Yeah, well, he didn’t operate that way.
“She’s probably just busy with work.” Roman picked up Vicktor’s arm holster, tossed it to him. Vicktor put it on.
“Sarai and I go head-to-head about once a month, and then I spend the next twenty-four hours trying to get her to talk to me. I’ve decided that it’s a pretty good trade-off for the rest of the month when she’s trying to get me to listen. Don’t forget your passport.”
Vicktor grabbed his watch from the bathroom shelf, put it on. “She says I treat her like she constantly needs to be rescued. That I think she goes looking for trouble.” He looked up at Roman. “I might have said she knows how to find it, but I’m not overprotective, am I?”
Roman gave him a sad grin. “Oh, Vicktor. Do you not know yourself at all?”
Vicktor shot a look in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes and a two day beard growth. So he’d been a little upset. “How can I not care? I lived there, I know what kind of people she can run into. She expects me to sit here and do nothing? And if I didn’t, she’d probably accuse me of not caring.”
“Who can tell with women? I took Sarai’s car to the repair shop two weeks ago, and it’s still waiting in the lot for parts. She’s mad at me because she doesn’t have a car. But she seems to think that the add oil light means to drive a little slower. I’d be surprised if it didn’t need a new engine. I’m in trouble regardless of what I do. Grab your cell and the charger.”
Vicktor swiped them from the table and gave a longing look at his quiet computer. “I’ve asked her what the problem is. I get a ‘nothing’s wrong’, which I know really means, ‘You’ve really bumbled it now, pal, and it’s up to you to figure out not only exactly what you did, but how to fix it’.” He pocketed the cell.
One side of Roman’s mouth lifted up, but he shook his head. “Maybe you should give her what she wants.”
Vicktor took his coat from Roman. “What’s that?”
“Stop rescuing her.” Roman opened the door. “Give her some space. Don’t hover.”
“Like we’re doing to Yanna?” Vicktor followed Roman through the door and closed it behind him.
“We’re not dating Yanna. Besides, this is different. She’s in trouble, and the last thing she needs is to be out there by herself.”
Vicktor didn’t answer. Maybe Roman was right.
He just needed to calm down. Gracie was a smart woman.
She knew how to take care of herself.
Really.
Even with her paranoid-o-meter set on overdrive, the Hotel Ryss made Gracie want to don haz-mat gear. She’d been in a few dives before—especially overseas, but this seedy so-called hotel located in the forgotten part of downtown Seattle, with its ancient carpet that smelled as if it had been installed in the seventies, the outdated velour chairs, the giant chandelier in the center of the lobby—someone at least had entertained grand intentions, yet failed, badly. In fact, the place well lived up to its name, because it looked exactly like something she might have found in old Russia, just climbing out of the so-called glorious communist years.
She approached the in-need-of refinishing counter to be greeted by a young woman with her golden brown hair piled atop her head. She looked about eighteen but wore enough makeup to hope the world thought otherwise. The nametag on her polyester green jacket read Anya.
“Zdrasvootya,” Anya said. “Welcome to the Hotel Ryss.”
“Hi,” Gracie said. “I’m looking for someone—Ina Luduko.”
Anya glanced behind her. “I haven’t seen her. She works in housekeeping.”
“Do you have a manager here? Someone I can talk to?” Gracie shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, and forced a smile. Vicktor would probably flash his badge, demand a line-up of everyone who worked with Ina, but well, Gracie lived by the “catch more flies with honey than vinegar” philosophy.
And, surprise, surprise, it worked. Anya rang up the housekeeping office. Gracie felt every eye on her, from the man reading the Moscow times in the seating area to the woman holding a bouquet of carnations waiting by the door.
“Can I help you?”
Gracie turned at the voice of the man. Dressed in a suit, dark European shoes and a high and tight haircut, he looked a few-years-older version of the boy she’d seen with Ina.
And, familiar. Painfully, she’d-seen-him-at-the-airport familiar.
This was the head of housekeeping? “Kosta Sokolov,” he said, crossing his arms. His thumb played with the gold ring on his finger. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Ina Luduko. She works for you?”
Recognition flickered across the man’s face, and he smiled. “I’m sorry, she’s not here today. Called in sick.”
Gracie blinked back her surprise. “Then how about her boyfriend? He works here, too? Jorge?”
The man’s smile dimmed, just slightly. “I’m sorry, he’s not here, either.” He glanced at Anya, who turned away and began working on her computer. “Can I help you in any other way?”
Gracie suppressed the urge to exit the building at a full run. She wasn’t sure who was lying—tall dark and creepy, or her own brain for making her believe she could sleuth out Ina on her own.
“Can I at least ask when they worked last?”
The man pursed his lips. The smiled. “That is confidential information. I’m sorry.”
Of course it was. “Thank you,” she said. He waited until she turned away. Anya met her eyes as she watched her go.
Gracie stepped outside, stood on the sidewalk, watching the wind scatter decaying leaves at her feet. Now what? What would Vicktor do?
He’d find out, that’s what. Regardless of what it took. He’d sneak in the back, maybe interview her co-workers. Or he’d stake out the front, follow Anya home, drag her into FSB HQ. He’d figure out a way to pry the information from them.
He’d spent years learning how to lean on people.
And, she, well, she spent years trying to minister to the hurts inside. And she saw hurt or at least secrets written all over Anya. She turned, looking back through the doors.
Anya continued to stare at her. Gracie walked across the street, fishing her cell phone from her pocket. Glancing back at the hotel, she dialed the number.
“Hotel Ryss,” Anya answered.
“It’s me, the lady that was just in the lobby. Listen, I thought…Ina is missing and I’m just trying to find her. If you know anything…”
Silence at the end of the line made her stop walking, turn back toward the hotel. Please.
Anya’s voice lowered. “She came in with Jorge two days ago. I haven’t seen her since.”
“You mean she worked her shift?”
“No…I mean, she came in with Jorge, and…I haven’t seen her since.”
Gracie stilled. “Could she still be in the hotel?”
She could hear Anya breathing. Then, softly, “Yes.”
Gracie stared up at the hotel, all six stories. Built in the late fifties, it came complete with fire escapes on each floor, and a dark alley filled with dumpsters.
“Any idea what floor, what room?”
“Jorge rents a room on the sixth floor. Number 63—”
The line broke off. Gracie stared at the phone. Call lost, it read.
Lost, indeed. She stared back at the hotel, everything inside her screaming to run back to the lobby, grab Anya, make a dash for it.
To, where? What, exactly did she hope to accomplish? What if she snuck into the hotel, found Jorge’s room, burst in….only to find that Ina had run away? She wouldn’t be the first Russian girl—even a Christian Russian girl to leave home, hoping for a new life.
She stopped outside her car and tabbed the unlock button. Then, sliding into the passenger seat, she cued up Vicktor’s number. It wouldn’t hurt to just, well, ask him to check up on Jorge—but she didn’t even have his last name. Maybe she should focus on Creepy Kosta, the hotel manager. Maybe Vicktor’s friend Alex could poke around and see what he c
ould dig up.
She opened her text box. Vicktor would be asleep, and for a second the urge to call him, to wake him up just to hear his voice pulsed inside her.
Yeah, and it would ignite all his chest-thumping, protect-thy-woman instincts. He’d probably stowaway on the first plane to America and get them both into trouble.
And, well, she could take care of herself. Hadn’t she gotten Anya to tell her the truth? By using her manners.
She thumbed in a message. V—Srry. Pls ck name—Kosta Sokolov. Luv U. G.
She pushed send and had just dropped her cell into her pocket when her door opened.
A hand snaked in and yanked her from her car.
6
David ached from his shoulders to his toes. The early-morning dawn illuminated the shoreline in a jagged outline, and he figured he had about an hour to go before either he landed on shore or Kwan’s men discovered their so-called American arms dealer floating on the high seas.
He should have driven Kwan’s speedboat in to shore and made a run for the nearest airport. But no, he had to get tricky.
And it might cost him and Yanna their lives.
They’d finally cleared the shipping lanes, no thanks to his stellar paddling and all due to the generous wake churned up by the freighters that pushed them toward shore. Frankly, he could probably sit back and let the current bring them in. But paddling gave him something to do.
Something to focus on.
Something to get his mind off what he really wanted to do—and knew he shouldn’t.
How he’d like to somehow hit Pause and regroup, return to the moment when Yanna was in his arms, looking as if she wanted to kiss him, looking as if she needed him…
And he’d nearly kissed her. When she looked at him like that, searching his face, everything inside him had simply shut off—all the voices from the past, voices of reason that had kept him from doing something foolish over the years, like quitting his job, packing up his life, and moving over to Russia just to be in her airspace.
No—more specifically—he wanted to be in her arms.
And it didn’t help that he’d almost lost her, that he’d spent nearly an hour with her tucked close to his chest, that he’d traced her face with his gaze, noticing the changes, the tiny lines of stress around her eyes, the way her hair still looked like silky chocolate. She was so beautiful—more than even when she had been in college—and it had all swept over him in a wave, washing away his reservations, his fears, leaving only desire.
Good thing God was watching his back, because he’d felt the claws of temptation dig in, start to work on his brain, take over his heart. One more minute holding her and they would have ended up as shark bait and he wouldn’t have complained.
Thanks, God.
Because despite his attraction to her, despite the fact that not only did he respect everything about her—from her courage to her brains and everything in that package—they didn’t share the same life goals.
Yanna, even though she was a selfless, incredibly giving person, saw this life as the final destination.
And he had to live for something beyond that. His faith told him that today mattered because tomorrow mattered. Most importantly, his life wasn’t his own.
He believed that God cared, really cared, about what happened to him. Even if he might be stuck out in the middle of an ocean with just a paddle.
Which was why, in the end, David counted the paddling and ache in his shoulders a blessing. He’d tried twice more to start the motor, to no avail. Now, Yanna dozed in a quiet ball of slumber in the fetal position in the front of the dinghy, her cuffed hands drawn up. He’d get her out of those as soon as they hit land and he could rustle up a straight pin.
“David?”
Oh, so maybe she wasn’t sleeping. In the dawn it was hard to tell. Probably she’d seen him watching her, seen the look of sadness or more, on his face too. Swell.
“We’ll be to shore in a while.”
She sat up, pushed her hair back from her face. “Wow. We’re getting close.”
“Yeah. And we’re south of the city, so hopefully Kwan’s men won’t know to look for us here. We’ll find someplace to hole up, find some clothes, maybe figure out a couple disguises, and then I’m on the horn to Roman to tell him to pick you up. You’ll be home by supper.”
He refused to acknowledge the twist in his gut when he said those words. Despite the danger, he’d enjoyed the brief time they’d spent together.
How warped and desperate did that make him?
Yanna turned, looked at him, and in the dawn, he made out a pained look. “I’m not…I’m not leaving Taiwan.”
Maybe she was dehydrated. “Uh, yes you are.” He kept paddling. “Kwan’s men will be on the lookout for you—”
“For us—”
“For us, yes, but they’ll be looking for a dark-haired man traveling with a gorgeous brunette, and in twelve hours I plan to match none of that description.”
“Ooh-rah for you, but I’m not leaving. Not until I get what I came for.”
David glanced at her, the face she wore when she planned on spiking a volleyball down the throat of the opposing team. Perfect. Now she got ornery. “Listen, Yanna, you can get a great tan in Bali. Or seafood in Singapore. But you’re not staying in Taiwan.”
“I’m not here on vacation, David.” Her eyes sparked.
He wasn’t sure why, but that made him feel worse. Because that meant the FSB had sent her into the serpent’s mouth and hadn’t had any plans to rescue her. He’d have a few not-so-nice words with Roman about—
“I’m here to find my sister. Kwan kidnapped her. Or at least, I think so.”
David stopped paddling. The wind still held a chilly edge, despite the warming sun creeping over the western horizon. Now it touched his skin, raising gooseflesh. “I don’t understand.”
Yanna folded her hands, looking toward shore. “A week ago, Elena left Khabarovsk for America to marry some guy named Bob.”
Bob?
“She never made it. Her traveling companion, Katya, turned up dead in Korea.”
David set his paddle over his knees. “Go on.”
Yanna turned back to him, and in her demeanor, the set of her face, he saw the anger, the frustration. And knew exactly how she felt. He’d been up close and personal with exactly those feelings seeing her handcuffed and bruised at the hand of Kwan’s men.
“I did some research on the so-called dating service she used, and I think it’s a front to lure Russian girls out of the country and into human slavery.” She took a breath, met his gaze. “So I impersonated one of their clients—a girl named Olga who had planned on taking a trip to America. I was intercepted in Korea by a couple men, who drugged me and took me to Taiwan. I woke up on Kwan’s yacht. And that’s when you appeared.”
David closed his eyes, his heart thumping, his thoughts torn between crazily wishing he’d put a bullet between Kwan’s eyes and the relief that no, really, Yanna hadn’t been abused.
Because, until this moment, he wasn’t sure he believed her. He knew her, knew she prided herself on being tough. Above emotion.
Apparently they both stood guilty of perpetrating that myth.
“My sister might still be in Taiwan, and I’ll bet Kwan knows where.” Yanna stared at her handcuffs. “I’m not leaving until I find her.”
David looked at the cuffs, at the welt across her pretty face, at her crazy leather boots. “You were nearly killed.”
“Yeah, and you nearly had to watch Kwan kill me. But you didn’t, and I’m here, safe.”
“But what if it wasn’t me standing there? What if some other creep—a real creep, the kind that does take Kwan’s bribes and sells weapons to terrorists and hurts women—had walked in? Do you think he would have thought twice about letting Kwan slit your very pretty neck?”
She blinked at his harsh words. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re assuming I would have let him.”
He stared at her, disbelief
choking his voice to nearly nothing. “Yanna, you would still be on that ship if it weren’t for me.”
Her mouth opened and a laugh that contained nothing whatsoever of humor escaped. “Listen, Sea Dog, like I said, you’d just shown up. If you’d given me a little time, I would have figured something out. I’m not a total wreck of an agent.”
“Did you just call me a sea dog?”
“You look like a pirate.”
He glared at her. She smiled, not nicely.
“For your information, Little Mermaid, you would not have been okay. Kwan had every intention of killing you and still does. In fact, I’d say he’s even more committed. So, you’ll hop a plane like a good little AWOL agent and let me look around for your sister.”
“Not on your life. And what makes you think I’m AWOL?”
“Roman would never let you—”
“Roman drove me to the airport.”
David stilled. “I’m going to kill him.”
Yanna watched him, her eyes dark. “Last I checked, I went through survival school too. I know a few tricks. Like the fact that Roman is right now tracking me through the GPS I’m wearing.”
“You lost your phone, sweetie.”
“You must think I’m an idiot.”
He clamped his mouth shut before he really, really destroyed their friendship. As it were, he wondered just how long it might take before she answered his emails again.
“I’m wearing GPS earrings.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And they work in water?”
She opened her mouth, closed it. Glared at him.
“I’m calling Roman first thing when we get to shore. And I’ll keep you in those cuffs as long as I have to in order to get you on a plane and to safety.”
Yanna’s gaze never wavered, and if he wasn’t already chilled, he’d be an iceberg with her look. “We’ll see about that.”
“That’s a decent size goose egg, Gracie.” Mae replaced the bag of frozen peas. “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
“I’m fine, Mae.”
Run to You Page 8
