Watch Over Me

by Susan May Warren

  He flinched.

  A ray of sunshine broke through the wall of clouds and a shaft entered the room, lighting her hair gold. He pushed her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Well, then I’m not ready to lose you.” What she didn’t know was that if she died, he would too. A little bit every day for the rest of his life.

  “Gracie, what am I going to do after you’re gone?” Had he really let that leak out? He opened his mouth, maybe to take those words back, but she was staring at him with a startled expression that turned him mute. Wide eyes, beautiful and huge, a slight smile that packed a whammy.

  What was he doing sending her home?

  A thousand images raced through his mind—Gracie reaching across the table to take his hand, her eyes tearing at his words at the dacha, her laughter when Alfred slobbered on her. She was so beautiful and giving and full of this unconditional love that it made his knees weak. In fact, it ripped the breath right out of his chest.

  He already felt like he might be dying.

  “Gracie, I know this sounds crazy. But maybe… Don’t go. We’ll find the Wolf, and until then I can protect you. And then you can be here and maybe we can figure out—”

  “Vicktor,” she said, but he couldn’t hear the no. Please.

  He leaned down and did the only thing he could think of to silence her.

  He kissed her. Cupped one hand behind her neck, closed his eyes, and touched his mouth to hers. Sweetly. Softly. She held her breath and trembled just slightly, and he felt pretty sure that he was going to dissolve into a puddle right there.

  Her lips softened against his, full of trust. She mouthed his name, and his emotions climbed up his throat. Gracie.

  She had her hand on his chest. But she wasn’t pushing him away.

  In fact, she was kissing him back.

  It felt like a written and stamped invitation.

  His arm went around her waist, and he pulled her to his chest and felt his heart move out of his body to a place where there was no past, no future, just now. Blessed, glorious now.

  “Gracie,” he murmured, not wanting to stop but needing to know, please, that he wasn’t scaring her. He had the barest grip on his self-control, and knowing that made him slow down.

  Could it be that Mr. Reckless cared more about behaving himself than wrapping his arms around her, deepening his kiss, and making her forget everything but a list of reasons why she should stay, forever?

  Maybe he’d begun to think with his heart instead of his pride.

  He felt her hands on his chest.

  Yes, okay, slow down. With a ragged breath, he tore himself away. She met his eyes, a strange, pained expression on her face.

  He felt kicked in the gut.

  “No,” she whispered.

  No? She might as well have plunged a knife into his chest. Closing his eyes, he hoped she didn’t see the effect her words had on him. He blew out a breath and released her.

  “Sorry,” he said. He couldn’t look at her.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, but it didn’t feel that way.

  He sighed.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she mumbled, and moved toward the door, away from him. Away from them.

  He clutched the back of his neck. A muscle screamed, pulling taut. Dredging up his voice, he called after her. “How about some clean clothes?”

  She turned and nodded. A tear edged down her cheek. He suddenly wanted to throw something, anything, hear it break and drown the agonizing wail inside his head.

  No?

  He strode past her to the closet. Pulling out a pair of black jeans and a denim shirt, he handed them over without looking at her.

  “Thank you.” Her voice trembled.

  He held himself together until he heard the bathroom door close. Then he sank onto the edge of the bed, covered his face with his hands, and listened to his heart shatter.

  Gracie slumped against the bathroom door, giving way to the pressure in her knees.

  She’d kissed Vicktor. And she meant kissed him. A one-hundred-percent, lean-into-it with-her-heart-in-her-throat kind of kiss. And he’d been so gentle, so perfect. Tears glazed her eyes.

  What had she just done? She curled her arms over her head and groaned, still feeling his hands in her hair, her lips burning. Some missionary she was. She couldn’t even behave herself.

  Was it possible to fall in love with someone in three days? To let him move in and take over her heart? But love wasn’t based only on feelings. Love meant commitment, sharing like goals, values, futures.

  She and Vicktor were night and day. Light and darkness.

  Please, get me out of here, Lord. Save my heart from being totally skinned.

  Too late.

  She curled the pile of Vicktor’s clothing to her chest and buried her face in it. His clothes smelled like him. She inhaled, then with panic dumped them onto the floor. She didn’t want to think about his smell, or his incredible blue eyes, or the feel of his strong hands, or the way he scooped her into his arms, or even the tremor of his voice when he said her name.

  Obviously grief and fear had her clinging to an emotional precipice, and with a nudge she could happily tumble over into Vicktor’s arms and be lost forever. His gentleness, his protectiveness burrowed right to her heart.

  Okay, yes, she loved him. Loved the fact that she felt beautiful and perfect in his eyes, that he’d do anything to protect her. The thought of leaving him made her grasp the edge of the sink and haul in deep, pained breaths.

  I’m sorry, Lord. I am. Help me to leave him…

  Climbing to her feet, she peeled off her bloodied attire and stepped into the shower.

  She’d just stay here, forever, in the bathroom. With the shower blanketing her in warmth, cleansing her of the grief of the past twenty-four hours, and hiding her from the emotions that could only lead her, and Vicktor, to a place they couldn’t bear. She crumpled into the bathtub, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the water.

  Vicktor answered the telephone on the second ring. “Slyushaiyu.”

  “Sounds like you had a rough morning.” Roman’s voice was a balm on Vicktor’s fraying nerves.

  “I’ve had better.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m praying for you, pal.”

  Vicktor nodded, wishing Roman could pray Vicktor’s way into Gracie’s heart. “Thanks.”

  “I chatted with Preach last night, and he got your info. I copied it and sent it to your personal email.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  “The bottom line is that cancer vaccines are a fringe method of treating cancer. They’ve found one to eradicate melanoma, but it has little effect on other cancers.”

  “So Young’s remedy could be a breakthrough.”

  “If it works. You want me to come over there?”

  Vicktor rubbed a screaming muscle in his neck. “No, thanks. I’ll call if I need something.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Vicktor blew out a breath. “I have to get her safely home.”

  The silence on the other end of the line said his friend knew what that meant.

  “I guess this is one of those times I’ll ask you to pray to that God of yours.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that. But maybe it was time to invest in a little help. He’d contend with the cost later.

  “You got it, Stripes,” Roman said, then clicked off.

  Vicktor rummaged through his closet until he unearthed a brown knit shirt. Kicking out of his sweatpants, he pulled on a pair of black jeans. He could hear the shower still running and wished it could wash away the horror of the last few days. He doubted Gracie would ever return to his homeland. The memories alone would keep her away. Regret tightened his empty stomach. Why had he allowed himself to open his heart? Hope had led him places that he, a smart man with a history, knew better than to tread.

  Throwing his clothes into the hamper, he also picked up a suit coat he’d draped over a chair. He’d turned
into a complete slob, he thought wryly. He emptied the pockets onto the bed, intending to hang the jacket in the closet.

  A piece of paper snagged his attention. He picked it up and memory jolted through him. The picture he’d found at the Youngs’ apartment. A Korean and a Russian, arm in arm with Dr. Young. He squinted at the Russian. The face seemed familiar.

  Vicktor flicked the picture with his middle finger. Pastor Yuri Mikhailovich. Sure, the guy who’d practically dragged Gracie out of the lighthouse restaurant. He’d seemed rattled by Vicktor’s sudden appearance, even sweating. And something about his voice had struck a chord. Vicktor squinted at the Korean. His eyes widened. Gracie’s words hummed in his ears, Vicktor, you know the truth—you just need to believe, to open your eyes and see it.

  Vicktor picked up the phone and speed-dialed Arkady, who answered on the second ring.

  “I need you to do me a favor…” Vicktor started.

  Five minutes later he hung up and called Yanna. Her businesslike voice softened when she heard his request. “I’ll see what I can drum up,” she answered.

  “Great. We’ll be by HQ in about an hour.”

  “I’ll see you then,” Yanna promised, and hung up.

  Sitting down at his desk in the family room, he heard the shower turn off. And felt dread. Now Gracie would walk out of the bathroom, looking heart-wrenchingly gorgeous in his clothes, her green eyes shining like jewels. And he was supposed to turn off his feelings and somehow not get his heart cremated. He swallowed a rising panic and opened his laptop.

  He downloaded the message from Roman in seconds and hung up.

  Stripes: I got this from my sister. She says it’s the best she can do under the circumstances. She’s working with an indigenous tribe in Siberia at the moment.

  * * *

  Vicktor felt a shard of pity for Roman. Reading the name of Sarai, his true love, had to twist the knife in his friend’s wounded heart.

  * * *

  Forwarded message from sarai@mail.ru

  * * *

  Dave. I don’t know how much I can help you, but this is what I know about cancer vaccines.

  A cancer vaccine works much the same way as a smallpox vaccination or a polio vaccination. It involves the administration of medicine to an individual which will stimulate the immune system to produce antibodies to a particular disease. The idea is that if a person is then exposed to this particular disease, the antibodies will evoke a response to eliminate the disease.

  Cancer vaccines have been in the works since 1890, but since there are varied types of cancer cells, not one has been approved for therapy by the FDA. Studies show a significant percentage of success with melanoma (skin cancer), but for all other cancers, they are still under trial.

  Vicktor’s letter mentioned a veterinarian. Early rabies and even polio vaccines were made from the cells of animals. They often used a bacteria as a host cell to create these cells. Today, they are using what is called recombinant DNA technology to extract and manipulate cells of animals to form various vaccines. It is possible to use this genetic engineering to transfer a gene from one species into cells of another and let this transformed cell create a corresponding gene product. For example, they do this in the production of insulin.

  Scientists have been trying to create a cancer vaccine therapy for nearly a hundred years. If somehow a veterinarian in Siberia stumbled onto a possible therapy, the odds might be slim, but the stakes would be gargantuan. Pharmaceuticals would knock each other off just to get a sniff at the process. Cancer, the leading cause of death in America, could be given a death sentence. Millions of lives saved.

  Tell Vita to be very, very careful.

  Hello to Mom and Dad.

  XOXO Sarai

  * * *

  Vicktor drummed his fingers on his desk and read over the email again. Gene therapy. Animal antibodies. Could Evgeny have found a vaccine for cancer? And if so, who wanted it? Who wouldn’t want it? The possibilities webbed his brain. Sarai’s last line, however, glared like neon.

  He had to get Gracie out of Russia—with the medical notes.

  The door to the bathroom creaked open. Vicktor turned.

  The sight of her knocked him breathless. Just what he needed. With her hair slicked back, swimming in his black jeans and blue jean shirt, Gracie and her tentative smile lit his heart.

  No, she’d said.

  Oh, his world would be black when she left. Somehow she’d brightened his life, and after she left, his soul would be that much darker for the contrast.

  Now, he had Andrei’s death to contend with.

  Vicktor fled to the kitchen, unable to face the despair he felt.

  She padded in behind him.

  He grabbed a bowl. “I’ll make us some eggs.”

  “I don’t want eggs right now.”

  He turned, and she startled him by stepping closer. “I want to know what haunts you.”

  A lump lodged in his throat. No, she did not want to know that he woke every night wishing he could rip the heart out of a monster. No, she didn’t want to know he was so desperately lonely that at times he longed to climb inside his computer, or that his heart was crumbling right here, knowing he was sending out of his life the one person he’d always dreamed about.

  Or that he loved her, and it was only going to destroy him.

  His heart thudded against his rib cage when she stole closer and hung a hand on his arm.

  “Please? I really do care.”

  Oh, she had truly magical, heart-stopping, persuasive green eyes. He clenched his jaw. “How about some toast?”

  “No. I want the truth.”

  He turned away from her and put the bowl back. Bracing his hands on the counter, he hung his head. “No, you don’t.”

  Her hand on his back coaxed him. “Trust me, please?”

  Trust her. Like she’d trusted him? He closed his eyes. “You might not like me when I’m done.”

  Softly, without a pause, she said, “Not a chance, Vicktor.”

  He turned and against his will he reached out for her.

  She didn’t resist him. Which made him want to cry. She fit so well in his arms. She leaned her cheek against his chest—her fragrance, fresh soap and his shampoo, reaching up like a caress. He felt her damp hair through his cotton shirt and was oddly warmed by it. He closed his eyes.

  They stood in a quiet embrace while Vicktor listened to his heartbeat counting down their last moments together.

  Vicktor reached down and cupped her chin, raising her face to his. Her eyes were a translucent, sea-green, brimming with something indescribable…something he hoped could be called love. He was afraid to ask, to speculate and let hope drive him insane.

  “I—I’m so sorry about Andrei,” he stammered. “I didn’t know…it all happened so quickly…I couldn’t—”

  She stopped his words with two soft fingers to his lips. “It’s okay. I know. And…I forgive you. I know it wasn’t your fault, but you think it was…so, I forgive you, in Andrei’s stead.”

  He winced and put her away from him. “No, Gracie, you can’t forgive me.” He pushed past her.

  “Vicktor…”

  He stalked out of the room and stood at the door to his bedroom. She padded up behind him, and he stiffened.

  She curled her hand around his arm, pulling gently. No, he wouldn’t look into her eyes and see the tenderness, the forgiveness written there. The back of his throat tightened.

  “Vicktor, look at me.”

  Her plaintive voice was more than he could take. Reluctantly, he turned to face her. He kept his jaw, his body rigid. She ran her finger along his chin.

  “Sometimes it’s easier for people to live with self-punishment than it is to accept forgiveness. But in this case, you don’t get to tear yourself apart with Andrei’s death. It was a horrible, terrible murder, but not at your hands.” Her eyes glistened. “Andrei is in heaven now, and I don’t want you to live in hell, here on earth.”

  Heaven? �
��How can you say that? Andrei betrayed you.” He felt himself losing his grip, sliding down the slope toward desperation. “He lied, he was even a part of the Youngs’ murder…and you say he’s in heaven?” Vicktor shook his head. “I don’t understand you—or your religion.”

  “‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.’ It’s not my religion—it’s God’s grace. And He gives it to whoever asks.”

  “No way.” He stepped away from her, into his room. He resisted slamming the door in her face, but every nerve in his body wanted to shake free of her words.

  Sadness crept into Gracie’s voice. “I know Andrei was a Christian. I know it in the way he talked, and even in his actions. He may have betrayed me, sinned against me, but Jesus can forgive any sin.”

  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.”