So she’d bleached her hair and painted it with colorful stripes, an homage to the brave freedom fighters of Femme Fatale, and she’d mostly stayed inside and had tea with Mr. Kulish and taken her air on the roof.
The cool, blustery wind caressed her skin. She crossed to the perch she’d made her own in those months with Fedir and watched the street below, the evening’s first commuters racing like hamsters running a rodent maze.
Where had Fedir been going every morning if not to Novyye Reshiniya? And why had he carried that gun?
It doesn’t matter. He saved you. Lisko must pay. The mara’s answer came not as words in her eerie hissing voice, but as a certainty, snaking through Katya to lodge in her stomach. And she could only agree. Fedir’s bravery, his loyalty and love were enough. He deserved the vengeance she would bring him.
Chapter 9
Nik gulped down a glass of water, watching the minute hand click forward. She’d been gone three-quarters of an hour. Was that enough time for her to accept her beloved Fedir was probably actually a garden-variety gangster?
A part of Nik wanted to go to her, just to check that she was okay, that she hadn’t flung herself off the rooftop. But he wasn’t much for chasing a woman who’d asked for space from him. In fact, he was usually the one suffering from claustrophobia about five minutes into post-coital cuddling. But this wasn’t that, and she wasn’t even alive, much less hankering for a man to commit.
On the fridge, Dariya had taped up one of her altered comic strips. Wearing a fierce scowl, Batman said, “Femme Fatale is fluff.” But next to him, Clark Kent was ripping open his suit to reveal his Superman get-up. “Stop the presses! Femme Fatale for the front page!”
He couldn’t help but laugh at her strange sense of humor.
The buzzer rang from downstairs. That would be the pizza his self-proclaimed starving niece had demanded seconds after Katya had disappeared. He pressed the intercom.
“Yes?”
“Delivery from Vesuvio's.”
“Great. Come on up.”
Another glance at the clock, another minute passing. If Dariya was hungry, Katya had to be famished. By his niece’s report, Katya had put away a monster breakfast after he’d left that morning, and presumably she’d come back with her tank just as empty.
A knock sounded on the door, and he opened the peephole—a habit he’d formed in the dangerous days before he’d taken the job as culture editor. The delivery guy had on a uniform, carried one of those thermal cases in his left hand while the index finger of his right plundered his nostril.
Disgusting. Nik would take the pizza out of the case himself. But the display left him reasonably confident the guy wasn’t a thug sent by Lisko. He opened the door and took care of the transaction while making as little physical contact with the nose picker as he could manage. Once he’d sent the deliveryman on his way, Nik flipped open the box and stared at the steaming pie. Plenty of food for three.
Still, some reservation kept his feet glued to the floor. So many years as a bachelor had left him a little clueless about this level of female complexity. His timing was pretty good when he stood in a bar and asked if they wanted a drink, or later when he asked if they wanted to go to his place or theirs. But somehow, “I know it sucks that Fedir was a crook. Pizza?” didn’t want to roll so suavely off his tongue.
After his third glance at the clock, his decision was made. He slid two pieces onto a plate, closed the box, and pocketed a corkscrew.
“Pizza’s here. I’m going out,” he called. Then he tucked a dusty bottle of Sofiya’s table wine under his armpit, two glasses in one hand, and the pizza box in another.
Dariya came out of her bedroom just before he reached the front door. “Hey. Where are you going with my grub?”
“Yours is on the counter. I’m picnicking with Katya on the roof.”
She tucked her chin in astonishment. “It’s got to be freezing up there.”
“Good point.” He pulled a blanket Sofiya had knitted off the couch and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he picked up the wineglasses again. “Be a doll and open the door for me.”
She chuckled. “Only because it’s Katya, and I like to see you doing goofy things for her.”
He opened his mouth to defend his actions—nothing about the plan had seemed goofy in his head. Then again, Dariya didn’t know the peculiar circumstances that had sent Katya to the roof. He may as well accept her interpretation of events.
Before she closed the door behind him, she patted his back. “Go get your Lois, Clark.”
He rolled his eyes at his niece. It only took half a flight of stairs for him to reconsider what he’d told her, or rather what he’d failed to tell her. If she got her hopes up about Katya, she might feel the loss keenly when the ghost eventually went away to wherever ghosts went. And yet, having someone to talk to had clearly been good for his niece. Was there some way for her to enjoy the benefit of Katya’s company without getting hurt?
At the roof, he managed to get the heavy door open with both hands full and found Katya sitting on an upside-down five-gallon bucket, her hair a wild, white-blond and blue-purple halo, her elbows propped on the low wall, chin in her palm. She looked like some kind of pristine angel, observing the earthly noise and grime of the city from high above, yet she wore his clothes. His. A stupid, meaningless detail, and yet it stirred something possessive in him.
She turned to him, and her pretty lips slowly parted with surprise and spread into a smile. Of all the things he’d expected, it wasn’t for her to be happy to see him. His heart decided to skip a few beats. Good thing he was laden with picnic supplies, or he might have crossed over to her and done something that a man shouldn’t do to a woman grieving another man’s death.
She came to him and caught the wine bottle, which had been steadily slipping down his rib cage. “What’s all this?”
He shrugged, not entirely sure what any of it was. “Dinner? An apology?”
The tiny crease in her brow was so cute. “For what? You only told me what you’d learned.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person on earth to get mad at the messenger.”
“No, but I’d be stupid to, when the messenger was trying to help me.” She took the wineglasses, which allowed him to use both hands to set down the pizza.
Technically, the messenger was trying to learn everything he could to bring Lisko to justice, but helping her had become a part of that mission, so he didn’t argue. He yanked the blanket off his shoulder and draped it over hers. “Are you hungry?”
She eyed the box. “From Vesuvio’s? God, yes.”
Katya sat cross-legged next to where he’d set the box and cracked the lid. Even from a foot away, he could smell the fragrant steam, and her eyes actually rolled back in her head. Like a chain reaction, his dick came to attention. He wanted to pin her underneath him and give her more sensations to relish. Instead, he set about opening the bottle of wine. This wasn’t for fun. She wasn’t a hook-up or a fantasy. She was real and hurting, and they both had a mission.
She took a huge bite and a thread of cheese sagged between her lips and the slice. After she chewed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand because, of course, he’d forgotten napkins, she spoke. “Okay, so I’m not accepting Fedir is a bad guy, but I will cooperate with you if you need to operate under that premise.”
He snorted, passing her a glass of wine. “I think you missed your calling as a politician. That was beautifully crafted doublespeak.”
“It’s not.” She accepted the glass with the hand not holding her slice. “It’s just how I feel. I trust further investigation will vindicate him.”
She took another bite and her chewing wasn’t exactly ladylike. But, damn, there was just something sexy about a woman with an appetite. Possibly because he’d enjoyed helping her satisfy another appetite so much.
He took a deep gulp of wine. “Fine. Then help me understand something. Why did Lisk
o kill you? If the Belovs sent him, he’d have been under orders to bring you back safely, not on ice.”
She watched him over the slice of pizza, taking time to carefully chew and swallow. Then she took a deep breath. “Lisko didn’t mean to kill me. It was an accident.”
Nikolai had reached into the box of pizza and grabbed hold of a slice, but he dropped it back onto the greasy cardboard and brushed cornmeal off his hands. “He doesn’t seem like a man to make that kind of mistake. He’s cool under fire.”
“Maybe so, but I can tell you, it wasn’t on purpose.”
“Perhaps he wanted to eliminate you as a witness?” Though men like Lisko, with the political protection his family enjoyed, tended to operate with impunity. Maybe he was the sort who enjoyed killing innocent women.
“No.” She set down her pizza like she’d lost her appetite. “Will you just believe me on this one, even if you can’t about Fedir?”
He wished he could take back the question, that he’d let her just enjoy a meal before interrogating her about her death. Was she remembering her pain, her fear, Fedir?
“Okay, sure.” He topped off her wine, though she hadn’t really sipped much of it. “I believe you.” Or at least, he believed she believed it.
“Thanks.” She took a long drink, and he went to work on his slice. “And thanks for the pizza, and the wine, and the blanket. It was really nice of you to do all this.”
She made it sound like he’d brought her champagne and caviar. “No problem, really.”
Her answering smile was unreadable, and she drank more wine, looking up at a darkening sky. Her pink tongue darted out to catch a red drop, and when she opened her mouth again, he expected a comment about the weather.
“I tried to save Fedir. That’s how I know it was an accident. Lisko only shot me because I jumped in front of Fedir just as he pulled the trigger. The look on his face—he was freaked out. He wanted Fedir dead, but he felt bad about killing me.”
“Chert.” Nikolai tossed his crust into the box and pulled ran his hands into his hair. “You took a bullet for Fedir? Died for him?” This man who might very well prove to be some sort of confederate of the Belovs.
“I did. Gladly.” She met Nikolai’s gaze, hers clear but still dark with pain. “I owed him my life, my freedom, and my dignity. I still owe him everything. I tried to pay him back and failed, and that’s why I have to make Lisko pay.”
Nikolai understood that sense of debt, of responsibility. He was still trying to atone for the one he’d failed to prevent. He couldn’t alter the death of the athlete, but he could spend the rest of his life in the fight for justice to pay for it. And here was Katya, doing more or less the same thing.
He knew what it felt like to be indebted to someone, and he knew very well what that feeling was not. Which might explain why she’d had dream sex with him while still grieving Fedir. God, women were complicated when you looked under the hood, which is why he made a point of not giving them tune-ups. His writer’s mind went further down the rabbit hole, searching for a metaphor to describe what he did do with women—bodywork? Exterior detailing? Whatever it was, he stayed mostly on the surface.
So why the hell was he dying to point this out, to say this to her? What would it even accomplish? He inched his way to the wall rimming the rooftop and leaned against it, scanning the horizon as the sun dipped low on the other side of the Dnieper, setting the clouds afire with its golden-orange rays.
She tossed her second pizza crust into the box and cast him a glance. “You’re wearing quite a forbidding look. Do I want to know what you’re thinking?”
“Probably not.”
“Perhaps I should tell you some jokes. You have a very handsome smile. At least, I think you do. I’ve only seen it once.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.” But her little ploy had worked, the corners of his mouth pulling against his efforts to scowl at her.
She crawled over to sit next to him, leaning against the wall. “You’re not bad at all. I only wish you and Dariya didn’t grieve so much.”
It was a kind thing to say, and her tone conveyed a caring deeper than casual condolence, or even the personal concern you might share with someone you’d spent a rollercoaster of a day allied with. It left him speechless, but he managed a grunt in acknowledgement.
“Perhaps because you moved into my former home, and your grief resonated so very much with mine. I truly wish I could ease your suffering.”
Christ. Now his mouth was full of things to say, half shamelessly dirty and half just the sort of emotional meddling he made a rule to avoid. He took a swig of wine, but the words refused to wash away. And perhaps he owed it to this strange woman, so loyal to Fedir, so compassionate toward Dariya and him, to point out what had become obvious to him.
“Your concern for us is appreciated. But what of your suffering, Katya?”
She also took a sip of wine, then closed her eyes and tilted her face into the golden sunset so that it illuminated her lovely profile and truly turned her hair into a halo of flame like she was an icon in a church, aglow with holy radiance. If he weren’t a totally sacrilegious bastard, that alone might have kept him from thinking about her naked, moving over him, her head tossed back at the very same angle, lips parted to let out jagged breaths.
He shifted his legs to adjust the angle of his growing erection.
“My suffering isn’t important, and if we succeed, it will be over soon.”
That comment begged his earlier question—where would she go when it was over? But something tenacious inside him had bit down on this point like a dog on a bone, and it wasn’t ready to let go.
“Do you miss Fedir?”
Her pretty mouth twisted with pain. “Of course.”
“But I think, when you said you loved him, that you meant you feel indebted to him.”
“Yes, but not only that.” She let her head fall forward and turned to look at him. “He loved me, and I guess I loved him for that.”
Some determined emotion hammered inside Nik, hungry for her concessions, her admissions. What a selfish prick. He should just let it lie, let her be at peace with what she’d shared with Fedir. But his journalist’s mind raced with all the probing questions.
She set down her wineglass, gazing into it. “I always knew he wasn’t the one, but he made me feel safe, and good, and cared for, and he didn’t give a damn about my parents, and that meant so much. I regretted I couldn’t return his feelings, and I knew eventually I would have to leave him. I just wasn’t ready to break it off yet.” She darted her gaze very quickly to Nik. “When I saw you, though, it was different. Not about safety or gratitude. Just want, like I’d never felt before.”
Everything she’d said to him pointed to this truth, this bone his tenacious inner investigator could not let go of—Katya was not a woman who let herself want things, or who spared any sympathy for herself. And yet she’d indulged her desire for him. His whole body was on fire with the truth of it.
“And now?” he asked. “Do you still want me?”
Her answer came as a tiny nod of her chin.
With all that stood between them, it was hardly enough. “You’re sure?”
A smile, small and sad but unmistakable, stretched her lips. “It feels like the only thing I’m sure of.”
Then he was on her, knocking over the wineglass, pressing her down on the hard surface of the roof, sliding his tongue between her wine-flavored lips.
Her arms came around his neck and she broke the kiss. “It feels like I’m all want. And nothing else matters. Don’t let me forget Fedir.”
If he’d been in his right mind, it might have dampened his desire. But he was entirely consumed and in no position to make such a promise. Plus, there might have been some portion of that siren song in her mouth.
Still, he said, “I won’t.” And then he went back to devouring her mouth, getting his hands up inside her sweatshirt to find those swe
et breasts, grinding his cock against her pelvic bone because she’d wrapped her legs around his waist and was rocking her hips and begging for more.
Chapter 10
Katya swam in the sensation of Nikolai’s big form pressing her flat, making her more real and alive than ever.
Then she felt the vibration against her hip—his phone.
“Chert.” He growled into her neck, his stubble rubbing delicious friction. “Ignore it.” He began to trace a lazy line along the shell of her ear with his tongue. She went limp as shivery tingles spread over her skin. No one had ever licked her ear before. No one had ever made her body so happy or so needy. She could almost forget she was dead, could almost forget why she’d remained on this side of the afterlife.
The phone buzzed again, and his body went stiff over her.
“Just check it,” she said. “What if Dariya’s calling because there’s an emergency?”
He grunted and shifted his weight onto his knees, kneeling between her legs to free the phone—a task evidently made harder by the erection straining against his fly and taking up too much room in his pants. When he finally got a grip on the device and looked at the screen, he pressed his lips together before re-pocketing the phone and lowering his face to her neck again. His kiss was like a saltshaker of electric sparks on her skin.
She angled her head to give him access to more of her sensitized flesh. “Who was it?”
“Just a text from Dariya.”
“What did she say?”
“She wants us to come back. They’re covering the Lisko trial on the news, but I saw his press conference live. I don’t need the playback.”
Katya pushed one hand against his chest and considered thwacking him upside the head with the other one. “It’s not about you. She needs to see it, but she doesn’t want to watch it alone.”
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