and out. No matter how hard she tried to keep it together, she was anything but together. She always advised her patients to take things one step at a time, and that’s exactly what she should do now. If not…well, she didn’t really want to think about that.

  Finally, she pushed away from the door, picked up her suitcase, and tossed it onto the bed. While she still had enough energy to at least change her clothes, getting comfortable held a lot of appeal. Sleep was a great plan, even if she didn’t honestly think it would happen. Since Alexandru’s first call, she hadn’t been able to sleep, and it showed big-time. She had no illusions about her appearance; she looked like crap.

  Since the bathroom was all hers, she might as well make the most of her solitary status. A warm bath in the old claw-footed tub would go a long way toward easing the tension in her body. Whether it would have the power to slow t
he racing of her mind, she didn’t know. Sliding into the deep tub filled with warm water, she closed her eyes and let the tension flow away.

  When she crawled out half an hour later, she did feel a little better. She toweled off and slipped into a T-shirt and sweats.

  Back in her room, she brushed the long blond hair she should have cut years ago and stared at her reflection in the mirror. At least her shoulders weren’t knotted up any more, but even the relaxation of the warm bath hadn’t done a thing for her appearance.

  Lord knows she hadn’t been sleeping lately, but to say she looked terrible was a sad understatement. Though she was never a slave to tanning, at the moment the color of her skin appeared more like she was a slave to darkness. Given where she was, it was almost funny. If her face got any whiter, the folks around here might begin to believe she was a victim of Dracula. Or, rather, Vlad the Impaler, as they preferred to call him in this part of the world. Yes, she was most definitely in full-on Goth.

  The dusky circles under her eyes were a good touch too. Looked an awful lot like somebody had punched her in both eyes. What a sight, and not in a good way. Tossing the brush to the dresser, she walked out to the small balcony for a little fresh air. The mirror was not her friend, and she certainly didn’t need the reminder of the horrible state of her life.

  Though the rail around the balcony was coated with a fine dusting of rust, she grabbed it with both hands and leaned out. The chilly winter air was crisp and clear, the sky just beginning to take on the scarlet hues of sunset. All around, the sounds of the city created a symphony of vibrant life. People were going about their daily routines of life and love while she stood watching, wrapped up in her own personal crisis. It was a dichotomy only she could appreciate.

  Stepping away from the rail, Lura looked down at her palms, smudged deep orange from the rust. The flecks of color contrasted sharply with her pasty white skin. She should go in and wash it away, yet she didn’t. All of a sudden, her legs refused to move. Instead, she tried to banish the orange stains: brushing, rubbing…harder, harder, harder. The rust refused to be cleared away from the soft skin.

  Damn the stupid rail. A scream rose in her throat before dying away without passing her lips. As quick as the fury came, it passed. What replaced it was worse. Her hands dropped to her sides and her shoulders slumped. Nothing was right about this trip. Or her.

  She was not going to cry. Period. If she gave in to the tide of emotion lurking too close, it was certain to swallow her whole. All the way from the airport to the hotel, she’d managed to hold herself together in the cab. She could do it a little longer. Right?

  Wrong. This time, being strong wasn’t going to cut it. Everything welled up inside, a storm that had been building since long before the terrible phone call. The dam cracked, and when it did, the flood came.

  Alone on the tiny balcony, she cried, tears streaming down her face as if mirroring the rain clouds gathering to the east. Nightfall pushed out what remained of the light, while in the distance, thunder roared, muffling the sounds of her sorrow…her guilt.

  Lura dropped to her knees, stained hands pounding the balcony floor. The sobs she’d held back since learning of Vic’s terrible death racked her tired body. The pain was so intense, she wondered vaguely if it would tear her in half. Tonight she just didn’t care. If she could die right here, right now, it would only be right. She was the one who deserved to be dead. Her—not brilliant, caring Vic.

  She’d come here knowing all along this would be a difficult trip. Only now did she realize how difficult. Vic had come to this country full of high hopes and the best of intentions. Not only were his skills as a doctor needed in a way that couldn’t be matched in the United States, but the chance to spend six months in the country of his mother’s birth was an opportunity too good to pass up.

  He’d asked her to come, and she’d told him her caseload was too heavy to leave. He’d wanted to share his excitement with her, to have her be a part of a great and noble adventure. Instead, she’d sent him alone and with nothing but her shallow blessing. She’d sent him alone because she was too much a coward to tell him the truth.

  And now here she was anyway. They would make the journey together after all. Except, rather than holding his hand, she’d be carrying him back in an urn.

  Overhead, rain burst from the heavy blue-black clouds. Raindrops hit her face and shoulders, splattering the balcony like machine-gun fire. It was as if it was trying to force her inside, to push her away and make her go back where she came from. The rain pounded, telling her it didn’t want her here, that she didn’t belong in this place.

  Despite the barrage, she didn’t go in. She wanted to let the rain punish her, beat her flesh raw, anything that would make the pain in her heart go away. The physical pain was so much better than the emotional burden that nearly broke her shoulders.

  God, it was worse than pain. Pure old-fashioned and very heavy guilt ate at her spirit. She’d sent her husband to this place with a soulless kiss and a false smile. Sent him away with relief because she’d known it would give her six months to try to figure out how to leave him. After five years of marriage, she longed for release, to be free of a man who was gentle, kind, and talented. He was everything most women wanted in a man, yet she wanted to be free of him. And why? Because she could no longer pretend. He deserved a woman who could love him for what he was: a man.

  She wanted a woman.

  He was a knight and she longed for a maiden.

  He was a saint.

  And she was a bitch.

  The truth made her sick inside. Her heart, mind, and soul ached with the knowledge that she’d sent him here with everything except good intentions. What kind of woman did something like that? God, he’d deserved so much better.

  The phone call that came into her office three days ago had changed her world in a way she never anticipated. Freedom was now hers. It came not with a signature at the bottom of a divorce decree but one at the bottom of a death certificate.

  Tomorrow she would meet a kind stranger, drive some eighty kilometers to Tirgoviste to retrieve her husband’s remains, and then take them back to Washington. For all he knew, she was a grieving widow. Her lie was safe.

  Picking herself up, Lura headed for the bathroom. After she toweled herself dry again, she lay down on the bed. If she got even a minute’s worth of sleep, she’d be lucky. With the balcony door open a crack, the cold night air wafted across her skin, and as Lura watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, she wished more than anything to turn back the clock.

  Chapter Two

  Lura was wrong. She’d actually managed to sleep, and quite well, all things considered. Maybe it was the fresh Romanian air, or maybe it was just because she was exhausted. Whatever it was, the rest helped. By the time she was dressed, had her hair braided and her suitcase repacked, it was nearly nine. Alexandru was due to pick her up at half past the hour, and she didn’t want to offend him by being late, particularly considering how gracious he was being to a complete stranger.

  The sun was shining through the balcony doors, and she walked outside to take one last look before heading downstairs. The winter sunshine warmed her face, the air crisp and clean after last night’s rain. Though it was winter here, so far, she hadn’t seen any of the snow she’d fully expected.

  If time wasn’t a factor, she could easily sit here in the sunshine all day, the comfort of it making her feel more like she was home than across the world. The mountains in the distance rose high and intriguing, seeming to beckon her away from the comfort of the balcony. The peaks were snow-capped, reminding her of the view from her own front-room windows.

  No time to dawdle. She had to take her bag and get to the lobby. A long trip lay ahead, and picking up Vic’s ashes was the icing on a not-so-pretty cake.

  Sighing, she turned around and left the sun behind her, pulling her rolling suitcase into the hallway. The door latched with a soft click that echoed in her ears. The sounds were trying to te
ll her something important, if only she would listen. She didn’t want to, just as she didn’t want to hear the whispers that swirled around her, choosing instead to believe it was just her over-tired, over-active imagination.

  Besides, Alexandru was undoubtedly downstairs waiting for her. Important and real business was down the road. It was time to be attentive. That thought gave her a better grasp on the emotions that still wanted to bubble up and engulf her. She didn’t want to go through that again. She was really good at helping others heal, but this physician wasn’t all that good at healing herself.

  Downstairs, a man stood gazing outside, his hands in his pockets. In black slacks and a black jacket, he seemed unaware of her as she came down the stairs. As she reached the bottom, he turned.

  The picture she’d conjured up in her mind after talking to Alexandru certainly didn’t do the man justice. In fact, he’d be downright insulted if he’d been able to read her mind. She’d pictured him as a middle-aged, stocky man of medium height with mousy brown hair and soft eyes. Dead wrong on all counts.

  Smiling and watching her every movement, Alexandru Vizulea was about six feet tall with hair as black as coal and intense blue eyes the color of the ocean off the shores of Hawaii. He was slender, though not skinny, with a handshake that hinted at real power, the touch of his fingers as they wrapped around hers sending sparks up her arm. She almost jumped back at the unexpected sensation.

  “Dr. Tappe,” he said softly, still holding her hand. “So very good to meet you.”

  His English was flawless, his accent sending the words off his tongue with a roll. His eyes never left hers, and even if she’d wanted to, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have been able to pull her gaze away. Intense was the word that rolled through her mind.