Vicktor rolled his eyes.
Gracie giggled.
“Soon we formed this little group—me, David, Yanna, and Vicktor and another American named Mae.”
Roman looked pointedly at Vicktor. “Yes, there was also Mae.”
“Mae?” Gracie echoed.
Vicktor reached for his soda.
Yanna covered Gracie’s hand with her own. “She was Vicktor’s first introduction to stubborn American women.”
“And a painful introduction it was,” Vicktor mumbled.
Gracie raised her eyebrows.
Yanna chortled. “Mae is still a dear friend. My best. But she was—and is—headstrong and independent. She flies C-130s for the Air National Guard.” She flicked a mischievous glance at Vicktor. Vicktor begged for mercy with his eyes.
“Vicktor had it in his head he would never let anything happen to another woman friend, so he started shadowing her.”
“Protecting,” Vicktor interjected.
“Hovering.” Roman smirked.
Vicktor glowered at him.
“It turned out okay,” Yanna said. “He saved her from a mugging one night. But she caught on to his little obsession and told him to back off.”
Gracie grimaced playfully. “Does he still have an issue with shadowing?”
Yanna leaned close, staring at Vicktor but speaking to Gracie. “You tell me.”
Vicktor nearly fell backward off his chair. “Enough!”
“No!” Gracie said, her shoulders shaking. “Tell me about Mae. Did she ever forgive him?”
“What’s not to forgive?” Vicktor asked.
Roman shook his head.
“Yes, she forgave him. Made him walk at least ten feet behind her for about six months, but yes.” Yanna tilted her head at him. “But I’d say he still has a thing about protecting American ladies. Wouldn’t you agree, Vicktor?”
He smiled weakly and wished the earth could open up and swallow him whole.
17
Larissa watched Boris in the dim evening light. Twilight was his kindest hour. It softened his hard eyes, gave his paunchy body angles, erased the wrinkles, darkened his hair.
It helped.
She picked up the shot glass and let the vodka flame her throat. Warmth crept through her body and dulled her disgust. Yes, she could do this. She fingered her necklace, then padded up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. She kneaded the muscles, bunched tight under layers of flesh. “Have faith, moy Tovarish.”
It was good to call him Comrade. He needed it. And it had the right connotation. They were partners, yes. However, no more than that, despite the hunger in his eyes. He was usually so gentle with her, as if afraid of the power she held. And she did hold power.
But not enough. She let the images of Bali, and perhaps a house on some warm shore, swell in her mind. She’d never return to Russia, to cold and gray. She massaged his shoulders, not too hard. Don’t anger him.
She’d seen his anger, once. It was enough. She dragged the tips of her fingers across his sweaty flesh, gently calming his heated nerves. “Andrei is with her right now.”
“I am afraid, my little shpeon, you don’t know quite as much as you think.”
Boris turned, his dark eyes sharp like knives. His gaze fell to her neck, fastened on the necklace. “I thought I asked you not to wear that around me.”
He reached out and tore it off with a snap.
Vicktor wiggled the computer mouse, watching the cursor flit across the message displayed. The modem hummed, then buzzed as he connected to the internet. C’mon, Preach, be online tonight.
Roman yawned from his post on the sofa. “He’s probably asleep at this hour.” He checked his watch. “Seven a.m. East Coast time.”
“I doubt it.” Vicktor turned and hung his elbow over the back of his chair. “He’s probably doing his last round of stomach crunchers.”
* * *
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“Score.” Vicktor turned and typed quickly.
* * *
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He drummed his fingers on the mouse pad, waiting for David’s reply.
* * *
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Vicktor sent him an invitation and the dialogue box opened. Preach’s name appeared on the lower box, while Vicktor’s online name identified his box.
* * *
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Vicktor threw a hasty look at Roman, who had propped his smelly feet on the sofa and now mindlessly scratched Alfred’s spiked ear. His eyes were closed. Good.
* * *
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Vicktor wiggled his fingers over the keyboard for a second before he typed.
* * *
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Vicktor turned cold. David and his principles.
* * *
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If Vicktor didn’t respect the guy so much, he wouldn’t have asked. Still, David’s reply cut deeper than Vicktor wanted to admit.
* * *
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Vicktor narrowed his eyes at the screen. A family. People to trust, to belong to. People that depended on one another. People to turn to when trouble slithered into a man’s life. Thanks, Preach, for your unconditional support.
* * *
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The pause was either a glitch in his internet or David absorbing that information. Vicktor kept typing.
* * *
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Vicktor shot a look at Roman. The guy was staring a
t him as if reading his mind.
* * *
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He heard Roman shift off the sofa and move toward him. Roman’s breath swished past Vicktor’s ear.
* * *
* * *
“Pretty?” Roman read aloud. Vicktor elbowed him.
* * *
* * *
“Tell him hi,” said Roman, rubbing his gut and backing away. “Tell him you’re in prime tiger form tonight.”
* * *
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Vicktor cast a look toward his closed bedroom door.
* * *
* * *
He closed his chat before David could respond. He didn’t need a long-winded chat with Preach about the needs lurking in his heart. He knew better than anyone the demons he battled.
He closed the laptop and drummed his fingers on the case. He just wished one of those demons wasn’t hot on Gracie’s tail.
Yanna tossed her a pillow. Gracie caught it with one hand and tucked it into a crisp white pillowcase. “Is this pillowcase ironed?”
Yanna grinned. “Told you he was domestic.”
“The perfect catch.” Gracie couldn’t believe she had said that. Emboldened, she plowed ahead. “So, is he dating anyone?”
“No. Not for years.” Yanna gathered her hair and snapped a band around it. Gracie tried not to be jealous that the woman looked good even in ragged yellow sweats and a green Army T-shirt. At least Gracie’s hair now felt clean and dry, bouncing slightly from its natural curl. She laced her fingers through it.
“Thanks for staying here, Yanna. You and Roman are good friends to Vicktor.”
Yanna shrugged. “We love him like a brother.” She fixed her eyes on Gracie’s and they darkened. “And we don’t want to see him hurt.”
Okay, copy that. Gracie managed a smile and shook her head. “I leave in two days. Don’t worry, I can’t start anything.”
“I think you already have.”
Gracie frowned, scrolling back over her day, seeing Vicktor’s face when Andrei kidnapped her, his smile when he bought her the dress, his chagrin tonight at Yanna’s chiding about his friend Mae. And why, exactly, did the thought of another woman in his very capable arms, even for the purposes of protection, start a slow burn in the center of her chest?
So maybe something had started, for both of them. Gracie shook her head. “No, for personal reasons, I can’t make him any promises.” Like, for example…he wasn’t a Christian. Not that she’d asked, but somehow, she could see it in his eyes when he’d told her Roman was a believer. Vicktor didn’t put himself in that category. And that fact alone should make her post a Do Not Enter sign on her heart.
Unless he had already snuck inside. She tried not to scowl.
“Vicktor needs more than promises, I’m afraid,” Yanna said with a wry smile. “He doesn’t trust easily.”
“Why not?”
Yanna stretched out on the double bed, crossing her feet at the ankles. “It comes with the territory. He’s a cop. He’s seen too much. His faith in human nature is so low it’s negative.” She tugged off her socks. “Still, I think you might be just what he needs to soften that calloused heart.”
Gracie blushed. “You’re presuming a lot. How do you know Vicktor is even interested?” She sat on the bed and dipped her feet into a pool of lamplight illuminating the orange carpet.
“Women’s intuition. Besides, I haven’t scrutinized his very rare relationships for nothing. The man’s mush with you.” Yanna climbed under the blankets and tucked the covers up to her chin. “Turn off the light, please?”
Gracie switched off the lamp. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she padded to the window. Outside, lights from opposite apartments glowed orange and yellow, and a pale moon skimmed the rooftops on its heavenly ascent. A mild breeze brushed unseen trees. Gracie leaned her forehead against the cool glass and chewed Yanna’s words. She’d never turned a man to mush. Well, maybe Andrei, but he had never turned her to mush.
Not like Vicktor. Gracie shut her eyes. God, I’ve made a big mistake. Please, don’t let me fall for Vicktor.
Not only shouldn’t she give away her heart two days before she left Russia. But especially not to a non-Christian. Folly loomed before her as she considered Vicktor’s blue eyes and megawatt smile. Folly and heartache.
“I’m getting a drink of water,” she announced to Yanna. The woman answered with a hum.
Gracie opened the door and peeked out. In the dark living room, she spied Vicktor lounging on the sofa, an arm slung over his eyes. His friend Roman had obviously departed. Holding her breath, she tiptoed past the living room and into the kitchen. Fumbling in the milky darkness, she found a cup and opened the refrigerator for a bottle of filtered water. Light washed over her, and she blinked and squinted in the glare.
A hand touched her arm.
“Can I help you?” Vicktor asked. “Hungry?”
Gracie felt like a burglar. “No. I wanted a drink of water.”
He reached past her and grabbed the bottle. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you,” Gracie said as he filled her cup.
He closed the door and the night bathed them in velvet. He stood so close she could smell his skin, the scent of his cologne, and feel his breath on her neck. She tensed. He must have felt it, for he stepped back. She started to move past him.
“Gracie, why did you come to Russia?”
She turned and studied him. The moonlight fell across his face, and his eyes gleamed. Goose bumps peppered her skin, but she made up her mind. If she was going to earn his trust, she’d have to give him the truth.
She fingered a loose hair, then tucked it behind her ear. Silent, she leaned against the doorframe and ran her eyes over him. Illumined by a fragment of moonlight from the living room, she appeared pale and frail. An illusion. He hoped it was the only illusion about her life.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered.
She ran her fingers through her clean hair, and Vicktor was momentarily distracted by the moonlight turning it gold. She gazed past him as she spoke.
“I used to think I came here because I wanted to share the gospel. Because I wanted to spend my life telling people about Jesus.” Suddenly, her eyes fixed on him, intense. It raised the fine hairs on his neck. Made him squirm. “And I do. Without Jesus, without Him paying for my sins and giving me a new life, there is no hope. I know that as well as I know that I must breathe each day.” Her gaze gentled. “But I think I really came to prove something to myself, or maybe earn something…” Her voice quivered. “No, rather, God sent me here to teach me something.” She peered into her glass, sipped water, then held the cup in both hands.
Vicktor frowned. “That’s it? That’s why you came here? To learn something?” He folded his arms and a knot formed in his stomach. He’d hoped for more, something profound, life changing. Something he could cling to. “You mean you spent two years here and it was just to learn a lesson?”
Hurt shadowed her face. “I think this lesson affects every part of my life, Vicktor.”
“So, just what is this lesson?”
Gracie rubbed her thumb along her glass. Then she pushed past him, walking toward the window. He ran his eyes over her outline, the tilt of her head, her angular face, the curve of her body filling out Yanna’s clothes better than Yanna did. He tore his eyes from her and stared at the floor.
“I think the lesson has to do with needing God. With Him looking past my sins to give me grace.”
Vicktor came up to stand behind her at the window. He placed his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, feeling the silky softnes
s of her hair on his hands. The smell of her clean skin was making his head spin.
She began to tremble, as if…as if she was afraid. He stared at her, horrified. He wanted to groan, but it stuck in his throat. As if they were poison, he yanked his hands off her shoulders and stepped away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “Oh man, Gracie, I’m really sorry. I just thought…” What had he thought? He didn’t know what he had expected, but that afternoon she had been so inviting, so beautiful in her new dress. And with her playful attitude, her teasing smirks at dinner…he’d seen signals. “You looked so nice today and I…”
No, that wasn’t what he meant at all. Her dress and Russian makeover had nothing to do with the way his heart practically jumped up and galloped when she walked into the room. No, his pulse rate had more to do with her rapt attention, her smile…those eyes needing him.
Watch Over Me Page 17
