“Hi! Hi! Hi!” the minx in the green dress said when the brunette reached them. “What’s your name?”
“Katrina,” the brunette answered, smiling cautiously as if she weren’t sure if the woman who’d called her over was just friendly or insane.
Nikolai was beginning to wonder the same thing.
“Katrina. That’s a beautiful name,” the woman whose name he still didn’t know said. She looked up at Nikolai. “That’s Russian, right? Like you?”
“Yes, but I’m American,” Katrina answered, throwing Nikolai a flirty smile.
“Well, Katrina, let me introduce you to Nikolai Rustanov. He’s a fan of private conversations on balconies, and pleasurable times with ladies, and, and…” She looked up at him, her face and tone completely serious. “What else?”
“Hockey,” Nikolai answered, wondering what she was getting at.
The woman in the green dress snapped her fingers, like he’d just given her the perfect answer. “And hockey! Do you like hockey, Katrina?”
“I love hockey,” Katrina answered. She turned fully toward Nikolai now. “I have season passes for the Indiana Polar, and you’re actually one of my favorite players.”
“That’s awesome,” the woman said, patting Katrina on the shoulder. “I’ll just leave you two to it, then.”
“Oh, okay,” Katrina answered with a wave, seeming more than happy to be alone with him.
“So is that a friend of yours? Someone who works for you?” she whisper-asked Nikolai when the woman in the green dress was out of earshot.
Nikolai didn’t answer, just watched the strange woman walk away with a scowl on his face.
“Excuse me,” he began to say, preparing to go after her, but then his cousin Alexei appeared and got in front of him.
Alexei was a businessman, not a hockey player, but his face was a match to Nikolai’s in that moment. Same Rustanov bone structure, same green eyes, and for some reason, the same grim look.
“What is it?” he asked, immediately knowing something must be wrong. The Alexei he knew would have teased him mercilessly about getting turned down in such a ridiculous fashion by the minx in the green dress.
“Fedya is here,” Alexei answered, his voice low. “Your assistant came to me since you were… otherwise engaged.”
Nikolai inwardly cursed as he watched the beautiful woman disappear into the crowd. No, he wouldn’t be going after her right away as planned.
He’d have to deal with his brother first.
3
Say what you want about the crazy palatial design scheme of Nikolai’s Rustanov’s house—and its owner, Sam thought, but at least it had lots of nooks and crannies for hiding.
She knew this, because she was currently nestled in a little laundry alcove just off the kitchen. From what she’d seen of the house, it might be the only “normal” room in the place, with straight ahead white clapboard cabinets and the same kind of front loading washer and dryer sets that could be bought at any major appliance store in America.
The regular room with its ungilded anything brought back some measure of the inner peace she’d lost during her conversation with Nikolai Rustanov. Also, it was just far enough away to be out of earshot from the catering staff, and hidden enough that no one would bother to look for her here, including the house’s hulking owner—well, not unless he just really, really felt the need to do some laundry in the middle of his party. But mostly it was perfect for a secluded phone conversation with her best friend, Josie.
“You did WHAT?” Josie yelled on the other end of the phone.
“Josie, Josie, it made total sense. He was coming on way too strong, right? So I thought, why not set him up with someone else, and you know… run? Like, really fast.”
“Sam…” she could almost see her friend rubbing her temple in exasperation. “We’ve talked about this. If someone at one of these parties starts flirting with you because you’re wonderful and gorgeous, what are you supposed to do?”
“Hit him up for a donation,” Sam answered glumly. “But this wasn’t some old money millionaire! The guy is fry your brain hot. And huge. Seriously, the locals call him Mount Nik! It was hard to even look at him. Matter of fact, I’m surprised I was able to talk to him as long as I did, because all my alarm bells were going off.”
“Alarm bells, like you think he might be abusive?” Josie asked, sounding worried.
“No, not abusive… just scary… you know… alarm bells scary.”
Josie let out an audible sigh. “Okay, I know you don’t get out much, which makes me wonder about this cop you’ve been seeing…”
“It’s not his fault,” Sam quickly said, defending the local beat cop she’d eaten takeout with three times over the past month. “It’s early days and Marco is really respectful of my schedule. Plus, it’s not like we don’t see each other every day when he’s doing his rounds. He always makes sure to text me, so I can come out and say hi.”
“And do you?” Josie asked.
Ugh, her bestie was so good at asking the questions Sam didn’t want her to ask. “When I’m not too busy, I do.”
“So that would be like, what? Once a week?”
“Sometimes twice,” Sam said. “And more over the next few weeks, since the shelter’s empty and I’ll just be catching up on paperwork. My point is you shouldn’t blame Marco for not taking me out. I’m sure he would if I wasn’t so busy.”
“And my point is when someone sets off alarm bells inside of you—not because they’re abusive or about to punch you out for harboring their wife—then that usually means you like the guy.”
“Really?” Sam asked.
“Yes, Sam, really,” Josie answered, like she was talking to an idiot. “I still get all goosey inside if I let myself look at Beau too long.”
“Yeah, me, too. No rando, but your husband’s crazy hot.”
Josie laughed. “See, why can’t you be like that with this guy.”
“I told him he was beautiful!”
“And then you told him being attractive wasn’t all that great.”
Sam screwed up her mouth. “Yeah, I guess I did say that.”
She sighed into the phone, a wave of homesickness washing over her. “I’m just no good at this, at flirting or fundraising. Can I just come home to Alabama now? The shelter’s already open and doing great. And Nyla is doing a terrific job. She could easily take over as director.” She could hear the slight hysteria in her voice now, but kept on going. “Plus, I’ll be such a good play auntie to that baby you have on the way. I’ll babysit whenever you want, just please let me come home?”
Josie laughed. “Nyla is only an intern. You don’t even pay her!”
“I didn’t even pay you at first, but now you’re running Ruth’s House Alabama!” Sam reminded her.
“Yes, and you made me at least get my college degree before you felt safe enough to leave it in my hands. This is your dream, Sam. You’re back in Indiana where it all started, opening another shelter. At least give it a year before you give up on it.”
“I’m not giving up on it, I’m just…” Sam trailed off, not exactly knowing how to finish that sentence.
“Homesick,” Josie supplied for her. “And a little scared about being back in Indiana, even if you are making your dreams come true.”
Exactly. That’s what she loved about Josie. She got her. Really got her. “This conversation isn’t making me any less homesick. I miss you so much, girl.”
“I miss you, too,” Josie told her. “But Beau and I went through a lot of trouble to get you into that party, so go back out there and flirt with the money like a good non-profit director.”
“Well, I’ve already got my coat thanks to the hockey player’s assistant. If I go home now, I can probably get some to work done on another grant application.”
“Or maybe you could get your Russian hockey player to fund the Indiana Ruth’s House like Beau funds our Alabama location.”
“Beau does that bec
ause you’re his wife. The Russian hockey player was all, like…” Sam pulled out her best Swedish Dolph Lundgren pretending to be a Russian accent, “‘I do not date. I just want to bone you down.’”
“He said that?!?!”
“No, not exactly,” Sam admitted. “It was more like a bunch of stuff about pleasure, then I called the other woman over so he could bone her instead of me.”
“You are a trip and you have me down here rolling on the floor, but I’m going to cut you off now because I know you’re just using me to avoid hobnobbing with the people who could be giving Ruth’s House Indiana donations.”
“I’m totally not,” she protested. She totally was, but she thought it was truly unkind of Josie to point that out.
“Good, then you won’t mind if I hang up. Bye, Sam!”
“No, Josie, don’t hang up. Don’t—”
The phone went dead.
“…hang up,” Sam finished with a sad sigh.
She started to stand, but then stopped mid-crouch when the alcove’s door swung open with a quiet creak.
Sam’s heart froze. Was it Mount Nik? Had he found her?
But no… it was a boy, creeping through the open door into the dimly lit room.
A bi-racial boy, Sam realized when the light from the next room hit his face. He had golden brown skin and a wide nose that spoke to his African-American ancestry.
Sam took him in with wide eyes. He was painfully thin, but tall. Six, seven, maybe even eight or nine years old. His clothes, she could see even in the low light, were also dirty, covered in various stains. Further signs of neglect could be found in his hair, a mad nest of kinky brown and blond curls that looked like they’d never seen a pair of scissors, much less hair product. And even though he was ten feet away from her, he smelled, to use one of her Alabama bestie’s terms, “like a billy goat.” Like his current living situation didn’t give him regular access to a bath or shower. Like true neglect.
He froze like a deer in the headlights when he saw her crouched down next to the washing machine.
“Hey, buddy, whatcha up to?” she asked with a bright smile.
One that apparently disarmed him, because he didn’t immediately turn tail and run, like she’d suspected he might if she’d shown how concerned she was for his well-being.
“Nothing,” he answered quickly, his eyes darting from side to side as if he were looking for an excuse to bolt.
“Are you playing a game of hide-and-seek?” she asked. “Because not to brag, but growing up, I was the hide-and-seek queen.”
The boy’s stance relaxed. But just a little.
“You’re not better than me. I’m the best at it.”
“No, no… pretty sure it’s me.” Sam answered. “But I’m always looking for pointers. Do you live here? Where are the other good places to hide?”
He shook his head. “I don’t live here. This is my first time being here.”
“Mine, too!” Sam said, keeping her voice light, although the social worker in her was frantically scrambling to figure out who he belonged to and how she could help him. “Did you walk here from your place?”
“No, it’s too far.” He gave her a quizzical look, as if he were wondering how a grown-up could be so silly. “I drove here with my papa,” the boy told her. Then he looked away from her guiltily. “He told me to wait in the truck, but Mount Nik’s my favorite hockey player in the world. I wanted to see his house. Just once.” He sounded apologetic, and Sam could tell he wasn’t normally the kind of kid who disobeyed orders from his father.
“I don’t blame you,” Sam said cheerfully, all the while wondering what kind of asshole would leave a child in his truck in the middle of one of the coldest Januarys on record. “Can I show you around? I just met the guy who owns this house so I can vouch for you.”
“You know Mount Nik?” the boy said, his voice going a few octaves higher, as if she’d just announced she was close personal friends with the King of the Universe.
“Sure do. Want to come meet him?”
The boy immediately stepped forward, the prospect of meeting his hero apparently enough to get him over his fear of the strange woman he’d just met in a dimly lit alcove.
He wasn’t six, she could tell that immediately as he moved closer, because at full height he nearly came up to her chest. She also noted that he looked even scrawnier up close than she’d originally thought. She could easily see the outline of his ribs through his thin, long-sleeved cotton shirt.
Sam, as she often did when she encountered children who had been neglected or abused by their parents, had to tamp down the urge to go after the kid’s father and punch him in the face. What kind of man didn’t feed his child? Didn’t bathe him? Who would leave him in a cold truck without even a winter coat!?
Just the thought of this child’s father was enough to completely enrage her, but she kept her face calm and composed as she stuck out her hand to the boy.
“Hiya, name’s Sam. What’s your name?”
He not only didn’t take her hand, he frowned in a way that oddly reminded Sam of the house’s owner.
“Sam is a boy’s name,” he informed her.
“Most of the time, yes, but in this case, it’s short for Samantha,” she explained.
“May I call you Samantha?” the boy asked.
Sam was impressed by how politely he asked, but nonetheless responded with a firm, “No.”
“Why not?” he asked, his voice more curious than petulant.
Normally Sam skirted this question, but she decided to tell him the truth.
“Because that’s what my stepfather used to call me.”
The boy nodded, an expression of understanding coming over his face.
“You didn’t like your stepfather?”
That was the understatement of the century, but Sam just answered, “No,” before changing the subject. “What should I call you when I introduce you to Mount Nik?”
The boy opened his mouth, just as a one of the cater-waiters in the kitchen shouted at someone to bring out some more of the garlic roasted shrimp.
Those had been delicious, Sam acknowledged. She’d had a few when she first arrived at the party. But she cursed the unseen waiter when the boy began to back away from her, as if he’d just come out of a spell.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “I’ve been in here too long. My papa might be looking for me.”
“Okay,” Sam said, keeping her voice as light as possible under the circumstances. “How about if I go with you? You can introduce me to your dad.”
The boy shook his head, like what she was suggesting was crazy.
“No. I’m sorry, but I’d get in trouble if he knew I got out of the car and was talking to somebody. I’ve got to go.”
He turned to leave, and Sam caught him by the wrist. Time for Plan B. This wasn’t the first time one of her careful interventions had been cut short by the intervenee’s impending sense that they’d get in trouble.
“Please, let me go,” the boy said, his voice urgent and distressed.
“I am going to let you go. I am,” Sam assured him. “Just…”
She pressed her old coat into his hand. “Just take this, please.”
“It’s a girl’s coat,” he answered, his eyes going from scared to indignant.
“It’s totally gender neutral and it will keep you warm,” she answered right back. “The Indiana winter’s nothing to mess with.”
He bunched the jacket in his fist. “Fine, I’ll take it. Let me go now, please.”
“Okay, I’m going to, but first let me tell you about the cards in the pocket. They have my name on them. Just my name and telephone number. If you ever need anything, if there’s anything at all I can do for you, just give me a call, okay?”
The boy didn’t answer, just yanked backwards trying to get away from her.
“Let me go, please. I don’t want to get in trouble. Please, let me go!”
Sam reluctantly released him, knowing tha
t keeping him there against his will wouldn’t make her any more trustworthy in his eyes.
The boy took off, pushing out of the alcove door so fast, it felt to Sam like watching a boy-sized rabbit sprint away from a possible predator—which was obviously what he now considered her, even though she’d only been trying to help.
A wave of exhaustion passed over Sam, so extreme, she knew for sure she wouldn’t be going back to the ballroom for more networking with the Richie Riches as she’d promised Josie she would. Maybe next week or next month or next year… yeah, maybe then she’d feel up to it. But not tonight. No, tonight she was taking her tired butt home.
4
“What do you mean I can’t go home?” Sam demanded, her teeth chattering. She was standing underneath a covered carport, which extended out from the brick Colonial mansion on white column legs. The structure, like the rest of the house, was extremely stately, but it did nothing to protect her from the cold night wind, thrashing against her bare arms with no mercy whatsoever.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the middle aged valet with the handlebar mustache and a nametag that said “Jose” answered. His expression became apologetic as he took in her shivering form. “We were told to keep you here for a bit when you came for your car. But why don’t you go wait back inside? I’m sure he didn’t know you’d be without a coat.”
“Who didn’t know?” Sam demanded, even though she was already beginning to suspect, even before the hockey player emerged from the house, closing its crimson red door behind him before once again coming to stand in front of her, large and imposing. It was like getting rolled up on by a tank.
“Mr. Rustanov,” Jose said. “She doesn’t have a coat. Can I go get her car?”
“Da, I will talk with her while we wait,” the hockey player answered, like he was doing her and Jose a favor by only holding her up a little bit, when he never should have given the order in the first place.
“Exactly who the h-heck do you t-think you are?” she demanded after Jose had gone. Her words would have sounded a lot more aggressive if her teeth weren’t chattering, she thought.
HER RUSSIAN SURRENDER Page 2
