“Where do I begin, Dove?” I asked her, saddened by her anger, by the trickle of her tears.
Sucking in her cheeks, she lifted her chin. “At the part about hoping someone would come take you out and put you out of your misery.”
“I most certainly did not use those words.”
“Don’t do the dance with me, Winterbottom. Don’t. You know what the intent was behind those words. You were sad. You were hurt. You bought this house because you thought your lover was dead and you wanted to feel close to her—which now makes complete sense. You felt like a fool, right? You felt like a fool for still loving her up until the moment she allegedly killed you, and maybe even a little bit after, too, right? Either way, I’d like to skip the tomfoolery and tangoing around the use of words and just do this. Either you’re telling me in plain words what happened the night you died or you’re not. Your turn to speak. Go.”
“All right then, it’s true. I found very little joy in anything after learning Miranda had supposedly died. I was still on the mission with Von Krause and couldn’t break cover. So I brought Inga here one day to show her where I’d be if she ever needed me.”
Stevie crossed her arms over her chest in defensive mode. I’d hurt her by not confiding in her, and there might be no taking that back. “Right. I got all that. So why do you think everyone wanted you to believe Miranda was dead? Why were you convinced she was dead?”
“If you only knew MI6 and how very innovative they can be. They had all sorts of proof, Stephania. I took them at their word. Or maybe their word—their proof—was concocted. I still don’t know. I don’t know if they were in on the lie or if she created her own death. Anyway, MI6 claimed Miranda died in the Alps, and the information made complete sense. I’d had an encrypted message from her, revealing her location not long before her alleged death, and it was indeed in the Alps.”
“Okay, so you thought she was dead. You’ve said that. You’re hedging. Spit it out, Win. Stop beating around the bush. Why do you think she came back from the dead and killed you?”
“Because she did, Stephania. Of course, she was never actually dead. Simply in hiding.”
I knew I was drawing this out, but the one and only time I’d ever given my trust to someone, she’d betrayed me. I still struggle with my stupidity. I struggle with falling for such a blatant lie. Miranda never loved me. She loved the money I could bring her. She knew there was an enormous price on Von Krause’s arms shipments.
Stephania, quite clearly fed up with my evasive answers, slammed her hand down on the island’s counter, startling both Arkady and I. “Why, Win? Why did she kill you?”
“She had no choice, Stephania,” I said quietly. “I caught her, red-handed, selling information on Von Krause’s location to a rival. A rival who was far deadlier and with a much broader reach than Von Krause ever had. Had this man actually gotten his hands on Von Krause’s stash, he could have committed acts of terrorism so heinous, they would have rivaled some of the more horrifying world events.”
Stevie’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide in the darkened kitchen. “She told another arms dealer where Von Krause was? Where you were? She knew you were undercover with him?”
I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, loosening the collar of my shirt. “She did. We were on the same side, Stephania. Of course I confided in her. Of course she knew, and she sold Von Krause and me out for thirty million dollars. A tidy sum, don’t you think? Do you know the damage that could have caused not just my country, but the world?”
The silence in the kitchen might as well have been as loud as a roaring crowd. Were I capable, I knew I’d hear Stevie’s heartbeat crashing as she put the pieces together.
“And that didn’t happen because?”
“Because when I found her passports, and just before I confronted her, I texted MI6 and informed them something was amok.”
She gripped the kitchen counter, her knuckles white when she licked her lips nervously and asked, “Okay…so are you claiming Miranda metaphorically killed you by giving you up to the other arms dealer? Or she literally killed you killed you?”
Closing my eyes, I replayed that moment again, one I normally avoided at all costs. “I’m saying, after I was pulled from the Von Krause assignment quite suddenly, I came to the house and began searching through the wreckage to see where I stood with my venture into real estate. You do recall the mess that was here when you came onto the scene, don’t you, Stephania?”
Stevie nodded, but she didn’t speak.
“Anyway, as I searched, I found all manner of passports, travel documents, and money—plenty of money. I’m guessing Miranda didn’t hear me pull up because she was outside in what is now our new garden deck and patio. I’m assuming, she came to the house by boat or maybe even by foot so as not to arouse any suspicion because there certainly wasn’t a vehicle outside when I arrived. I heard a voice from the window of the bedroom you now call yours, Stephania, and I followed it downstairs and outside. Imagine my shock when I realized it wasn’t a voice, but Miranda’s voice. So, surprise, she wasn’t dead at all. But instead of losing all grip on my emotions, I listened to what Miranda was saying to the person on the other end of that phone and when she hung up, I confronted her, of course, and she proceeded to pull a gun on me.”
Stevie blanched, her hand shaking as she ran it through her hair. “Did she tell you why she sold you out?”
This was the part that chaps my arse almost as much as her betrayal. Miranda never said a word; she instantly went into fight mode.
“She never spoke a word, Stephania. She instinctively or whatever you’d like to label it, came after me. We fought. Quite violently, I might add, without a single word. But she had a gun. She was the only one here, Stephania. Whom do you suppose shot me if not Miranda?”
Before you question my statement—before you ask yourself how could I not know whether or not it was Miranda who’d killed me, let me just say this. As a spy, I normally have zero emotion involved in any type of physical altercation.
But emotions were running high the night of my death, and understandably so. Miranda and I fought fiercely, as one would expect spies to do. When she pulled the gun on me, we were in the midst of mortal combat.
The last thing I remember is us on the floor, a searing pain in my chest, and her face, hovering over me before everything went black.
Yet, I also remember a shadow from the corner of my eye, vague, brief, but a shadow nonetheless, and as time passes, I wonder if Miranda’s gun was the one that indeed killed me, or if…
But then I think myself a morbid fool for even hoping against hope it wasn’t her.
And now I must share that with Stephania. That I made mistakes that could have caused great damage because I was played, as surely as I’d played a hundred people during the course of my life as a spy.
Stevie’s eyes widened in horror as her hand went to her throat. “She killed you here, Win? Here in this house?”
This was the most troubling part of it all for me—that Miranda killed me here, in the house I’d hoped to share with her. And that now Stevie would know I’d died in the place she loved so much.
“Yes. Here in this house. Because she betrayed not just me, but the queen, and I’d heard it all. She couldn’t let me live, could she? Not when she knew I’d turn her in and she’d be severely punished, if not by death, surely by life in prison. Yet…”
Stevie cocked her head. “Yet?”
“As time has passed, as my memories have become long in the tooth, I’ve remembered something else.”
“And that is?” she asked.
“As Miranda and I fought for control of the gun, there was a shadow…from the corner of my eye… The image is vague and fleeting, and I certainly can’t figure out how it could have been anyone other than Miranda, but…”
Stevie sucked in her cheeks. “But you’re considering the possibility someone else might have been here, because your memories aren’t as sharp with your anger
over her betrayal.”
Yes. Yes, yes, yes. And I feel quite the fool for even considering such. “And that makes me sound like a hopeful fool, does it not?”
“Oh, Zero,” Arkady groaned, rubbing both hands over his face. “Why did you not say to me all this? Maybe it wasn’t Miranda who killed you.”
“She had a gun, Arkady. We fought as though we were from opposing sides. If it wasn’t Miranda who shot me, she surely would have. That aside, she certainly betrayed me, Arkady. That, I recall with clarity,” I said with a terse tone.
“I know why you don’t want to talk about this. Because you feel stupid, but who among us has not been stupid in love, Zero? Why must you be ashamed?”
“Because I was a spy, trained to within an inch of my life to know better, Arkady, and I played right into her hands. It’s unforgiveable. It’s probably better she killed me. MI6 would have had a field day with this.”
Arkady slapped me on the back. “You have much pride, Zero. Too much. Sometimes it is okay to show your cards.”
I remained as calm as I could, forcing my old technique of compartmentalization into play. “And now you know everything there is to know about me, Stephania.”
But I had the feeling this wasn’t enough for her. She’d come about this information in the wrong way. I’d never intended for the information to hurt her, but I’d sat on it for far too long.
Turning her back to us, she went to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. “And look what it took for you to tell me about that night, Win. I had to catch you spilling your guts. I hate that I had to catch you when I’ve been so open with you about all my painful relationships.
“I’d hoped for a long time now you’d just come and tell me. That you’d share something so personal with me because it’s part of what makes you who you are…were. That you were once as human as I am—human and real. That you make mistakes just like I do. Granted, my mistakes had nothing to do with terrorists, but my life wasn’t anywhere near as dangerous as yours. But you didn’t, and I’m not going to lie and say that doesn’t hurt me. Profoundly.”
She took a deep breath and swiped at her face with her thumb to thwart her tears. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back upstairs—because I can’t bear to talk to you any more tonight. I’d like some privacy, please. Until otherwise notified. Good night.”
As she turned on her heel and made her way back upstairs, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to apologize more.
But I knew Stevie, and I knew what she needed most was to wrap her head around the truths I’d just told and come to terms with the fact that I hadn’t gone to her before sharing with Arkady.
I wish I could change that, but it had simply spilled out. There was no stopping me once I’d finally had the courage to talk.
Yet, it would always be the biggest regret of my life that I didn’t willingly share it with the one person who’d taught me to trust again.
Arkady gripped my shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Zero.”
“I as well, old friend. I as well.”
* * * *
Stevie breezed into the sunny kitchen at eight sharp with Hardy on her hip, Bel on her shoulder, and Whiskey at her heel. She cooed to the baby as she sat him in his carrier and prepared to feed him his breakfast.
She wore one of her (and my) favorite sundresses in lovely shades of emerald green and deep blues. She had dangling earrings in her ears and a bracelet at her wrist, suggesting she was going somewhere other than the store.
“Good morning, young fellow!” I said, finding myself talking in a higher pitch than normal as I took in his smart sailor shorts and baby Birkenstock sandals. “Aren’t you dapper today?”
He smiled, waving his latest blue teething ring about in the air.
Stevie pulled a piece of banana from some Tupperware and broke it into even smaller pieces. “The Internet says it’s okay to give you some of the things adults eat, buddy. I’d give you my adult version of fruit, but the Internet says it’s not such a good choice. So, how do you feel about bananas, punkin’?” She popped a bit in his mouth and stood back, waiting for his reaction.
He gummed the fruit a bit before his eyes went from happy to glowing and he bounced in his seat.
“Clearly a hit!” I crooned to him.
But Stevie didn’t even acknowledge my presence. Instead, she grabbed a bottle, Hardy’s backpack, the Tupperware, and headed toward the door.
“Stephania? Where are you going?”
She pulled up short at the front door and inhaled. “Out,” she replied stiffly.
“Shall we join you?” I asked her rigid back.
“No.”
“Ya blew it big, Winterbutt!” Bel chirped from her shoulder, flapping his wings.
Stevie tapped him on the head. “Hush, Bel. That’s not nice.”
“Stephania, surely we can talk, now that you’ve had the night to think things through?”
Her shoulders stiffened as she reached over to the coat rack to gather her purse. “Surely you don’t think one night makes up for over a year’s worth of wondering?”
Oh, I’d royally mucked this up, hadn’t I? “I understand.”
But Stevie shook her head, her eyes so sad, my heart shifted as she reached for the door handle. “Do you, Win? I’ve come to think you don’t understand at all. I’m going to Carmella’s for the morning, but I’ll be at the Moo Barn this afternoon, the moment he opens, so I can ask questions about this man I think is a part of this mess with Inga. You can meet me there or not.”
The door closed with a hush behind her, leaving me to stand there, steeped in my regret.
“You are okay, Zero?”
I drove my hands into my trousers and shook my head. “I’m not sure anything is ever going to be okay again, Arkady.”
Chapter 12
“Stephania,” I called from the sidewalk in front of the Moo Barn as she approached. I’d given her the space she’d asked for while she had breakfast with Carmella and clan, and gone off to another part of Plane Limbo where the waterfalls were exceptionally loud in order to avoid invading her privacy.
“Win.”
As I felt the cool breeze of her response, I braced myself and kept my anguish over hurting her in check, turning on my professional tone. “Are we ready to begin questioning the Moo Barn’s employees?”
“We are.”
“Then after you,” I motioned to the door, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. It’s habit, what can I say?
“Wait, wait, waaait!” Arkady demanded, stopping us both. “No more of this!”
“This?” Stevie asked under her breath as she stood outside the colorful Moo Barn’s picture window, with paintings of multicolored cows jumping over a full moon.
“Yes-yes, this!” he spat, his eyes full of fire. “I do not like the cold arm you give each other. We do not work like this.”
“That’s cold shoulder, chap.”
Arkady’s face went red with frustration as he stomped his foot. “I do not care what you call it, I do not like it! You will fix this. You will fix it now or I will not help. I do not like when Mama and Papa fight!”
“Now is not the time, old man,” I reminded.
“Correct,” Stevie muttered, looking around to see if the tourists crawling the sidewalks were watching her essentially talk to herself. “Now is not the time.”
“Then I will not play your game. We can go to the car and discuss or Arkady Bagrov can go away until you make with the nice. You tell me where I go?”
“Well, well, someone’s dug his Russian heels into the dirt, hasn’t he?”
“Fine,” Stevie consented with a tight jaw and clenched teeth, stomping back to her car in the parking lot by the food trucks. She beeped it open and jumped inside, slamming the door and turning the ignition on.
As the air conditioner blew, she sat stone-faced and waited.
“Do not be this way with me, malutka. I will not stand for such treatment. I am good to you.
I love you. I love Zero and Whiskey and even little bat with flappy wings and squeaky voice. I do not deserve you to be angry and pouty with me because I ask for peace in our workplace!”
“Our workplace?” Stevie squealed in disbelief, resituating herself in her seat.
Arkady began to pace back and forth in front of our bench. “Da! This is much like work, to find bad persons, no? Like spy work? We talk. We put heads together. We complete each other. Or am I mistaken that we are team when we do this?”
Stevie leaned her head on her hand. “No,” she said in a hushed tone, her frown relaxing. “I suppose we could call this thing we all do work, for lack of a better term.”
Arkady threw his hands upward. “Yes! And I do not like when someone on the team is unhappy. We must fix,” he insisted. “Zero make big mistake with not telling you about Agent Miranda. But sometimes mistakes happen, malutka. Sometimes when your tongue finally begins to work, your words take on life of their own. You understand? Zero did not mean to hurt your feelings because he tell me secret first. I push and push because I want answers, and when Arkady Bagrov want answers, he is like bull in shop with dishes.”
“A bull in a china shop,” I provided.
But Arkady clapped his hands together, making a sound so sharp, we all cringed. “I do not care about your mixed-up American words right now, Zero! I care about making this better. Make this better!”
Gripping Arkady’s shoulder to calm him, I gathered my words, hoping to get through to Stevie. “First, forgive me for avoiding telling you the truth. I think I’ve proven how easily one can make mistakes if they’re too deeply emotionally involved. And what Arkady says is true, Dove. I didn’t mean to blab on and on, it rather just happened, and as I was doing it, it felt so good to finally speak the words, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“But…because I felt so foolish about how Miranda had played me, I couldn’t even form the words before last night. So, I’m going to be honest when I tell you, I don’t know when I would have confessed to you about what happened the night I died. I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry I hurt you. It will be one of my deepest regrets. Always.”
Ain't Love a Witch? (Witchless in Seattle Mysteries Book 6) Page 12