Vadeem was here to protect her. At least that’s what he told himself as he turned to butter before her blazing eyes. He sucked a deep, calming breath. “I’m here to help you.”
She harrumphed, raising the attention of two ladies dressed to kill in thigh-high black leather skirts and sequin blouses, smoking cigarettes near the restaurant entrance on the far end of the ancient Intourist lobby.
Vadeem took a step toward her. Kat stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “What you are doing here?”
“I told you, I’m here to help you.” Oh, he’d forgotten how good she smelled. “C’mon, let’s go have cup of coffee.” He tried a smile.
She eyed him up and down, as if she could judge his intentions by his rumpled gray shirt, his black jeans, or the way he burrowed his hands into his jacket pockets. He gave her the courtesy of not moving until trust edged into her eyes. It earned him a smile. “Okay. But I don’t drink—”
“Coffee. I know.” He pulled out two packets of hot cocoa. “I picked them up in Moscow.”
The next smile was genuine and went right to a soft place in his heart. So maybe he’d done the right thing by following his gut instincts instead of his brain.
“Okay,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve piqued my interest. Why are you here?”
He shot a glance at the decked-out duo near the restaurant, still eavesdropping, then at the desk clerk, who was trying unsuccessfully to bury her attention in a day-old newspaper. “There’s an all-night café down the street.” —Where he’d spent much of the evening waiting for her to return to the hotel.— He was dying to know why she’d sent the Watsons to the hotel alone, and where she’d spent the last six-some hours. He shrugged away the questions and offered her his arm.
She looked at him a long moment. Then, quietly, “I need to go upstairs and change clothes.” She said it with enough smile to make every emotion he’d successfully buried over the past fifteen hours rise to life with a shout.
“I’ll wait.” He would have no problem enjoying her company in whatever attire she picked. However, he had to admit, when she changed into a lavender shirt and jeans, it did magical things to her face. Softened it. She’d added a touch of makeup while he paced in the hall, confirming in his heart that jumping on a plane that afternoon and racing to Yfa had been, yes indeed, the right thing to do.
Even Ryslan had agreed, once Vadeem tracked him down, that they would need Kat’s help if they were going to untangle Grazovich’s little scheme. So maybe his brains hadn’t taken a vacation.
She trotted through the lobby hauling her backpack over her shoulder. “I can’t believe you found me. How did you know where I was?”
He gave her a look that made her screw up her face in shame. “Kat, the FSB knows your every move.” He laughed when she turned ashen. “It’s okay. I really wouldn’t have followed you if it wasn’t important.”
Like keeping you alive. He didn’t voice the thought, knowing she’d laugh at him, but the truth of it made his chest tighten.
They walked out into the street, under a canopy of stars. The night breeze tangled in Kat’s hair, laughing at her efforts to comb it back, away from her face. He noticed she shivered slightly. He peeled off his coat. “Here.”
She shook her head, but he ignored her protest and slid it over her shoulders. Hopefully her scent would rub off on it like last time.
“Did you really miss me?”
Her question hit a soft spot. He debated, feeling as if he was about to cut out his heart and lay it before her. “Yes.”
Was that a giggle?
It bolstered his courage. “In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Her sudden silence made his heart stall in his chest. Oh no, he’d gone too far, too fast, again. He turned.
Yep, her face was pale. Eyes wide, luminous, fear haunting her expression.
“Sorry,” he rasped. “But it’s the truth. There’s something about you that I can’t shake.”
She ducked her head, started walking faster. He winced, scrambling for recovery. “So that’s why I looked into your background.”
That stopped her. It wasn’t quite the place he’d wanted to go with this conversation a second ago, but at least she’d stopped.
“Yes, Kat. I looked up your past. I couldn’t find anything on your mother, or your grandfather. In fact, I couldn’t find anything on you at all.”
Her face fell.
“But I did find something about Pskov.” He had her. Big amber brown eyes alive and simmering with hope. “During the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution, Russia was fighting World War I against Germany. Czar Nikolai, despite the fact that his country was falling to pieces, was at the front, directing his armies. In Russia, up until Peter the Great’s time, the czar was also the head of the Church. He was considered God’s envoy on Earth.”
Kat nodded, moved closer. The breeze caught her perfume and sent it at him, playing havoc with his concentration.
“Even though Nikolai wasn’t officially the patriarch of the Church, there were rumors that the position might be reinstated, and Nikolai, as commander of the army, blessed the troops as their spiritual father. A part of his religious garb was, among other things, a necklace. A diamond, ruby, and sapphire necklace set in gold, called the Crest of St. Basil the Blessed.”
“Like the Cathedral in Red Square?”
He nodded. “It’s worth millions. Even then, it was priceless. Dated to A.D. 1500. He had it with him when his train was stopped in Pskov.”
She chewed her lower lip. “I don’t understand.”
He took her arm, began to walk slowly. Her big-eyed stare had his focus disintegrating with the effectiveness of a hot blast. She obviously wasn’t ready for his feelings—probably never would be, and he’d better start working overtime to put some distance between his emotions and reality.
Why did she say she missed him? It only opened all sorts of old wounds, sparked hopes he’d never considered entertaining. He fought for a steady, professional voice. “Rebel forces had seized St. Petersburg, and the royal family was under house arrest. Czar Nikolai was returning from the front to be with his family, but the Bolsheviks turned his train back and sent it Pskov. A couple of Duma representatives met it there and demanded his immediate abdication. He stalled them as long as he could, hoping for aid from his White Army and from his family of royals scattered around Europe.”
“No one came.”
“No. You see, Russia was fighting a war. The White Army, his army, was at the front. By the time they pulled out, it was all over. The family was dethroned and civil war had started.”
“And the crest?”
He stopped in a pool of lamplight, then turned to look at her. “It vanished. Although he’d been guarded, when Czar Nikolai finally surrendered the throne, and they stripped him of everything he owned, the crest had disappeared.”
“How?” The wind was teasing her hair. He wanted to catch it, tuck it behind her ear, or better yet, entwine his fingers in it, imagining it would feel like silk in his grip.
He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well, that’s where you come in.”
Her puzzled look made him smile, wide. Oh, she had a nice smile. Worth calling in a few favors from a certain clingy redhead at the embassy, who, after extracting a promise to hook her up with his partner—who wouldn’t mind anyway—called in a favor of her own…at the bureau of Social Security in America.
“You know, Kat. Ancestors are a funny breed. You just never know when they are going to pop up.” He smiled.
She glowered. “Vadeem, you’re being a little too cryptic for me.” She grabbed his shirt, burying her fist into it. “Spit it out!”
She was so close he could just lean down and kiss her. Gently, as soft as a whisper, but finally he’d touch those lips that could pout and smile and tremble with devastating effectiveness. He swallowed hard, his gaze in hers.
“It’s a fact that Czar Nickolas stopped the train on the outskirts of Pskov af
ter abdicating his throne. In the wee hours of the morning, he walked in the woods and, of all things, picked mushrooms. According to an account by one of his personal guards, a lone traveler, later connected to a certain monk with close associations to the czar’s family, was spotted near the place where the czar had gone walking. That traveler was Anton Klassen.”
She stepped back, releasing her grip on his shirt. He didn’t move away, struck by the disappointment coloring her face. “Klassen. Don’t you know that name?” he asked.
“No. I mean, it’s on the picture. . .but I don’t. . .”
He heard her frustration her voice. “Kat, Anton Klassen had a daughter. I couldn’t find records on his wife, and the last known Russian address for Anton was reported in 1918. We think the two might have immigrated to America. But the daughter stayed here, raised by a woman from their village.”
“So?” Kat shrugged, hands high. Her eyes filled. “I don’t know any Anton Klassen. Or his daughter.”
“Yes you do. Marina Klassen. Marina Antonova Klassen, who, according to the birth certificate of foreign birth filed in Schenectady, New York, 1941, was listed as the birth mother of a baby girl born in Pskov, Russia. The name of the child’s father is listed as Edward Neumann. They named the infant Nadezhda. Hope. Hope Neumann. Your mother.”
“So this Marina Antonova Klassen was my grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought her name was Magda.”
“Not according to the record of foreign marriage they have on file at the Department of Social Security. Edward Neumann to Marina Antonova Klassen. November 1938.”
To his utter shock, she threw her arms around him.
He hung on tight.
-
Oh no, what was she doing? Kat’s heart stopped with a thump as she realized she had just leaped into the arms of a Russian FSB agent and was hugging him like a long lost friend.
If the strength of his arms locked around her were any indication, he didn’t mind at all.
She released him slowly, aware suddenly of his smell—fresh soap, cologne, worked leather. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she stepped away from him. Her knees felt like freshly cooked kasha. She took another step back and met his gaze.
What she saw turned her mouth dry. He stared back, unflinching, his eyes etched with longing. “Vadeem, Captain. . . I. . .”
“Don’t Kat. Don’t back away. Don’t say you’re sorry, just don’t. . .move.” He turned away, and ran a hand through his hair, then cupped the back of his neck, kneading a muscle. “I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I can’t seem to get out from under your spell. You came into my life like a Katoosha rocket, totally knocking me off my feet, and I can’t seem to find my footing. You’re playing serious havoc with my ability to walk a straight line here, and if you come a step closer I’m liable to kiss you.”
Kat blinked at him, shocked still. No, she wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t even breathe. Kiss her? She swallowed and noticed her pulse strummed in her ears. The image of his expression when he’d seen her in the lobby—surprise, and not a little relief—rushed back to her. No, not surprise. Happiness.
He had missed her.
And it had only been fifteen hours.
Worse, she’d missed him. Missed his protective hovering. Missed his gentleness, missed his smile and taut humor.
But she wasn’t ready to kiss him. She’d barely said good-bye to Matthew, although that relationship had died months, maybe even a year ago. Pleasantries, companionship, and mutual dinner dates were all that remained of their college romance. Matthew had been safe, even, at times, tender, but he didn’t make her heart beat. . .
Not like Vadeem.
What was she thinking? She couldn’t kiss him. Ever. Regardless of their cultural differences, which should be blaring like a siren in her head, Vadeem wasn’t a Christian. Danger. Back away, no, run, while her heart still had a hint of survival.
Vadeem turned back to face her, and his expression was one of reigned desire, hurting and wanting and fear rolled into sharp angles, a rugged shadow of whiskers, and blue eyes that seemed to swallow her whole.
He took her breath away. She stepped back, afraid that she might totter toward him. “How can you want to kiss me? You barely know—”
The expression on his face silenced her. “I know you, Kat. I might not know you as well as I’d like. . .but I know you.” He ran his hands through his hair, staring at her with eyes that brimmed with raw emotion. “I know that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life. I know that your hair begs me to touch it, that your eyes can look right into my soul, and I cringe, wondering what they see. I know that you’ve come halfway across the world to find a part of your self, and that you’ve got enough guts to dig until it happens, even if it gets you killed.”
“I’m not going to—”
“I know that you’re impossibly stubborn, and that it only makes me want to shake you, or. . .or maybe wrestle you until you listen to me.” He drew in a deep breath. “I know that you love chocolate, and that you aren’t afraid to be Russian, and oh, I can’t tell you how much that makes me like you. I know that you can poke fun at yourself and smile, and that you smell like sunshine and flowers and hope and that you are incredibly. . .breathtaking. . .” His voice dropped. “Especially wearing my jacket.”
She swallowed her heart back down into her throat.
“I know that we are different, and that you can’t possibly know anything about me. But Kat, I can’t dodge this feeling that you’ve stepped into my life for keeps.” He lowered his hands, deliberately crossing his arms over his chest. His expression turned sweet and vulnerable, kneading all the soft places in her heart. “At least, I hope so.”
“You do?”
He reached out and touched her arms. His gentle grip traveled right through his leather jacket and into her bones. “I know that I am probably scaring you with all this. But Kat. . .did you miss me?”
Had she missed his hovering, his bossiness? Had she missed his domineering protectiveness? Had she missed his tenderness, the smell of him close to her, the feel of his breath on her face, the way his eyes filled with her reflection? She gulped back her confusion.
“Vadeem, I don’t know how I feel, I. . .” She chewed her lower lip. His gaze fell to her action.
“And I know you chew your lip when you’re scared.” He let her go and backed away.
“Maybe we should go back to the hotel.”
Her eyes widened, and her heart leaped into her throat. “Vadeem, I’m a Christian—”
“Oh, no, Kat. . .I didn’t mean. . .” he groaned, cringed and turned away. “I wouldn’t even think of compromising your honor.”
Her heart tugged at his embarrassment, despite her own. “It’s okay, Vadeem, I understand.” She put a hand on his muscled arm and felt him jump.
He turned back, her blue-eyed gaze in hers. “No. I want you to believe me. I’m going to be hovering, as you so delicately put it, until we figure all this out, and I want you to know that you’re safe with me. . .in every way.” His eyes traveled over her face, looking at her nose, her eyes, stopping at her mouth. “In every way,” he repeated softly. Then he gazed into her eyes and stepped back. “I’m going to take good care of you. I promise.”
She felt warmth flood her heart, soothing, like hot cocoa on a cold night. If she didn’t know it before, the realization that FSB Agent Captain Vadeem Spasonov cared about her honor, as much as her safety, came crashing home with the fragile look on his face. “I believe you.”
“Good.” One side of his mouth tilted up in a rueful smile. “The last thing I want to do is scare you out of Russia.”
His wry smile settled over her like a warm blanket.
“Now that you’re here, I’m not sure anything can scare me away.”
He crooked out his arm, and she wrapped hers around his elbow.
“Now,” she said impishly, “where’s that hot chocolate you promised?”<
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Chapter 12
Vadeem had camped out in the hall. The die-hard cop again forsaking sleep and a bed so that he could keep her safe. Kat scrubbed her face with both hands as she sat on the bone-hard wooden floor. Vadeem had jugular tenacity when it came to protecting her. If it weren’t for his twinkling blue eyes and cockeyed smile, she’d package the guy in the category of stalker. . .well, endearing stalker. She leaned her forehead against the door. The painted wood felt cool against her skin. Vadeem was out there and she was in here, and only a door separated them. . .a door of eternity.
Vadeem wasn’t a Christian. She’d known that since he’d nearly decked the monk at the monastery. But until this moment, this evening, she hadn’t given it more than a passing consideration. Shame roared up in her soul. Regardless of their future, she should have begun praying for Vadeem’s salvation the moment she’d caught up to him outside the chapel, white faced and looking like he was going to shatter. She ached for him. Never, regardless of how desperate she’d been as a child, or even now with her life supposedly in danger, had she felt that bereft of hope.
Kat had God. That meant whatever tragedy befell her, God could pull her through. Even when she felt the Almighty was hiding on the other side of the Cosmos, inherently, she knew He cared. Faith told her that.
Faith was the one thing Vadeem didn’t have.
She pressed her palm to the cool wood, fighting the urge to yank the door open, skid to her knees in front of him, and pull him in her arms like she might a potential adoptive mother waiting the results of a judge’s decision, whispering, “have faith.”
Instead, Kat folded her hands and looked up to the dark ceiling of her hotel room. “Lord, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I like this fella way too much for my own good. Please help me to stay on my feet, not to give my heart away.”
Ekaterina (Heirs of Anton) Page 13
