Her Russian Bears

by Sinclair, Ava

  She pulled her hand back, but his keen hearing had already caught the swift, soft inhale of her breath, had noted the slight but sudden dilation of her pupils. He breathed in, detecting the presence of pheromones she didn’t realize she was emitting.

  Stubborn woman indeed, but one seeking strength in those she challenged. She thought she wanted to win. But Mikhail Barinov knew females, and realized she wanted something quite different, even if she didn’t know it.

  “Indeed, this is a bear,” he said, leafing through the pictures. “And the frightened man is Yuri Adanov. Of course, I am not in the photos,” he said, handing them back.

  “A source said you were visiting that day.”

  Mikhail threw up his hands. “You have me, Agent Rowe. Good work. I brought the bear into your country and rode it from the airport to the ambassador’s residence.”

  He almost smiled at how she was trying to keep her anger in check.

  “Mr. Barinov,” she said evenly. “ You can make light of this if you want, but there was enough evidence to launch an investigation based on what looks like a clandestine travel plan, a report of your being the only visitor at the ambassador’s home that day and…”

  “I was there that day,” he admitted. “I was with Yuri.” He stared at her. “I saw no bear. And I would not smuggle one into your country. I detest smugglers and trophy hunters.”

  “Do you mind telling me the nature of your business with Mr. Adanov?”

  He took a long sip of his Scotch before answering. “Can I not visit an old friend?”

  But she pressed him, persistent. “Did it have anything to do Adanov’s connections with Ellis Bingham of Bingham Outfitters? It’s no secret that the two men have become quite close, or that Bingham is eager to expand the number of import permits for wealthy American hunters who want to bring home a trophy bear from this region.” She arched a brow. “You’re a miner, right? The killing of miners in 2008 seemed an isolated incident until they started again this past winter. You lost four miners in a week, and our reports indicate that some of your workers refuse to return. It seems to me that these bears threaten your interests, Mr. Barinov, so please understand if I find it difficult to believe that you’re opposed to thinning them out.”

  He stood and walked over to her. “This is the second time you have questioned my honesty,” he said, leaning over her. “I am keeping track, Agent Rowe.”

  She fell silent. He could see the uncertainty in her expression, could see how badly she was struggling to make a case that didn’t make sense even to her. He placed the photos back in her lap and she stared down at them. Mikhail felt almost guilty for toying with her. He knew what happened that day. He knew that the photos showed a bear because he was the bear. She was close to the truth, but also farther away than she could ever imagine.

  “Look,” she finally said, her tone almost conciliatory. “This isn’t an inquisition. It’s a fact-finding mission. I’m here in the hopes that you will be open with me. That’s why we’re seeking some kind of cooperation with you before we get the IFAW or INTERPOL involved.”

  He pointed at the photos. “If you had actual proof, I’d think they’d already be involved. But you only have photos of a bear, and a hair sample that could have come from any museum or zoo. You will find no answers to your mystery here, Agent Rowe. But to prove to you that I have nothing to hide, I’m happy to show you around.”

  She looked up at him, as if considering whether to take him up on the offer.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, standing.

  “You will need your coat,” he said. “It’s starting to snow.” He nodded toward the window.

  “It wasn’t forecasted to snow,” she said.

  He chuckled. “The weather,” he said, “is like a woman. She changes her mind.”

  He could tell by her expression that she didn’t appreciate the sexist comparison.

  “Follow me,” he said as she reached for her coat. Mikhail led her through the main room.

  “What about Dr. Kolov?” she asked.

  “With your indulgence, Agent Rowe, I have an errand to run,” Ivan replied, shooting his cousin a knowing look. There was the issue of Viktor, and both knew that he needed to be found, and found quickly.

  “You’ll be in my safekeeping until Dr. Kolov returns to take you to the village,” Mikhail said.

  “Sure… um… that will be fine,” she conceded as his cousin left. She seemed reluctant, hesitant. But Mikhail was being deliberately cordial, and knew she was torn between uncertainty of being alone with him and her desire to use the opportunity to find anything she could use for her case.

  “We will head out this way,” he said, gesturing to another door across the drawing room. But as they were heading out, she stopped.

  “May I ask you about this painting?” she said. “It’s very unusual. It looks very old.”

  Mikhail nodded, acknowledging the stylized rendering of a bear that stared menacingly down from its confines of an ornate frame. It wore a crown on its head.

  “It is very old,” he said. “It’s been in my family since I can remember.”

  “That crown on the bear’s head,” she observed. “That’s from Russia’s Imperial Era.”

  “You have an astute eye, Jordan Rowe,” he said, looking down at her.

  She turned to face him. “Mr. Barinov, why is the bear wearing a crown?”

  “Bears are revered here. To live on this peninsula is to live among bears, to know and respect them. They are adaptive, powerful, and noble. They are royalty among the beasts of this world.”

  She gestured to the mounted animal heads surrounding the painting. “You’re a hunter?”

  “Yes,” he said. Her eyes scanned the heads.

  “Trophies?”

  “I told you, Jordan Rowe. I don’t believe in trophy hunting,” he said. “I was raised to eat what I kill.”

  “Do you eat wolves?” She nodded at the lone wolf head.

  “No. That one was out of his territory,” he said. “And I did not kill him. But my father did.”

  She stared at the wolf and crossed her arms. As Mikhail watched, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth and worried it as she continued to peruse the mounted heads. “No bears? I’d think someone who hunted would have a bear head on the wall. Especially now with bears encroaching on human territory.”

  “The bear and the human are both apex predators,” he said. “It would be like killing an equal.”

  “So you don’t think animals that stalked and killed humans should be removed from the population? Or as a mine owner do you consider your workers expendable?”

  “There is a balance between man and beast, Jordan Rowe—balance that must be respected. Some of us understand it better than others.” He turned and headed toward the door. “But enough of this. Time is wasting and dark is coming. Let us go outside.”

  She followed him without further questions, at least for the moment, although when he looked back he noted how she took everything in. His house was ancient, the balustrades of the staircases ornately carved with images of bears and trees. Expensive modern art and sculpture shared space with old Russian oil paintings and pottery.

  The agent had donned her coat, and once outside he could tell she was worried about the weather. The snow was falling harder, and she’d been right; the storm had not been predicted.

  “I could take you to the village now,” he offered, “if you’re worried.” He wasn’t surprised when she declined.

  “I’ll wait for Dr. Kolov,” she said. “And I’d like to see the rest of the property.”

  “Of course.” He gestured toward her coat. “Are you cold? I can get you something warmer.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, and he nodded. It was difficult, sometimes, remembering that those who weren’t BearKynd did not possess the elevated body temperature and tolerance to cold that he did. He’d not even thought to don a jacket over the tight black turtleneck sweater that he wore.

/>   “This way,” he said, leading her down the back steps to a sloping back yard. Mikhail found himself reaching out to hold the agent’s arm as she navigated the stony terrain.

  Mikhail’s house sat on a ridge overlooking the village, and she stopped, looking at the structures below.

  “They’re called dachas, right?” she asked, pointing at the small, colorful houses common among Russian villagers. Smoke curled from some of the chimneys, and the residents—the older ones in old-fashioned clothing—moved along the narrow unpaved streets.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Are they afraid of the bears?” She paused. “I may interview some of them.” She was looking at him, and Mikhail sensed that she was gauging his response, seeing if it made him nervous. And it did, but he didn’t show it.

  “This way,” he said without answering.

  At the bottom of the slope was a building with huge, heavy double doors. Mikhail swung them open to reveal several vehicles.

  “Feel free to go in and look for dancing bears,” he told her. She didn’t respond, but she did go in, examining the all-terrain vehicles. Mikhail was patient as she walked around.

  He took her to another building, this one stocked with wood, and another filled with woodworking materials.

  “Yours?” she asked, pointing to a half-carved eagle.

  “Everything here is mine,” he said, leaning against a bench.

  “It’s very good,” she said.

  Outside, the wind rattled the eaves. She was worrying her lip again, looking around. There was defeat in her eyes. She was disappointed.

  “My cousin is not back yet,” he said. “I could take you to the village.”

  “Um. Yeah. That would be a good idea.”

  They walked back to the house. Mikhail excused himself as Jordan gathered her belongings. It did not take long to call the inn where he knew she’d booked a room and tell them to lose her reservation.

  Two hours later, after watching her fail to explain to the clerk that she’d paid for a room, he stepped forward and offered to help. Of course, nothing could be done. He conveyed his apologies to a very upset American agent, and then offered her the only option there was. He had plenty of room in his house. She was welcome to stay the night, the only condition of his hospitality being that she keep to her room. He could tell she was hesitant for any number of reasons, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Mikhail Barinov did not need this American woman poking around in the village and asking questions that might get back to Boris Volen. He’d keep her at his place tonight and then make sure she was on a plane home tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  Nothing was going as planned. And it wasn’t just the roadblocks in her investigation.

  Jordan paced the comfortable room Mikhail Barinov had so generously offered. She was supposed to be at an inn in the village, an inn she’d been assured had Wi-Fi. But she was here, and her host had apologetically informed her when they’d arrived back from the village that he did not have Wi-Fi.

  “I’m not a technical person,” he’d said almost apologetically. “But tomorrow we can take you somewhere so you can email whoever you want.”

  So here she was, with no information in the home of the man she was investigating.

  “Fuck this,” she said.

  So far, the most positive thing she could say about the trip was that she’d remembered to pack warm pajamas.

  Jordan had slipped them on after taking a long bath that she’d hoped might relax her. The amenities of the guest room were probably nicer than the tumbledown village inn. The bathtub had been huge, with a special rack for the towels that kept them heated. The floor, too, was heated; the ancient house obviously had undergone some upgrades to make it a haven against the cold wilderness just outside the door.

  Still, she had more questions than answers about its owner, and told herself that she was not going to leave the Kamchatka Peninsula without at least one solid lead. She’d go to the village tomorrow. She’d go, find an interpreter, and then she’d find someone to talk.

  Jordan walked to the bed and pulled down the comforter, suddenly tired. But as she did, she happened to glance out the window. Something had caught her eye. A glimmer of light reflecting off something shiny.

  She walked over and looked down. The moon was out following the earlier snow, and she noticed now that its light was glinting off a surface. It was a roof of a building beyond the tree line she’d walked that day—a building that Barinov had not shown her.

  Jordan had not seen her host since he’d shown her to her room. He’d told her his housekeeper would bring up dinner, and apologized that he would not be dining with her, but had some things he needed to attend to. Part of her felt disappointed. Something about Mikhail Barinov and his cousin fascinated her. She told herself it was the puzzle of the investigation, but deep down, she knew it was something more.

  She’d been used to dealing with sexist men, and a man who treated her differently based on her gender usually garnered her instant disdain. But something about these men… perhaps it was the cultural difference, but their chauvinism had an unusual effect that made her flush to admit. When she’d taken her panties off before bathing, the panel had been soaked with arousal, and the thought of their muscle-bound arms, broad chests, and infuriating slow smiles had her pussy throbbing.

  But she was glad to feel all that receding now as she looked out the window, down at the roof of the building. Jordan had always been one to go on instinct, and instinct told her that the answer to this mystery may be in this building.

  A challenge.

  She slipped a fresh sweater over her pajamas and donned her boots, gloves, and parka. She’d go out the way Mikhail had shown her earlier. If she came upon him in the house, she’d tell him that she just needed some fresh air. If not, she’d use the moonlight as a guide to the woods. She’d eyeballed the direction to take through the small patch of trees. She was an experienced hiker. She could do this.

  Jordan checked the battery on her phone. She’d need the flashlight app when she got into the woods.

  The house was quiet. Somewhere she could hear the sound of a radio or television. Whoever was in the house with her was preoccupied. At the back door, she stopped, worrying that there might be an alarm. But there was no sign of one, and she slipped out quietly.

  It was so cold her eyes watered. Jordan zipped the parka up until the fur-lined hood covered her mouth and nose. She kept her head down, inhaling the warmth of her own breath as she walked swiftly down the slope and toward the stand of firs she’d seen from her bedroom window.

  Her teeth were chattering by the time she reached the tree line, although it was as much from nerves as from the cold. The small patch of forest seemed to swallow her up when she entered. The moon moved behind a cloud and the darkness made her feel blind. She fished in her pocket for her iPhone and put the flashlight on the lowest setting. The beam of light in the dark only illuminated a small area, and made the surrounding dark seem more ominous.

  But she began to walk, the movement warming her a bit, keeping herself on the north-northwest path she’d plotted from the window.

  The patch of woods was not just darker than she imagined, but also larger. Jordan wiggled her fingers to keep them from going numb as she found and picked up a small path that emerged to her relief. Its direction, she could tell, would lead her to the building.

  She could hear something in the distance now, something coming through the trees, but from another direction. It was a vehicle. She stopped, pondering whether to keep going or to turn back.

  She wasn’t that far from the building, and gasped when she saw headlights through the trees. Jordan killed her flashlight and used the light of the vehicle to dart from tree to tree until she found one to shield her but allow a view down the slope.

  The vehicle was one of the all-terrain vehicles she’d seen in the shed that day. A man got out and shut the door. He walked around to the other side and when he passed i
n front of the headlights, she could see it was Mikhail Barinov.

  A man got out from the passenger’s side. No, two men got out. But one man was holding the other. It was Dr. Kolov, and now the man he was holding was between him and Mikhail Baranov. He was smaller, and clad only in a coat. The men were leading him to the building, and Mikhail Barinov had moved ahead to unlock the door.

  But the man had stopped, and was arguing with them in Russian. Jordan realized her hands were shaking as she reached for her camera. She had to pull her gloves off to activate the video app, but she had it now, and zoomed in to view what was happening on the screen.

  Ivan was holding onto the arm of the strange man, who looked disheveled. He wore no pants, no shoes. Dr. Kolov was giving him a shake, as if trying to get the man to listen, but the man turned his head. That’s when Jordan realized he only had one eye. The other—the right one—was a gaping hole. She thought of the bear she’d seen earlier, the one she’d sprayed. It was missing the right eye, too.

  The voices were getting louder. The man was crying and Barinov walked over and hugged him. They continued to talk in low voices. Jordan moved to the left, hoping to get a better angle, then gasped as her booted foot dislodged a cascade of pebbles that went crashing down the slope toward the building.

  It was as if the scene on her phone were frozen. Three faces turned her way. She was still looking at them on the viewfinder.

  They’d heard. It had not been that many pebbles, but they heard.

  Jordan didn’t move a muscle. On her screen the one-eyed man raised his head slightly as if sniffing the air. Then with a cry he burst from between Mikhail and Ivan and began running in her direction.

  Shit.

  She didn’t wait. She turned and began running back the way she came. The moon was bright and she was able to make out the path in the moonlight coming through the trees. She could hear footfalls behind her, could hear a strange voice yelling angrily at her in Russian. She glanced back. The man had shed his coat. He was naked. And he was gaining on her. And then the sound of the footfalls changed to something… something else. Something was closer now. Something fast. Something big.