Wyatt

by Susan May Warren

  “And you think this Wyatt is capable of carrying the drive out of the country?” Roman turned a chair around and straddled it, leaning his folded arms against the back.

  “Yeah. Although he wasn’t happy about my not going with him.”

  On the stove, the tea kettle whistled. Roman made to get up, but Coco shook her head and got up instead. She’d lived here long enough to earn her keep.

  She dropped loose black leaves into a tiny teapot, then poured the hot water in, letting the chai steep. She put a cloth over the small teapot.

  “He wanted you to leave the country with him?” Roman was looking at her as she sat down. “Why?”

  “I guess…well, he’s worried about me…” Oh shoot. She’d left out the part where… “He and I…we had a…”

  She didn’t know what to call their relationship. Not a fling, because that meant it was short-lived. Hello, she’d been in love with him for nearly a decade. And not an affair, because that made it tawdry and illicit.

  It wasn’t tawdry. Just…under the radar. And, maybe not as pure as it should have been.

  But in truth, Wyatt was the love of her life.

  Roman said nothing.

  “I loved him. And I thought he loved me. But…” She drew up a knee. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “I see,” Roman said. “Back when you lived in America?”

  She nodded.

  “Before you moved to Russia.”

  “And, during. I went back to Montana for a short time not long after I moved to Russia. We saw each other then, but…well, he was just getting his chance to play for the Blue Ox, and I didn’t want…” She swallowed, looked away. “I didn’t fit into his life anymore.”

  Roman was just watching her.

  She got up to check on the chai. The silence pressed into her back.

  “So…you think he came here to find you?”

  She drew in a breath. “I don’t know.”

  “But he wanted you to leave with him. It sounds like he thinks you fit into his life. You might consider taking him at his word.”

  “He doesn’t…understand. And if he did, he wouldn’t want me.”

  Roman got up and turned the chair around. “A man doesn’t go to another country and risk his life to rescue the woman he doesn’t want. Trust me, I know this.”

  She stiffened. “I can’t leave Russia, Roman.”

  He frowned. “You’re an American, right?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “You’d be safer in America is my guess.”

  Sarai had come back to the door and now folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “We love having you here, but Roman is right—”

  “I can’t leave Russia!”

  Sarai recoiled, frowned, and Coco closed her eyes, wincing. “Sorry.”

  “What’s going on?” Roman said quietly. Carefully.

  She drew in a breath. Glanced at the chai.

  “Sit down, both of you,” Sarai said and pulled out three cups from the cupboard.

  Roman sank down into his chair.

  Fine. Coco also sat down. Took a breath. “I can’t leave because I…I have a child.”

  Nothing. Sarai continued to pour chai into the cups. Roman’s mouth stayed a grim line, his hand flat on the table.

  “He’s Wyatt’s.”

  Roman’s eyebrow raised. “No wonder he wants you to leave—”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  Sarai set down the teacup in front of her. Pushed a sugar bowl and a spoon her direction. Then she retrieved cream from the fridge.

  “I’ve tried to tell him, three times now. When I first got pregnant, then a year later, when I went back to Montana for a visit, then a couple years ago in Moscow and…yeah, I was trying to find the courage to tell him today. But…”

  She dropped in a sugar cube, played chase with it around her cup with her spoon. “How do you say that, really?” She looked up, and her gaze met Sarai’s eyes. Then Roman’s.

  “Hey, Wyatt. Great game. Your son would have loved to see it. Oh, who?” She returned her gaze to her cup. “In my head, I have this perfect time to tell him, and it was five years ago when I was at his college hockey game. I went with his sister, Ruby Jane—the one who I was helping escape Russia, by the way—with the intention of telling him. But while we were visiting, his father had a heart attack and…”

  She took a sip of the tea. Her stomach clenched, and she hadn’t realized she was so hungry.

  Roman and Sarai hadn’t moved.

  “It was crazy—the fact that I even got pregnant. We’d only slept together once and…well, I don’t know what I was thinking…”

  “There’s usually not a lot of thinking going on.” Roman looked at Sarai and winked.

  “Yeah, well, I was so in love with Wyatt Marshall, I lost my head. He was home on Christmas break, and we’d gotten caught making out in the hay mow during Thanksgiving. And it just sorta…sparked something. I was eighteen, and he was twenty and one night his family went to town for some church event, but Wyatt and I stayed home to…well, I don’t remember what excuse we made up, but I knew what I wanted.”

  She could close her eyes and way too easily be back in Wyatt’s arms in his skinny twin bed in the room he’d shared with Ford and Tate. Which felt weird, but then…well, she hadn’t cared.

  “Truth was, I had been in love with Wyatt for years, and in my head I believed we’d end up together. And that he loved me too.” She looked up at them. “When I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t tell anyone—I wanted to surprise him. I was so…” She shook her head. “I thought he’d be thrilled and ask me to marry him, and we’d have a family and live on the Marshall Triple M and…”

  Her eyes always burned when she got to this part. “While I was at that game, his father suffered a heart attack and died and suddenly everything changed. Wyatt changed. He was so…angry. He quit school, tried out for the Edmonton team, didn’t make it, then tried the Blue Ox in Minnesota. He landed a position on their amateur team, and just like that, he was gone. And I was alone. And scared. And ashamed. So I moved back to Russia.”

  “Where your father lived.”

  “He’d kept tabs on me for years, even though we were supposed to act like he was dead. He took me in and helped me…well, Mikka lives in an orphanage in Belogorsk.”

  Sarai touched her arm, squeezed.

  “It wasn’t my choice. I kept Mikka with me for the first year, but then my father said he’d unearthed a kidnapping plot and said it was too dangerous for Mikka and me, and even for my father to keep him. He had to remain anonymous. He started out in an orphanage not far from St. Petersburg, but then we started to move him. He’s been at the home in Belogorsk for two years.”

  She gritted her jaw against a familiar burn in her throat, her eyes. Kept her voice even as she said, “I visit him as often as I can. He knows me.”

  She looked away again, her eyes on fire, glazing over. Shoot. She’d thought she’d be used to the ache by now.

  “I’m sorry, Kat.”

  “That’s why I went back to Montana to visit. I thought, maybe, if I told Wyatt about Mikka, he’d want us back. He’d tell me to move to America and…”

  “You’d be a family.”

  She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. Since when had she turned into such a baby? She was the daughter of a Russian general—she knew hardship, hello.

  “Wyatt had just made the pro team, and he was so excited. And I just couldn’t…well, he barely paid any attention to me anyway, so I figured I was nothing to him. Just a…” She couldn’t say the word fling, so she lifted her shoulder. “I came back to Russia and lived the best life I could.”

  She didn’t want to tell them about the shame of his visit to Moscow two years ago, so she omitted it and went straight to— “I know he deserves to know, but…”

  “But he’d demand to take Mikka too,” Roman said.

  She hadn’t thought of that. Coco looked at him. “Or no
t. He doesn’t even know Mikka—”

  “He would want to know him,” Roman said, nothing of a waver in his voice, and that only made her chest burn.

  “Maybe I should have left with Wyatt. Mikka is safer if no one knows about him. If I leave Russia, I take the assassin with me.”

  “You can’t leave your son,” Sarai said, more of a statement than a question.

  Coco shook her head. Closed her eyes. “No. I can’t. I’m just not that strong.”

  Sarai moved over to her and pulled her into an embrace. “I think you’re plenty strong, honey.”

  The embrace was sweet, but with everything inside her, Coco wanted to push away, run back to that hotel and…and…

  You broke my heart.

  Oh, she was such a fool. Here he was in Khabarovsk, looking for her and…

  And if he kept it up, trying to find her, the assassin might find him.

  The thought caught her up, stole her breath.

  Yes, better for him to leave, and pronto.

  “No one would expect you to leave your son,” Sarai said softly, letting her go.

  “But if I stay, Mikka stays in danger.”

  Sarai’s eyes widened.

  “Just imagine if he’d been with me when RJ showed up, an assassin on her tail? He might have been killed.”

  Roman’s jaw tightened and he glanced at Sarai.

  “Listen,” Coco said. “Damien Gustov knows that I know that he tried to kill my father. I don’t know what his end game is—kill me, hold me hostage—but whatever, I’m in danger. And because of me, so is Mikka. And frankly, Wyatt.” She looked at Roman. “Even you guys.”

  “I can protect my family, Kat. You’re welcome here,” Roman said.

  She wanted to believe him, but the thought of anything happening to Vitya or their daughter, Zia…

  The only way to save Mikka—and Wyatt—was to disappear.

  Maybe forever. “No. I need to leave town,” Coco said, finding her feet. “Tonight.”

  Roman’s mouth tightened. “I don’t like it.”

  “Where are you going?” Sarai said, ignoring Roman.

  “I said goodbye to Wyatt. Now, I’m going to say goodbye to my son. And then, I’m going to disappear.”

  She held up her hand to Roman’s deep breath, the foreplay to his building argument. “I’ve done it before. I can do it again. And trust me—this time I won’t be found.”

  3

  Wyatt sat on the Intourist restaurant patio, the USB drive on the table next to his smart phone. The view overlooked the darkened Amur, stars sprinkled overhead like eyes blinking in disbelief at his failure.

  “Is there something wrong with your meal, sir?”

  Wyatt glanced at the waitress, a pretty, skinny brunette with her hair in a bun. She wore the black-and-white dress of the hotel staff. He wasn’t the only one sitting in the outside seating area, but she’d swung by often enough for him to sense that perhaps she wasn’t doing her job well.

  “It’s delicious. I just…I’m not hungry.”

  He’d purchased a plate of smoked salmon and a pint of Baltika 3, but it swam in his gut and he might have made himself sicker.

  He hadn’t had a beer in three years.

  “Can I offer you something else? Maybe a hamburger?” She said it like a Russian, gambooger.

  “No, thanks.” He offered her a smile, and she smiled back. And it simply hurt. Because he was a nice guy. And frankly, had tried to be the kind of guy worthy of Coco, especially after…

  Well, after he realized what she meant to him.

  Apparently, he didn’t mean the same to her.

  “I’ll take my bill,” he said.

  She moved away, and he reached for the phone, dreading the call. But RJ was probably pacing the floor of the great room back at their family ranch in Montana, so…

  She picked up on the first ring. “So, what happened?”

  “What time is it there?” He noticed Jace walking into the patio area with Deke and Kalen.

  “Two-thirty in the morning—did you see York?”

  “No, actually…” He took a breath. “Coco showed up.”

  The waitress led them over to a table near his. Perfect.

  “What—is she okay?”

  Wyatt could imagine his sister, her dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt, barefoot, maybe sliding onto a high top chair at the kitchen island. She’d been hiding out at the ranch for the better part of six weeks, and she was probably going stir crazy. He didn’t blame her for sitting by the phone.

  “Yeah. She’s fine. I think she’s fine.” The way she’d kissed him…for a moment practically inhaling him, yes, she’d been very fine.

  “She’s not—I mean, I know she’s been recuperating, but…really? She looks healthy?”

  “Healthy enough to take off in a sprint after she saw me.” Oh, he hadn’t meant to admit that part, or for his voice to carry.

  Jace looked his direction.

  Wyatt cut his voice low. “She seemed surprised to see me.”

  Silence. “I hope York is…did she say why he didn’t meet you?”

  Oh. He hadn’t thought to ask, so stunned by Coco’s appearance. “No. But she did give me the USB drive. She said it has everything on it you need.”

  “Copies of the emails that show I was set up for Stanislov’s assassination?”

  “I haven’t checked it, but I’m guessing yes. She seemed pretty confident.”

  “Why didn’t she come with you? I don’t—Wyatt, did you do something?”

  “What? No. I practically begged her to come back with me. She said she couldn’t.”

  “She’s probably afraid of getting you hurt.”

  He stilled. “Wait—what?”

  “Just that there’s an assassin after her—after us. And maybe she thought—”

  “I’m hardly helpless, RJ. I can take care of myself.”

  Silence.

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re not a soldier, Wy. You’re a hockey player, and yeah, I get that you’re tough, but…”

  “And Coco can handle herself?”

  “No, but—well, York is there.”

  “He didn’t show up, RJ. And she didn’t mention him, so my guess is that she’s on her own.”

  RJ drew in a breath. And maybe he shouldn’t have said that because it did sound…now he was really going to be sick.

  The waitress swung by, picked up his half empty bottle, his plate of food, and dropped off the check.

  “You can’t leave her there—”

  “What do you want me to do? She ran away from me!”

  Oh. Shoot. The wind caught his voice, carried it to the nearby tables. He turned his back to Jace and the guys, cut it low again. “She doesn’t want me in her life. And I’m a stupid man to keep chasing after someone who just keeps leaving me. No. If she wants to stay in Russia, I can’t drag her kicking and screaming back to America—”

  “Wyatt—she is in danger.”

  “I know!”

  Oh, maybe he should just give up the attempt to keep his emotions under wrap. “I know. But like you said, I’m no superhero. I can’t save her—”

  “I never said you weren’t a superhero.”

  “You know what I mean. I’m getting on the train tomorrow, going to Vladivostok, and heading home with the team.”

  Silence. And shoot, but his kid sister might be crying, for the muffled breaths.

  He felt like crying too. Happily ever afters don’t exist. He should probably let that truth sink in, take root. Stop trying so hard to believe.

  He was such a pitiful romantic, it made him ill. So no, it wasn’t the fish. Or the beer, but his broken heart that turned his body to poison.

  “I gotta go. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up. Picked up the USB drive. Looked it over—small, about two inches, but the drive was a 32-gig, so it probably held a fair bit of information.

  He dropped it into hi
s shirt pocket, swiped up the check, signed it with his room number, and got up.

  Jace glanced up at him. Wyatt nodded to him.

  “Guns—you okay?”

  Deke and Kalen had turned too, and the last thing he needed was the team thinking he might be falling apart.

  Like Jace said, he was a leader. If he didn’t have Coco, the only thing that remained was his team. His career.

  Time to get back in the game. “I’m good, Coach.”

  Coco’s voice clung to him as he headed to the elevator banks. Our best hope is to survive.

  Yeah, well, he was very good at that game.

  The elevator arrived and he got in and leaned against the wooden walls as it shuddered up to the second floor. He got off, slowing as he remembered the last part of their conversation.

  And, by the way, great game. You deserved to win.

  She’d been at his game? Wow, he’d completely forgotten that part.

  He shook the thought away. It didn’t matter because hello—She. Didn’t. Want. Him.

  He stuck his key in the door. It unlatched and he opened it.

  For a second, he thought he might be in the wrong room. The mattress was off the bed, turned over, the bedsheets cast off. A chair at the table had been overturned, every drawer in the bureau pulled out, his clothes thrown across the room.

  Ransacked.

  Wyatt took a step inside. Stilled. What—?

  He took another step, his entire body prickling. Get out. He felt the words more than thought them.

  He turned—

  Wyatt had been body slammed thousands of times, knew how to take a hit, but this one came sharp and fast, a blow centered in the middle of his spine.

  He hit the door, cracked his jaw, but turned fast and got his arm up before the fist found his jaw.

  He wasn’t a street fighter—or spec ops, thank you—but he knew how to tussle, on and off the ice.

  He sent a punch into the man—about four inches shorter than himself, blond, a wicked scar across his jaw, clubbed ears—but the assailant took it like he’d been grazed and came at Wyatt.

  Wyatt sidestepped him and grabbed his arm, sending him into the wall. The man whirled and jabbed his elbow into his ear.

  Wyatt’s head spun, and he stumbled, hitting the bureau.