It was clear her dad had had time to process that she was alive and had moved on to the “I want answers” part.
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can,” she said.
Her eyes widened a little at what her father said next. “Uh, he’s sleeping.”
She eyed Scott apologetically, and he guessed her dad wasn’t taking that for an excuse.
“It’s fine,” Scott said, holding out his hand. “I don’t mind talking to him.”
Natalie dragged her teeth on her lip a long time before handing the phone to him.
“This is Scott,” he said.
From what Natalie had told him about her father, Scott expected the voice on the other end to sound weak and sickly. But the deep baritone laden with steel sounded more like a two-hundred-pound linebacker who was coming at him headfirst and didn’t care about a targeting penalty.
“I don’t know who you are and what’s going on, but if anything happens to my daughter, I’m holding you responsible.”
Make that two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker. Natalie’s dad didn’t need to explain how he’d do that—the gist was implicit in his tone.
“Yes, sir,” Scott said. “I understand.” He looked at Natalie—who was clearly embarrassed—and held her gaze solely. “I’ll protect her with my life.”
“See that you do,” her father said. “Or you will wish that you had.”
That was explicit enough. “Understood.”
Scott handed the phone back to Natalie and waited for her to finish her conversation. It didn’t take long.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said with an apologetic wince, as she disconnected and handed Scott back the phone. “My father is a little overprotective, and he is like a mama bear when Lana and I are in trouble or threatened. Which I guess we are.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’d feel the same in his shoes.” He paused for a minute. “Your dad didn’t happen to play football, did he?”
It was kind of a joke.
Her brows shot up. “How did you guess? He was an offensive lineman in high school and was recruited by the University of Minnesota, but his father wouldn’t let him go. He needed help on the farm.”
Scott tried not to groan. Offensive lineman? “He must be a big guy.”
She nodded. “He’s heavier now after the heart attack, but he’s six-six and about two-eighty.” She smiled, wistfully. “My friends were always scared of him because he looks so mean, but he’s a teddy bear once you get to know him.”
Right. A six-six, two-eighty, mean-looking teddy bear. Those totally went together.
“I hope I didn’t wake you when I got out of bed,” she said. “But I wanted to try to get ahold of Lana before they sat down to eat dinner.” She frowned and tilted her head to look at him. “Was something wrong? You looked upset when you came in here.”
“No,” he said, not wanting to confess to his moment of doubt. “I was just wondering who you were talking to.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I used your phone, but I thought it better than using your . . .” She stopped and he guessed she was about to say the F-word. In this case, “father.” “The senator’s landline.”
“It’s fine,” Scott said. “Is everything okay with your sister?”
She sighed. “I think so. But it’s always hard to tell with Lana. With her cognitive issues, she seems to take good news and bad news in stride.” Her mouth quirked. “She didn’t understand why I missed her birthday party if I wasn’t at the cemetery, but she mostly wanted to talk about the computer games and YouTube videos she’s been watching. It was good to hear her voice and nice to talk to someone who didn’t want explanations.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-six. We’re two and a half years apart.”
“What happened to her? You mentioned something in the orphanage?”
He hadn’t wanted to ask before, fearing it would make him too sympathetic toward her. But clearly that cat was already out of the bag. Besides, it could be helpful. He knew Kate was still looking into the adoption agency, but she hadn’t come up with much beyond the link with Mick.
Natalie stiffened and her gaze dropped. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as if she were cold. He wasn’t sure she was going to respond, but then she said, “It was a long time ago. We were both so young. I was three when we went into the orphanage and Lana was only six months old. Just a baby.” She smiled wistfully. “She was so beautiful. My mom called her Kukolka, which is something akin to baby doll. It’s one of the only memories I have of her—and one of the few Russian words I remember.”
“What happened to them? Your parents?”
“They were ballet dancers. They tried to defect during a performance but were delayed in waiting for Lana and me to be brought to them after the show. One of their watchers found out and reported them. They were imprisoned and shortly after I was told by one of the supervisors at the orphanage they’d died. The irony, of course, was that the Wall came down, and the USSR dissolved not long after they were arrested. If they’d waited a few months maybe . . .” Her voice fell off, and he knew she was thinking of all the things that would have been different. “It’s funny. I have so few memories of them—bits and pieces or flashes here and there—but I remember being happy and loved. Maybe that’s why what happened afterward stands out so sharply in comparison.”
Scott found himself tensing—as if bracing himself. “They were cruel to you at the orphanage?”
After seeing what the Russians had called a prison at the gulag, he didn’t imagine a late Cold War orphanage was much better.
She thought for a moment and shook her head. “No. That’s the thing. They weren’t cruel, just indifferent. Although in retrospect maybe it amounted to the same thing. But if you are envisioning Dickensian characters or Nurse Ratched, the women who took care of us weren’t like that. They were just cold and efficient—sterile like the orphanage itself. I remember thinking when I got there that the world had suddenly gone gray. The orphanage was colorless and joyless. In that respect I guess it was like you picture in the movies—some kind of asylum but with kids.”
“Sounds pretty bleak.”
“It was. But when I read about it later, I realized that at the time they thought they were doing the right thing. The doctors and child specialists thought it would be easier for us to form attachments once we left the orphanage if we didn’t form them while we were there.”
Scott remembered seeing something about this in the papers when there were some problems with Russian adoptions. Maybe the caretakers at the orphanage hadn’t been intentionally cruel, but it had led to some kids with severe emotional-attachment issues.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “That must have been horrible.”
She shrugged. “We were only there a little over two years. And Lana and I had each other.” He suspected there was a lot behind that statement. “We were lucky the Anderssons were patient. Actually we were lucky in more ways than one. At first they wanted only one child. They picked me, but I went crazy when they tried to take me away from Lana. Instead of throwing me back like most people would have done with a hysterical child, they agreed to take both of us.” Tears were shimmering in her eyes when she looked up at him. “I loved them with everything I had from that moment on. To take any child from an orphanage requires a generous heart, but to take a toddler with special needs . . . that requires generosity of an entirely different kind.”
Scott had never met her parents, and her father had just threatened him on the phone, but from that moment they’d earned his gratitude, respect, and loyalty, too. He’d do his best to make damned sure nothing happened to them. Natalie had put her trust in him, and he wouldn’t let her down.
He waited for her to continue, aware that she’d
circled away from his original question. But she came back to it. “The women who looked after us at the orphanage were for the most part fine as long as we were quiet and behaved. Which was okay for me, but not for Lana. She was colicky when we arrived and cried all the time—especially that first year. I did my best to keep her quiet, and spent most nights curled up on the ground beside her crib holding her hand and rubbing her back.”
Scott looked at her. “Jeez, Nat. What were you, three?”
“I was four when it happened.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I was caught up in a game of jump rope. We weren’t allowed outside to play very often, but this was a special occasion since someone high up in the new government was coming to ‘observe.’ Lana hadn’t been crying as much lately, and I somehow lost track of time. I raced back but it was too late.”
Tears were slipping down her cheeks. He couldn’t keep his distance any longer. He stood from the bed, walked over to the chair, and lifted her up long enough to sit and deposit her on his lap. She snuggled into him like a child, drawing comfort from his warmth and strength. It made him feel strangely powerful and his chest expanded until he could barely breathe.
He stroked her hair. “What happened?”
“She must have awoken early from her nap and started crying because I wasn’t there. When I came in, one of the new nurses was holding her limp body away from her in her hands. I thought Lanie was dead and started screaming. I remember one of the head ladies coming in and the new one saying over and over that she hadn’t done anything; she’d just shaken her a little to try to get her to stop crying.”
Scott let out a low curse. “Shaken baby syndrome?”
Natalie nodded. “I didn’t know what it was called then. I just knew that when Lana came back from the hospital she was different. She didn’t act the way she used to. She was quiet and laconic. She didn’t cry as much, but neither did she smile. She improved a lot when we came to America, but she’s blind in one eye, has some cognitive delays, and occasionally has seizures.”
“You were practically a toddler yourself, Natalie. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” she said, as if it was something she’d said many times because it was easier than disagreeing. But she clearly didn’t believe it.
He intended to see that she did.
It was also clear where her protectiveness toward her sister—and her family for that matter—came from.
“Is there anything else you remember about your time at the orphanage? I wouldn’t ask but it could be important.”
She shook her head. “Not much more than I already told you. Because my parents were Soviet ‘traitors’ Mick told me I was put into a secret sleeper spy program to pay for their crimes.”
“The program continued after the fall of the Soviet Union?”
“From what Mick said the people who set up the program were former Department S—the secret section of the KGB—who found new positions with the SVR.”
Russia’s current intelligence agency. “What crime was Mick paying for?”
“He never told me. All I know is that he’d been put in an orphanage because of something his father had done. Like me, he was in America for years before he was ‘recruited.’” Anticipating his question, she added, “He never told me by whom. He never told me any names of the people he reported to. I don’t know what hook they had in him, but Mick was an opportunist. Whatever it was, you can be sure he made the best of it.”
The hatred in her voice when she spoke of Mick hadn’t lessened any with the news of his death. Scott couldn’t blame her. His had only intensified since he learned what Mick had done.
“Kate is looking into it to see what kind of connections she can find. Anything else you can think of could be helpful.”
“I wish I knew something, but I suspect Mick feared I’d spill my guts at some point. He told me just enough to believe him.” She shook her head. “It still sounds crazy. Who would think that there was a Russian spy program involving orphanages operating since the Cold War? It sounds more like a bad TV show.”
“Actually it’s a good one.”
She looked at him, confused.
“The Americans,” he said. “The show was loosely based on a Russian spy sleeper program called the ‘illegals’ that was uncovered in 2010. If you want illogical, you should read about that one. It was embarrassingly bumbling and unsophisticated.”
She turned in his lap to look up at him, obviously surprised. “I had no idea. I thought that show was fiction.”
“It was some crazy shit. This whole thing is crazy.”
“Believe me, I’ve told myself that almost every day for four years. I used to think my life was so boring. But I’d give anything to go back to boring. Boring is good. Boring is normal. Boring doesn’t have hit men trying to kill you.” She sighed heavily. “But that’s never going to happen.”
It wasn’t a question, and she wasn’t looking for any reassurance, but he tried to give it anyway. “You don’t know that. Once we get all this figured out—”
“If we get this all figured out, it isn’t going to change my role in it. I’m still going to go to prison.”
Every bone in his body rebelled at the idea, even if it was probably—likely—true. He squeezed her a little tighter as if he could infuse her with his certainty. “I’m not going to let that happen, Nat.”
She didn’t argue, but it was clear she didn’t believe him.
“I’m not,” he insisted, although he didn’t want to think about what he might have to do to keep that promise.
“You’ve already done enough, Scott. More than I had a right to expect. I swear I won’t ask anything more of you, except . . . I need you to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“That if I go to prison, you’ll make sure the baby is taken care of. My parents will help, but they are getting older and—”
He cut her off, forcibly taking her by the shoulders to look her in the eyes angrily. “No. That isn’t going to happen.”
Her face fell. “I know that we weren’t able to wait around for the test, but you have to know the baby is yours.”
She’d obviously misinterpreted his anger. “I don’t give a shit about the test. I know it’s mine. But I’m not letting you go to prison, okay. I’ll think of something. You just have to trust me.”
“I do,” she said, and then repeated, “I do. But just promise me, okay?”
“Christ, Nat. Of course, I’ll take care of the baby. You shouldn’t even need to ask.”
“I know, but thank you.” The relief in her voice bothered him. It was almost as if she’d given up. She put her head on his chest, and he swore he wouldn’t let her down.
Nineteen
Natalie was rarely late. But tonight she made an exception. She purposefully took her time in getting ready for dinner, and it was closer to six fifteen when she finally left the room.
Dinner had been her idea. Scott had wanted to take the senator up on his offer to have food sent to their room, but Natalie had dragged herself off Scott’s lap—and him off the chair—insisting that they go down.
“It would be rude,” she’d told him. “The senator has opened up his house to us without asking any questions; the least we can do is join him for dinner.”
Scott guessed what she was trying to do. A steel curtain dropped down over his face.
“You can’t force this, Natalie.”
“I know. And you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to. But you can’t hide up in the room the whole time, either.”
She tossed him the duffel bag he’d brought that included his clothes. Not that Scott standing around in his boxer briefs was a bad thing. Normally. But looking at that big, muscular body was making her feel all warm and tingly again, and she didn’t want him distracting her. Which they both knew wouldn’t take
much effort.
He caught the bag and quirked a brow. “Hiding? He offered to send up food, not me.”
“He was being polite. And so are we. So get dressed.”
LC Taylor wasn’t the only one who could issue orders around here.
“You know, you’re kind of sexy when you are bossy.”
He started coming toward her with an expression on his face that she knew too well—and usually resulted in her naked and on her back—but she held him back with her hand. Unfortunately it came up against bare chest, which made her stern-schoolmarm voice a little shaky. “Nice try. But you aren’t going to distract me with that right now.”
Later he could distract her all he wanted. But even thinking about later was kind of distracting, and she felt her body rev up with anticipation.
“I’m not?” he said, gazing down at her with a heated look that would have melted her socks off if she’d been wearing any. “You sure about that?”
Knowing he was right made her just annoyed enough to purse her lips together with determination and push him back. “Get dressed, Commander.”
It wasn’t until she’d marched into her room that she realized her mistake. She had no idea what to wear. Did rich people dress for dinner?
A quick riffling through the clothes she’d brought told her that if they did, she was out of luck. Not one fancy cocktail dress had magically appeared among the mostly shorts and jeans that she’d grabbed in the two minutes Scott had given her to pack.
The best she could do was black linen capris that were rolled at the leg and a long-sleeve white linen blouse that she wore over a white cotton tank top. As the choice was tennis shoes or black flip-flops, she went with the flip-flops.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
She was thinking about changing her mind and taking Scott up on his distracting tactics when he came into her room. “You almost ready? It’s just about six.” He came to a sudden halt when she turned around. “Wow! You look incredible.”
Out of Time Page 25
