Nickolai sat on the sofa, surrounded by medics, blood-smeared cloths layering the floor. Vicktor braced his arm on the wall, feeling weak. “Pop? You okay?”
Blood ran down the side of Nickolai’s face, dripped off his chin and pooled in his shirt collar. Vicktor knelt before him. “What happened?”
Nickolai raised his gun. “Still a crack shot.”
“But you’re hit.” Vicktor reached up and peeked under a thick gauze bandage wrapped around Nickolai’s head.
“It’s a scratch.”
Vicktor frowned at him.
“Alfred did it when he jumped off the sofa. Upset your mother’s shelf. The vase I gave her for our last anniversary nearly did me in.” He pointed to the shattered remains of Antonina’s vase. Relief poured out of Vicktor in a hot breath.
Nickolai’s expression darkened. “Your girl got away, Vicktor. They tore off the door coming in. I popped the first one while she went out the window. Alfred took after the other one. She’s got guts, that American. I don’t know how she got off that balcony. But she’s scared and running. You need to find her, fast.”
Vicktor climbed to his feet and strode to the balcony. Outside, the wind picked up just enough scent to suggest spring. The sun winked overhead as if betraying a secret. Vicktor clutched the rail and peered over.
A fragment of black material flapped from the neighbor’s ironwork below. His throat knotted. “Where are you, Gracie?” Squinting at the ground, he couldn’t make out blood, but he winced as he imagined her falling. He closed his eyes as indictment curled around his soul. He’d done it again: had let the Wolf get his father. What had he been thinking bringing Gracie here?
Roman’s presence behind him made him hang his head.
“I shouldn’t have left her here.”
“Yes, you should have. She’s alive because your pop is a better cop than he believed, and you knew it.”
Vicktor met his gaze. “I have to find Gracie.”
Roman nodded. “You find her. Keep her under your wing and let us hunt down the Wolf.”
“I’m not sure it’s the Wolf we’re after.”
Roman frowned.
“I can’t explain now. Just do me two favors. Go talk to a guy named Strakhin. The COBRAs arrested him last night.”
“One.”
“Then check our chat room at eight p.m.”
“Got it.”
As Vicktor brushed past him, he felt Roman’s hand on his arm. “Watch your back. I’m not here because of your pop, Vicktor. Malenkov got another call on Ishkov’s the private line. This time, the voice on the other end warned us of a crime.”
“The crime?”
“The murder of an American woman and a Russian cop,” Roman said quietly. “I think someone besides you is trying to keep Gracie alive.”
“Or maybe it’s someone who needs her alive, instead of dead.” Vicktor stalked out to the family room.
“You said there were two of them?” he asked Nickolai, who was busy giving his statement to a rookie crouched at his feet. Vicktor noticed stars gleaming in the rookie’s eyes. He shot a look at Arkady, who leaned against the doorjamb. Arkady met his gaze with a tight expression.
Nickolai nodded. “Bigger than you and wearing a dark leather coat.” In his brown eyes Vicktor saw an old spark ignite.
“Thanks, Pop,” he whispered.
“And find my dog, too, son.”
Gracie fingered Larissa’s wad of rubles as she approached the bread factory, hunger clawing at her stomach. Perhaps a loaf of bread would stave off the growling beast that seemed determine to broadcast her presence.
Cutting a path toward the factory, she ducked into a long line winding out from a weathered blue kiosk. Ten minutes later she emerged with two fat loaves of hot bread. Yes, yes, yes, the best things about Russia…crusty bread and the smell of lilacs in spring. Her mouth watering, she picked her way back toward the boulevard.
She noticed the shadow a second before a body slammed into her. “Ahh!” Her breath was jolted from her. She stumbled and dropped one of the loaves of bread. Alfred scooped up the loaf and bounded off with it, saliva dripping over his prize.
“Alfred!” Relief made her stagger to a tree, where she braced an arm and scowled at the thief. Alfred dropped the loaf between his paws and appeared apologetic, blinking those brown eyes. Gracie sighed. “C’mere, you big oaf.” She patted her knees and the dog swaggered toward her, his fat rump twisting with the sway of his whip tail.
Crouching, she embraced his wide head and scratched the flat place between his ears. “I was afraid you’d been shot…”
Her heart went cold. “If you’re out here, then what happened to Nickolai?” She grabbed the dog’s ears and buried her face in his head. “Oh, please, Lord, no.”
Alfred licked her on the face and she wiped her cheek. She painfully sifted through her options. Responsibility and Christian love would send her back to Nickolai’s, but respect for his sacrifice would push her to the train station. She felt sick, but climbed to her feet. Scratching Alfred’s snout she murmured, “Say goodbye to Vicktor for me.”
Vicktor sprinted along the boulevard, feeling lost. Frustration welled up in the pit of his stomach. “Where are you, Gracie?” he asked, turning a circle.
He felt as if he’d pushed her off the balcony himself. Roman was wrong. He hadn’t been sure his old man had the pluck to defend her. He’d been desperate, and while he had hoped Nickolai could handle the job, he hadn’t seriously thought anything would happen.
Overconfident. Reckless. The accusations burned into his mind.
Vicktor stood, arms hanging at his sides, directionless. He’d just scared the skin off a young woman in a black coat and blond hair.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shot a glance heavenward. It was the third time in two days he’d considered praying. Scowling, he shook his head. What was it about Gracie that made him feel so helpless, so…panicked? The thought of her terrified and wounded made him ache.
Good thing Roman wasn’t here to see worry turn him to befuddled mush.
He’d find Gracie, throw her into a safe, as-comfortable-as-he-could-make-it holding cell and keep her under sentry until he could find a way to fly her home. Roman was right. The best idea was to send her safely away, quickly and quietly. And he’d let Roman pray the Wolf didn’t tag along.
His hands in fists, Vicktor marched down the boulevard toward his father’s flat. It was time to call in reinforcements. He’d find Gracie even if he had to alert the entire FSB force from here to Moscow. “Sorry, Gracie.”
The sound of a dog’s bark stopped him. He whirled, searching for the animal. “Alfred?”
The dog bounded toward him from across the boulevard, near the Svezhee Bread Factory. Vicktor ran to him, never so grateful to see his father’s mutt in all his life. His heart almost pounded through his chest. He caught the dog, who jumped up on Vicktor like he was a poodle. Vicktor wrapped his arms around Alfred’s girth. He didn’t even grimace when the animal slobbered on his face.
“I’m glad to see you, pal,” Vicktor said into the dog’s fur. “Where have you been?” He pushed the dog down and Alfred ran in circles. Then Alfred barked once and lit out for the bread kiosk.
“Come back here!” Vicktor yelled.
Gracie cast a look back and broke into a jog. “Alfred,” she growled, anger fueling her steps. Just when she thought she was safe, Alfred the Wonder Dog had to alert the world to her presence. She peeped behind her and her heart fell. The fool animal was following her and barking!
“Alfred!”
She heard Vicktor’s voice a second before she saw him, running with his coat open, his expression furious looking, hollering at his disobedient mutt.
If only he know how obedient his police dog truly was. Gracie gritted her teeth, whirled and attempted an escape. Hobbling ungracefully, she fought the urge to rip off Larissa’s blasted sandals and run full out, barefoot.
Alfred bounded in front
of her, barking as if he were herding sheep.
“Shoo!”
Alfred wagged his tail. Gracie glared at him.
“Alfred!” Vicktor yelled, then let loose a string of Russian words.
Gracie ducked her head, praying her disguise worked.
Vicktor’s dark form whipped past her as he lunged for the dog. Alfred dodged him, but Vicktor had practiced aim. He snaked a hand under Alfred’s collar. Gracie scooted past him, not daring to look.
“Izveneetyeh!” Vicktor called, asking her pardon in Russian. She held up a hand, waving her acceptance, and kept her eyes forward, praying she wouldn’t turn her ankle in Larissa’s stilettos.
Alfred lunged for the woman, ripping out of Vicktor’s grip. He nearly knocked the lady off her heels. She turned to push him away.
Vicktor’s heart turned inside out with relief. “Gracie!”
She shot him a look, one he’d seen before, outside her apartment. It hit him squarely in the gut. I. Don’t. Trust. You.
Not that he expected better, but still, the fact he’d failed her so abysmally only turned like a knife in his heart.
“Are you okay?”
Her green eyes were steel hard. “Yes.” She turned and stalked away.
“Wait!” He raced after her and grabbed her elbow.
She cried out in pain and doubled over.
“You’re hurt!” Vicktor knelt beside her, sick. Her beautiful face twisted in agony. “Gracie, what happened?”
She looked away.
He blew out a frustrated breath. “I want to help you.”
“You want to kill me.”
He recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “What?”
Her voice was low and sharp. “Someone tried to kill me.” She fixed him with a gaze that arrowed clear through him. “I don’t know who to trust.”
“I understand you’re afraid, but you can trust me.”
“Can I?” She pulled her wrist close to her body. “How do I know you’re not living up to your reputation?”
“Reputation?”
“KGB? You don’t exactly have a pristine history.”
It would have hurt less if she had kicked him in the teeth. Vicktor fixed his eyes on the bread kiosk as he scrambled for an answer. “That’s not fair. I’m trying to keep you alive.” His tone was irritated. “Besides, I’m not the only one with secrets.”
Gracie scowled at him.
“Your Dr. Young discovered a cure for cancer, didn’t he.”
Either she was a consummate actress or she had no clue about her coworker’s activities. The look of suspicion dissolved from her expression and left only shock. “What are you talking about?”
Vicktor considered her, watching the wind play with her hair, the rebellious gleam in her green eyes. Her body language screamed defiance; he felt way too sure she would stride right out of his life without glancing back.
“Your doctor friend discovered a cure for cancer, and he used it to heal Leonid Krasnov.”
Gracie frowned at him. “No. No way. How could he?”
Vicktor shook his head. “I don’t know. But we found his personal notes, and they chronicled Leonid’s cure.”
Gracie again shook her head. “I don’t believe it. A cure for cancer would be worth…Well, is it even possible?”
“Someone thinks it’s worth killing over.”
“Maybe the KGB thinks it’s worth killing over.”
He flinched. “Gracie, I promise, my only agenda is protecting you.” Well, sorta. Because if he read the churning feelings in his chest correctly, she’d gotten under his skin, and just maybe he wondered what it might be like to take her in his arms, to kiss…
“I don’t know who to trust.” Her admission came out quietly, yet had the power to make him moan.
“Trust me, Gracie. Please.”
She looked at him. The beautiful green eyes, staring right through to his heart. His soul. Trust me. He tried to let his eyes speak the truth.
Gracie sighed and allowed the smallest smile. “I’d like to get out of Russia in one piece, okay?”
Oy. When she said it like that, all her hopes and fears in her voice, laying her life at his feet, it was all he could do to breathe, let alone answer.
He nodded, and knew he was definitely in over his head when he ran his thumb along her chin, near an ugly scratch. “I’m sorry you fell.”
As she leaned into his hand, he noticed her leopard-skin outfit. “Where did you get that getup?”
“A friend,” she said with a smile. “I do have a few, you know.”
“Well, it looks ridiculous.”
She edged up her chin and smiled again. “Perfect.”
Oh, how he wanted to strangle her. That, or crush her to his chest. Okay, so that was probably a bad idea. He indicated her arm. “Did that happen when you jumped off the balcony?”
“I fell.” For a second, right behind her eyes, he saw the terror of falling from three stories. The image emptied him. Then her face paled. “Your father—is he—?”
“He’s fine.”
“I heard a shot.”
Vicktor nodded. “Pop has good aim.”
She closed her eyes as if letting that information take root. “He saved my life.”
Vicktor had nearly lost her. For the first time, his brain wrapped around that reality.
It shouldn’t hurt this much, should it? He’d only known her for two days.
Except, it felt like a small, wonderful lifetime. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, fighting the urge to scoop her into his arms and run for the border.
“Want to see my father?” he asked, hating the ragged edge to his voice.
“Please.”
Gracie peeled back the layer of gauze protecting Nickolai’s wound. “A vase?” She glanced at Vicktor, who shrugged. “You’re not trying to hide something from me, are you?”
His wide-eyed, innocent look made her giggle, and when he smiled, she felt it clear through to her marrow.
How had she ever thought she might escape Russia without his help?
They’d passed a slow-moving ambulance on the way to Nickolai’s apartment. Vicktor had watched it with a stony expression.
Nickolai’s face filled with relief when he saw Gracie. His gaze lingered on her new attire just a moment longer than needed, and he topped off his assessment with a translatable “Wow.”
Gracie blushed.
Over a lunch of bread, Edam cheese, lemonade and boiled meat dumplings, Gracie explained her plan to Vicktor. “Larissa’s dacha is only an hour from here by train. I can hide there until you can get me a passport. Then I’ll race for the plane and fly home.” She tore her cheese into little bits as she talked. “The Wolf won’t have time to find me. I’ll be out of your hair and his sights.”
Vicktor twirled his spoon in his bowl, pushing around cold dumplings. “It’s a good idea,” he said, “but I’m going with you.”
“No.” Gracie saw him gathering his arguments. “You need to stay here. I can get there by myself.” She glanced at Nickolai for reinforcement. The man was hungrily downing a third bowl of dumplings. He grinned at her.
Vicktor leaned toward her. His smell, safe and strong and masculine, curled around her and his face was so close she could see the fine etch of worry lines around his eyes.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he said softly.
If she thought her heart had jump-started when he ran his hand down her wounded cheek, wincing, it was nothing compared to the way his voice, tinged with accent, rocketed her pulse. Vicktor made her feel dangerously alive in a place she had thought dead. She felt the heat of another blush and ducked her head.
“How are you going to solve the case living out in the country with me?”
“This case is not just about your friends, the Youngs. We now have a body count of five.”
“Five?”
Vicktor touched her hand. “There’s one you don’t know about. The day before the Yo
ungs were murdered, I found a good friend of mine killed in his lab.”
“I’m sorry.” Gracie turned her hand over and held his. He had long fingers, clean, strong hands.
“Someone is after something they think you have. It’s not in your flat. It’s not in your bag, so they think it’s on you. Which, as anyone can see—” his eyes traveled over her tight uniform “—it’s not.”
Shock sent Gracie’s chin downward. Then he winked at her. Secretly delighted, she pursed her lips in a mock glare.
He sat back in his chair, but kept his hand over hers. “They’re after you, Gracie, and so far they’ve been able to find you. Someone needs to protect you. I’ll send someone to watch your flat while I watch you, at Larissa’s dacha. I’ll bring a cell phone along and we’ll be safe there until your flight.”
Gracie fought to hear his words. He was rubbing his thumb absently over hers, sending warmth coursing through her veins. Keep it up and she’d turn into a pile of cooked kasha. And then wouldn’t it be so very, very easy to scrape herself away from him when she left?
Back up. She shouldn’t be enjoying holding hands with a man who didn’t even have a relationship with God, let alone serve Him. Oh, she was courting trouble. She swallowed, disentangled her hand.
“Pop will keep in touch with my friend Arkady, who will then let me know what is happening. It’s a good idea and the only one we’ve got right now.”
Alone, at a dacha, with Vicktor? Gracie fought the panic rising in her chest. “I think you should be here, trying to find the murderer. Besides, I can take care of myself. No one can find Larissa’s dacha…it’s hidden in a forest of other tiny summer homes.”
She picked up the crumbs of her cheese, polished them off. “Andrei knows where I’ll be and will probably come out and check on me, so I’ll be protected.”
Andrei.
“He was supposed to meet us for lunch,” Vicktor said slowly. His expression darkened.
Gracie stared at him. Worry squeezed her voice to a whisper. “What if they found him?” Sweet, patient Andrei, shot, bleeding, or even dead? Her stomach lurched. Vicktor took her hand. So much for trying to distance herself. It didn’t help that she liked his touch oh so very much.
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