Dardon nodded. "And the town sure does a good business out of the killing of the Romanovs. Boris Yeltsin tore down the Ipatiev House, where the family was butchered in the cellar. There's a memorial there now. A monastery has been built on the mineshaft where all the bodies were thrown."
Emily shook her head. "Museums and monasteries and memori¬als. Everyone trying to make up for that atrocity."
"Wait long enough, and people eventually come to their senses and abandon evil," Irana said. "But it took a long time for it to happen in this place. It was like the death camps at Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen. Everyone denying that they had anything to do with it or even that it happened at all. Everyone was afraid of the Communist gov¬ernment and didn't even want to talk about the Romanovs."
"But that ended back in the 1980s."
"And then the death scenes became a carnival. When I was here before, couples were getting married and having their pictures taken at the memorial."
"Morbid."
"That was what I thought. I tried to understand, but I didn't have enough compassion." She smiled. "I'm better now, but that came with age and experience." She headed for the entrance of the inn. "I'll go take care of checking in."
Garrett turned to Pauley, who was absorbed in his computer and hadn't moved from the backseat. "What's your progress?"
Pauley looked up from the computer. "Good. I had plenty of time to work. It was a hell of a long trip. I've linked to a language site at a university in Tokyo. They have some amazing technology. If this inn has a printer, I may have something for you by later this evening." He closed up the laptop and got out of the car. "Okay, load me up with suitcases. Though a man of my caliber is wasted on physical labor."
"Live with it." Garrett gave him three suitcases. "Explore a new horizon."
"Whatever." Pauley sounded distracted as he followed Dardon into the inn.
"He's amazing," Emily said. "You dictate what you want, and he pulls it out of that computer."
"The wonder of the Internet." Garrett started the car. "But he is pretty amazing, and he just takes it as a matter of course."
It was a grudging admission, but it demonstrated how far Garrett's attitude toward Pauley had changed.
"We might not have been able to save Irana without him."
"That's true."
"And he was helpful at Babin's place?" "Yes."
"Could I have done what he did?" He nodded.
"Then why the hell wasn't I there instead?" "We've discussed this."
"Yes, and the fact that you're unreasonable and chauvinistic." She glanced away from him at the inn. "And this is the last time I intend to mention it. I do not forgive you for it. But you did treat me as a partner and not a helpless doll when it was Irana at stake."
"And it may have been the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life."
"But you did it, and that's the only way you're going to keep from driving me away and doing exactly what you said you wanted to avoid. Understand?"
"Oh, yes, you couldn't be clearer. We'll have to see how it goes."
He wasn't going to commit, she realized. "Yes, we will." She grabbed her duffel. "And I can't say that I can-" She broke off as Garrett's phone rang.
He glanced at the ID. "Ferguson."
He answered and turned up the volume. "Anything more on Joslyn?"
"No, I told you that there was nothing to find out. He's an Eagle Scout." Ferguson paused. "I'm calling about Babin. Did you change your mind about taking him down?"
"What?"
"You heard me. Did you think it might be more convenient to get rid of him permanently? I don't appreciate you making me go to the trouble of assigning a man to watch him if you're-"
"What are you talking about?"
"Babin is dead. Massive heart failure. My agent said he had the at¬tack right before he boarded his flight for Monte Carlo." Emily inhaled sharply.
"I didn't change my mind," Garrett said. "If someone put Babin down, it wasn't me. Have you got the results of the autopsy?"
"No. But we both know how easy it is to induce heart failure if you know what you're doing. A pinprick from a tiny hypodermic nee¬dle, and it's all over."
"I didn't do it, Ferguson. I wanted to keep him alive in case I needed him. Did your man spot anyone suspicious?"
"A possible encounter at the escalator. I've got my agent looking at mug shots."
"Let me know if you find out anything."
"Oh, I will. Count on it." Ferguson hung up.
"Could it have been a natural death?" Emily asked.
"It could be. Anything is possible," Garrett said. "I doubt it. Too coincidental." He took the last of the suitcases and closed the trunk. "But we may not know for a while. Some drugs are so hard to detect that even if the forensic team knows about it, they have to make a zil¬lion tests to confirm."
"You think Joslyn ordered him murdered?"
"As I said, anything is possible."
"Maybe even probable. Staunton told me he sent Borg away to do a job." She remembered something else. "He even mentioned Paris." She shook her head. "Why? Revenge for talking to you?"
"Or to keep him from telling me something else. Or to try to im¬plicate me in his murder. You heard Ferguson. He wasn't pleased with me.
"Yes, I heard him." She thought about it. "But did he believe you? Will he cause you any trouble?"
"He probably believed me. He knows I don't lie. If he thinks he can cause me trouble, he'll do it just because he's pissed at me right now. But he won't do anything that will cause him to lose the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow." He opened the front door for her. "Don't worry about it, Emily. I can handle Ferguson."
"I'm sure you can. There aren't many people you can't handle, are there?" Her lips tightened. "But I will worry. We're in this together. It's my job to worry and you're not going to push me into a corner and tell me to be a good girl and not bother you."
He smiled faintly. "My apologies. By all means worry all you please." He glanced around the lobby. "It appears everyone has scat¬tered. I guess we should pick up our keys and go to our rooms." He paused. "Could I convince you to have dinner with Irana and me? I want to spend some time with her, and she seems not to want any in¬timate time with me yet. It may be a long time before Pauley comes through for us."
He acted as if Ferguson's call had never taken place, that Babin had not been murdered. Well, what else was he supposed to do? It had happened, and there wasn't anything that Garrett could do about it right now. It was just another ugly piece in this macabre puzzle.
"It's okay if you'd rather be alone." Garrett's gaze was on her face. "But sometimes it's better to be with other people. Even people you're not very pleased with."
And she didn't want to be alone, she realized. She had been feeling a sort of weird heaviness since they had arrived in Ekaterinaburg. She re¬membered she had thought a pall should be lying over the city, and maybe that was right. She had been in many places where tragic past events seemed to linger. Why should she stay in her room because she wanted to make a statement? That would be immature, and she had al¬ready said what she needed to say to Garrett. She wasn't about to remain closeted away and let memory and depression gnaw at her. "Where?"
He glanced at the restaurant across the lobby. "We can try there. It's better than room service."
"We hope." She sniffed. "I smell cabbage. Even in the good restau¬rants in Russia, you get cabbage and more cabbage. But maybe they'll have bliny. Those little pancakes make up for a lot." She moved to¬ward the reception desk. "I want to take a shower. It will be good to have a bathroom to myself again. In an hour?"
"Whatever you want. Anything you want."
She glanced back over her shoulder at the curious note in his voice to see that his face was without expression. But it was what she sensed behind it that made her catch her breath. "It's only going to be din¬ner, Garrett."
"I know. It's too soon." He held her gaze as he came toward the recep
tion desk. "Isn't that what I said?" He repeated softly, "Anything you want."
Sheer hot sensuality.
He had given her anything she wanted that night in the lean-to. Anything, everything, and she'd still been hungry. The heat burned her cheeks as she remembered how many times she had satisfied that hunger.
He glanced away from her as the desk clerk came up to them. He began speaking to the woman in Russian.
Anything she wanted…
"THESE ARE QUITE NICE ROOMS," Irana said when she phoned Emily almost an hour later. "Sort of a combination of Russian exotic and American Hilton. Dardon did better than I thought."
"He seems to have the knack. I'm almost ready to go down to the restaurant. What's your room number? I'll stop by for you."
"Four-thirteen, but I'm not going to dinner with you. I've decided to get some rest. I didn't sleep much last night." She paused. "And I wanted to give you a chance to be with Garrett without me acting as a buffer. Either for him or for you."
Wise Irana. "I wanted you to come."
"And you wanted your buffer."
Admit it. "Yes."
"Well, you'll have to do without me. You're both my friends, and I want peace between you. Work it out." She added, "And now I'll hang up and order room service. I'll talk to you later."
Emily slowly hung up the phone. Peace? There wasn't anything re¬sembling peace between her and Garrett. That moment at the reception desk had been as charged and volatile as the moments before a tornado.
Irana had meant the anger that Emily had felt toward Garrett should be healed. The anger was still there, but it was constantly being overshadowed by other emotions. Her fear for him, her sympathy and empathy with the agony of his feelings for Irana, the flash of pure sensuality she had felt downstairs. Did she want that to happen? That night with Garrett had been incredible, but she would be safer not be¬coming involved with him. She had only taken small steps, but he was already having a massive impact on her. She was too vulnerable. She could call Garrett and cancel.
And she was going right back to being Staunton's victim. Hiding away because she was afraid of being hurt.
Screw it. All this self-analysis and soul-searching was bull. She would go on instinct and let the cards fall where they may.
She grabbed her handbag from the nightstand and headed for the door.
"ANTON BORG," FERGUSON SAID, when Garrett picked up his call just as he was leaving his room. "Positive identification from the mug shot. He was the one who bumped into Babin on the escalator. He's a known cohort of Staunton." "Did he fly in from Moscow?"
"No, from Tangiers. His flight got in an hour before Babin arrived in Paris." He paused. "And he took off on a Delta flight to New York within an hour of Babin's death."
"New York?"
"That surprised you."
"I was expecting him to come to Moscow."
"Maybe Staunton is in New York."
"No, that's not possible."
"Why else would Borg be going to New York?"
Garrett had a sudden thought. "Maybe not New York. Maybe Connecticut. Look, send someone to Connecticut to keep an eye on Nicholas Zelov."
"You think he's Borg's next target?"
"I don't know. I'm guessing. I'll try to call him. You send someone to check on him at his house." He hung up and called up his phone list. All he had was Zelov's home number, no cell. He could only hope he was at home and not too drunk to answer.
The phone rang six times before voice mail picked up.
Dammit.
"Zelov if you're there, answer me." He waited. No response. "If you get this, don't answer the door to anyone but the man I've sent up there to protect you. He should have CIA identification." Still there was no pickup. He hung up.
He could be wrong. Zelov might not be a target. Garrett had done what he could. He'd try to phone Zelov again later. Should he tell Emily and let her fret over something he wasn't even sure was threat¬ening?
Hell, yes. He wasn't about to alienate her permanently because he wanted to protect her. She would take a hatchet to him.
But it wasn't the kind of conversation he'd wanted to have over dinner. He'd seen signs of softening, and he hoped to capitalize.
Face it; he hoped to do more than capitalize. That was too cold a word, and he wasn't feeling cold. He got hot and ready every time he looked at Emily. He hadn't had enough of her that night in the lean-to.
He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever get enough.
Okay, stop thinking about getting her into bed. That would have to wait. He'd have to tell her that it was Borg who had killed Babin and might be after Zelov. After that, there wasn't any question that she wouldn't focus on what was most important to her.
"CALL HIM AGAIN," EMILY SAID after dinner. "He's got to an¬swer sometime."
"I called him before dinner and left another message." Garrett said as he poured a little vodka into his coffee. "I could be wrong. Why would Zelov suddenly be a target when he's been safe all this time?"
"Maybe Joslyn found out about Babin betraying him and decided that he had to give orders to eliminate both of them." She shook her head in frustration. "Oh, I don't know. I can see why he'd want Babin killed. Revenge is a pretty good motive."
"Excellent."
Yes, both she and Garrett were being driven by revenge. It was logical to her that Joslyn might want to punish Babin. Lord knows, Emily had wanted the same thing that day in Babin's office.
"Call him," she repeated.
Garrett took out his phone and dialed. "Still no answer. I should be hearing from Ferguson soon about the agent he sent up to the house." He poured her more coffee. "You didn't eat much. At least drink your coffee."
"I was distracted. I am distracted." She took a sip of her coffee. "It's frustrating, dammit."
"Yes, I knew it would be. I was tempted not to tell you at all." He held up his hand as she opened her lips. "I overcame it. It wasn't easy for me, but at least it wasn't a question of risking your neck. You know as much as I do."
She gazed at him for a moment. He was being honest with her. For some reason it was tremendously hard for him to keep from pro¬tecting her. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. I make mistakes, but I do learn." He lifted his coffee cup in a half toast. "To progress." His phone rang, then he shook his head as she tensed. "It's not Ferguson. It's Dardon." He lis¬tened for a few minutes and said, "Let me know." He said to Emily, "Pauley's almost got it. Dardon says the room looks like a whirlwind of papers hit it. He'll call me when he's finished."
"Good. At least one thing is going right." She finished her coffee. "I don't want to stay here any longer. I'm tired of sitting and waiting for a phone call or something to happen."
He nodded and signaled for the waiter. "I'll take you to your room."
"That's not necessary."
"Yes, it is. I don't want you alone. You should have called me when you knew Irana wasn't coming down with you." He saw her expres¬sion and shrugged ruefully. "Okay, I just said progress, not perfec¬tion."
Five minutes later they were walking down the corridor to her room. "Why?" she asked suddenly.
He glanced down at her as they reached her door. "Why what?"
"Why are you so protective? Have you always been this way?"
"By nature. Not in practice. I've trained myself to stand back and let people live their own lives. It took a long time. I've led a pretty vi¬olent life, and I've lost people I cared about. It's my instinct to step in and build walls and keep them inside." He made a face. "Most people are like you and don't like my walls. I had to adjust. At least, I thought I'd adjusted. It doesn't seem to work where you're concerned."
"Is it because you found me in a situation where I-"
"It's because you're you, and I'm selfish. That's it. End of story," he interrupted. "I don't pity you. I admire your guts and endurance. I want to keep on talking to you. I want to look at you and see you smile. I want to go to bed with you again. Oh yes, I want
that. If you get killed, then I lose everything." He reached out and touched her cheek. "Irana would say that I should think of you and forget about myself. Maybe someday I'll learn to do that, but that's not now. All I can think about is what you mean to me." He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her nose. "Selfish."
His fingers were gossamer-light on her cheek, but she felt as if the flesh beneath his touch was burning. She couldn't breathe. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body.
He stepped back and turned away. "I'll call you as soon as I hear anything from Ferguson or Pauley." He was moving away from her. "Good night, Emily."
No!
"You come back here, Garrett."
He stopped and then turned to look at her. "Why?"
"I don't want you to call me."
He smiled and moved back toward her. "That's promising. Go on."
"You want me to say it? I want you to lean across the bed and tell me anything you have to tell me." She took a step closer and put her hand on his chest. She could feel the pulse leap beneath her touch. "Because I'm selfish, too, Garrett. I don't want to be alone tonight."
"Then you won't be. Whatever you want, remember?"
"Yes." She remembered, and the memory was making her body meltingly ready. "That's good. And I'll try to give you whatever you want, too." She put her cheek on his chest, and whispered, "I won't mind your building walls. Not tonight, Garrett. I want to close every¬one else out."
"Then by all means, let's start doing it." He reached behind her and opened the door. "Because there are all kinds of walls." He was leading her toward the bed. "And they don't have to be a prison." He pushed her gently down on the bed and started to undress. "There can be doors and windows and passageways that can lead anywhere."
Her hands were shaking as she took off her blouse. "I know where I want this passageway to lead. Hurry."
"You hurry." He was naked. "I'm already there."
Lord, he was beautiful, she thought hazily; lean hips, tight butt, and that air of leashed sensuality. In the lean-to at the farm, there had only been heated darkness, and she had not been able to see as well as feel. The sight of him was sending a tingling electricity coursing through her. She could feel it in her breasts, her wrists, her belly. Her chest felt tight, and she was having trouble breathing.
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