In Sheep's Clothing

by Susan May Warren

  Vicktor stood straight, his fists in his pockets, and stared out the window. On the street below, a group of birds picked at the garbage. The pewter sky began to spit on his window. Any sin? “A year ago, I was involved in a foot pursuit of the Wolf. Against policy and my better sense, I ran into an abandoned building after the suspect.” He felt her hand on his arm and tensed. “I was overpowered and lost my weapon. The Wolf used it during his escape and shot my father.”

  “The Wolf?” she asked softly, and he knew she was connecting the dots.

  He didn’t repeat himself.

  “So you do have history with him. Painful history.”

  He hung his head. “Yeah.”

  “This is personal.”

  He drew in a deep breath and dared to look at her. Tears hung on her eyelashes.

  “Very.”

  She didn’t respond. He turned away from the pain in her face. His voice hardened. “I destroyed my father’s career because I was proud and reckless.” He stared out the window, refusing to see the judgment written in her eyes. Shame trapped words in his chest.

  “And destroyed any chance of earning his respect,” Gracie said quietly. “I think I finally understand.”

  The compassion in her voice made him bury his face in his hands. “Yeah. And now you understand why I can’t go crawling to God for help. I don’t deserve it.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He felt gut-punched. “Thanks.”

  “Your dad showed me your boyhood pictures.” She put her hand on his cheek, turned his face. Her beautiful eyes searched his. “And now I know what’s haunted you your entire life.”

  He looked away, but she moved in front of him, offering him no retreat.

  “Your father’s respect. His acceptance. You’re out to prove you’re just as good as your old man, aren’t you.”

  He stared at her, unable to find words.

  “The sad thing is, you never had to earn your father’s respect.” She paused as emotion filled her voice. “It’s always been there.” She put her hand on his chest, over his pounding heart. “I saw it on his face. The tone he used to describe your boyhood. I can’t speak Russian, but I do understand the language of the heart. Your father is incredibly proud of you.”

  “How can he be?” Vicktor said, his voice low.

  “Because you’re his son.”

  Her words rocked him. He tried to edge away but she grabbed his hand. Her eyes flashed.

  “God is like your dad. He wants to love you. But you can’t see it. The only thing holding you back from forgiveness is your own stubborn pride. It kept you from seeing your father’s love. Don’t let it sabotage your salvation.”

  She took a breath as if fighting to control her emotions. “You’re right, you know. About deserving forgiveness. You don’t deserve it.”

  He flinched, but she touched his cheek. “But that’s the point. You can’t make it better, but God can. Remember what I said about God loving us when we were sinners? We don’t have to prove anything to Him. We just have to need Him.”

  She moved away from him, took his other hand. He stared at it.

  “God wants to forgive you, Vicktor. He wants to free you from grief and guilt. He wants to show you how much He loves you. But you have to ask.”

  Vicktor winced. Heaven help him, Gracie was right. He was his own enemy. Only, he’d lived with guilt for so long, how could he cope with freedom?

  He sank to the bed and buried his face in his hands. “I…have a hard time…trusting this.”

  “You have to choose to trust, to believe. The first step of faith is the hardest. It does get easier.”

  She crouched before him; he felt her hands on his knees.

  “God is trustworthy. He loves you more than you know.” Her voice broke on the last words.

  He lowered his hands.

  She was crying.

  Crying. For him.

  He traced the tear lines down her face. He ached to believe her words. Wanted to stake his life on it.

  And what did he have left? “I want to believe you.” That admission felt…cleansing. It almost overwhelmed him.

  Her breath caught. “You do?”

  Vicktor dredged up his courage. “Yeah, I guess.” He looked past her. “The fact is, Mae and Roman and David have been preaching to me for years. But, well, I guess I never saw my need for forgiveness.” Until now. When I want, so badly, to start over. To not wake up each day with hate. To look at the reflection in your eyes and feel clean.

  To know, for the first time, hope.

  Gracie closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. “Pray with me,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes. Gracie took his hands and held them tight. “Oh, God, Vicktor here wants to be Your man. Please hear his prayer.”

  Strength had to be flowing from her warm hands because suddenly he felt his defenses crack. Everything, the grief, the anger, the hatred, the failure, even the fear spilled out in a voice that seemed somehow not his own, broken as it was. And yet, it was also very much his voice, a voice he’d longed to find. “God, I never thought I would need You. But I guess I do.” He forced the words through the wall of emotions threatening to strangle him. “I have a lot of garbage in my life and I need to be forgiven. I need help.”

  He drew a shaky breath. “So, here I am God. Please forgive me for my sins and my unbelief. Please change my life and help me to know You…”

  The words lodged in his throat, and he wrenched them free. “And help me to trust You.” He heard a gasp, then realized it was his own. His breath drew with it the shackles of a thousand mistakes, the mantle of grief, the burden of self-reliance.

  His pulse quickened, and in a blink he knew he’d been forgiven.

  It sent him to his knees on the floor in front of Gracie. He felt tears on his cheeks. His eyes opened, his chest swelled with joy, and he smiled crazily at the woman kneeling before him.

  Gracie’s eyes were wide, sparkling, her mouth agape. She reached out and touched his face. “You wouldn’t believe this—you actually look different! Like a mask has fallen off your face.”

  “Oh, Gracie, you didn’t tell me I’d actually feel clean.” He breathed deeply. “This is what it means to be saved?” What a glorious God in heaven who could make a man feel brand-new!

  Delight danced in her eyes. “Trust me, it’s just the beginning.”

  He put a hand over hers on his cheek. He had so much to be thankful for and much of it was grinning at him.

  “What’s all this?”

  Vicktor turned and saw Roman leaning against the doorjamb, a curious smile on his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The elation lighting Roman’s face made Vicktor forgive his friend for breaking and entering.

  “Well, your good news tops mine,” Roman said with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Spit it out,” Vicktor demanded impatiently.

  “So you were right on your hunch about the thug in Gracie’s flat. Sergei Lasherov. Petty thief, sat some time in the zone two years back for possession of a weapon.”

  “And he was Andrei’s boss?” Gracie asked in disbelief.

  Vicktor reached out and pulled her close. He could barely think when she looped her arm around his waist. Like she belonged there.

  Roman shrugged. “I don’t know that. But I did find something interesting in his file.” His smile dimmed. “He was an official snitch for the KGB.”

  Vicktor blinked at him, then groaned. He stalked away from them, wanting to bang his head against the wall. “I knew I’d seen him before. I arrested him once, only to have him vanish under the wings of the KGB.”

  “Right,” Roman acknowledged. “He was one of the leftovers, caught between two systems. He worked undercover on various projects.”

  Vicktor glanced at Gracie. “Did one of those projects happen to be the Russian Church?”

  Gracie stepped out of the car at the airport into the rain, hoisted a newspaper over her hea
d and made a dash for the front doors. The Youngs’ computer bag slapped against her side. Vicktor splashed one step behind her, nearly running her over. He flung open the door and they scurried inside. Gracie shook out her damp hair.

  “Not a great day for flying.”

  Vicktor tucked a hair behind her ear and let his hand linger on her cheek. She leaned into it.

  “I’m not leaving your side until you’re on the plane.”

  She closed her eyes and willed herself to keep it together. So what, she was leaving. Vicktor was saved. And, well, that meant she wasn’t leaving him forever, right?

  Except, it felt that way. “So, let’s get this over with.” She fingered the airplane ticket Vicktor had picked up from Yanna. Flipping open the spanking new passport, she grimaced at the picture. “How did you get this in such a hurry?”

  Vicktor curled his arm around shoulders. “C’mon, honey, I’m with the FSB, remember?”

  “Gracie!”

  Gracie whirled and barely caught Larissa as her friend flung herself into her arms.

  She squeezed Larissa tight, reality hitting her hard. Her only other friend left in Khabarovsk.

  “I was worried about you when Andrei didn’t call me. He said he was going out to the dacha.” Larissa’s voice fell and she looked warily at Vicktor. “Did you see him?”

  Gracie’s answer caught in her throat. She nodded. How was she going to tell Larissa her cousin had been murdered? Larissa frowned, and looked beyond her.

  “Where is he?”

  Gracie noticed Vicktor’s dark, warning look and scrambled for an answer. No, now was not the time, but she ached to tell Larissa, gently, instead of letting Vicktor do so. “He’s at home,” she answered truthfully.

  Larissa’s eyes narrowed, briefly, then she shrugged. “Well, I hope he doesn’t miss saying goodbye.”

  Gracie swallowed a lump in her throat and shook her head. “He already did.” Vicktor was standing behind Larissa, giving her the most compassionate look she’d yet seen on him. Not a trace of anger over Andrei’s betrayal. Truly, a new creation in Christ.

  And she’d been there to witness it. Despite Andrei’s death, she felt like breaking out in the “Hallelujah Chorus.” She treasured Vicktor’s prayer in her heart. Wasn’t that what salvation was all about—joy in the midst of sorrow?

  Larissa peered at her over her wire-rim glasses. “Are you okay?”

  Gracie nodded. “It’s just hard to say goodbye.” She noticed Larissa had worn the cross she gave her. She prayed her friend would never take it off, that somehow the message behind the symbol would sink in with her, just as it had with Vicktor.

  Larissa stepped close and wrapped her arm around Gracie. “I have to tell you something. Can you come to the ladies’ room with me?”

  Gracie nodded.

  Vicktor touched her arm. “Not so fast.”

  Gracie raised one eyebrow. “Are you coming with me?”

  His expression told her he might.

  “I’ll be right out,” she assured him, touched by the worry on his face. She reached over and tugged at his suit coat lapel. “Thanks for caring.”

  He pinched his lips together. The haunted look may have evaporated, but the fierce set of his jaw sent a shiver through her.

  Oh, he cared. More than he should.

  “I’ll wait by the door.”

  Gracie strolled away with Larissa, feeling his gaze on her.

  “He’s a little protective, don’t you think?” Larissa whispered in her ear. “Who is he?”

  Gracie ducked her head, feeling her face heat. “He’s a friend.”

  Larissa harrumphed loud enough to make Gracie elaborate, almost.

  The rain pattered against the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the parking lot. A steel-gray sky obscured the sun, painting the lobby a dismal hue. Gracie scanned the corridor, fighting the claw of anxiety. Surely the Wolf wouldn’t know to look for her here? With Andrei silenced, there was no one to spy on her. A bittersweet relief filled her. She sighed and felt Larissa’s arm tighten.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Gracie squinted at her. Larissa’s angular face showed concern. Gracie patted Larissa’s hand at her waist and nodded. She peeked behind her and spied Vicktor prowling ten feet away.

  She nearly tumbled over the yellow Yield sign in front of the bathroom.

  Larissa caught her. “‘Cleaning,’” she translated, sounding disgusted. She tugged on Gracie’s arm. “Who cares? C’mon.”

  Gracie made a face and followed Larissa into the bathroom. The door whisked shut behind her.

  “What took you so long?”

  Gracie stared gape-mouthed at Pastor Yuri Mikhailovich. Dressed in a crisp black suit and holding a briefcase, he wore an annoyed expression that stalled her heart. “W-what are you doing here?” she stammered.

  “Did you get it?” he asked Larissa.

  Gracie frowned and looked at Larissa, who loosened her grip on Gracie’s waist and stepped away. Her expression changed, slowly, like all the color draining from a Technicolor movie. Gracie saw her in planes of black and white, heard her friend answer from another place, distant, as if through a tunnel.

  “Nyet.” Larissa pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose.

  Gracie blinked, moved her head in jerks between Larissa and Yuri. The dank smell and dirty shadows shifting through the bathroom made her head spin. “Larissa?”

  Her friend edged away. “I’m sorry, Gracie.”

  “What?” The bottom dropped out of Gracie’s stomach.

  “Please, give him what he wants.” Larissa’s voice was hard. “If you don’t, he’ll kill Andrei.” She added a note of pleading to her voice.

  Gracie could hardly breathe for the weight that settled in her chest. Larissa? Was she in league with Andrei? Had Gracie not one genuine friend in all of Russia?

  Vicktor.

  A wail started near her toes but she clamped down on it. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

  Well, what Larissa didn’t know was that the Wolf had already done Yuri’s job. She pressed a hand to her stomach and turned to Yuri. “What do you want?”

  “The notes. Dr. Young’s medical notes on Leonid Krasnov.” A line of sweat trickled down Yuri’s face.

  As he took a step toward her, realization washed over her. She stiffened and met Yuri’s dark eyes. “…I will fear no evil…”

  “Over my dead body.”

  He laughed. “You have more spunk than Evelyn,” he hissed. “Too bad.”

  He dropped the briefcase, caught her wrist in an iron grip and yanked. Pain shot up her arm. She fell toward him, crying out. He released his hold and clamped his hand around her windpipe, forcing her to her feet. His breath streamed across her face. Spittle edged the corners of his mouth.

  She felt a burn at the base of her throat and gasped.

  Yuri peered over her shoulder and smiled. “Just in time, Captain.”

  Vicktor’s heart completely left his chest as he stared at the man squeezing Gracie’s throat, a bowie knife pressed to her jugular. “Let her go,” he demanded in Russian. Vicktor held his pistol in two hands, but with the man using Gracie’s body as a shield, Vicktor couldn’t get a clean shot.

  “You don’t remember me? I’m hurt.” The man tightened his grip and Gracie whimpered.

  Vicktor’s hands tightened on the gun.

  “Gracie, introduce me to your boyfriend.” Yuri turned Gracie to face Vicktor.

  Gracie’s white face, the red marks streaming from the man’s grip on her throat and the stain of blood on her collar sent a white-hot fury through him. Then he met her eyes, and turned cold.

  No, Gracie, no, no. She was ready to die for her beliefs. He shook his head, pleading with her.

  “You shoot, and I take her head off.”

  Vicktor focused on the man. “I know you. We’ve met, haven’t we?”

  “A couple times.” Sweat glistened on the ma
n’s forehead, and when he smiled, memory stabbed Vicktor.

  “You’re the pastor,” he said starkly. “Yuri Mikhailovich.”

  The pastor tipped his head, his eyes never leaving Vicktor’s. “I want Dr. Young’s notes.”

  Vicktor squinted at him. “We’ve met a couple times…” he repeated, turning over Mikhailovich’s words.

  Mikhailovich looked at him and laughed. “And again, I have bested you.”

  Vicktor went weak. That laugh. The laugh that gave sound to his nightmares. The laugh that echoed through the abandoned building.

  A predator’s laugh. The predator.

  “You’ll never get away,” Vicktor growled. “I know who you are.”

  The Wolf’s face twisted. “I have spent nearly thirty years in well-cloaked cover. I will walk out of here and no one will stop me because I am Pastor Yuri Mikhailovich, head of the Russian Church.” He tightened his grip on Gracie, who whimpered. “Besides, I’m on your team. You can’t arrest a fellow KGB officer.”

  “The KGB doesn’t have spies in the church anymore.” Vicktor glanced at Gracie’s balled fists, her hand on her satchel. “You were ordered to come in years ago.” If she could just move two centimeters…

  “You don’t understand the type of commitment it takes to be an agent,” the Wolf snarled. “A true KGB agent doesn’t abandon his ideas just because the party changes hands in Moscow. I spent three decades listening to idiots babble. I was poor, laughed at…I even had to pay allegiance to the glory-hungry Americans.” Bitterness laced his voice. “I deserve a little payback, don’t you think?”

  Vicktor shuffled a step closer. Maybe he could knock her aside…

  Gracie gasped.

  “Be careful, Captain.”

  Vicktor froze. “You worked for Ishkov, didn’t you?”

  Yuri shrugged.

  “And you killed him and everyone who knew it.” His mind listed the Wolf’s victims, former agents, informants, prostitutes. They suddenly webbed together with stinging clarity.

  “I had to keep my cover.”

  “Why?”

  “Missionaries are worth their weight in gold. They bring in huge amounts of cash and humanitarian aid.” He smiled caustically. “We can’t let them wander freely around the city.”