Wiser Than Serpents

by Susan May Warren

  And since that moment, he’d felt so deeply ashamed of his relief.

  Now, they bounced over the waves, and David steered them in and around the fishing boats that trolled the sea. “If they have us on radar, maybe we can confuse them.”

  Yanna still refused to speak. He noticed the wind had caused her eyes to water. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess that she was crying. But Yanna didn’t cry. Not his Yanna.

  He finally maneuvered behind a large freighter, hiding the boat between the massive ship and the shoreline. He cut the motor down to idle.

  In the far distance, the shoreline had become a dark shadow under an indigo sky. The moon traced a line across the now-settling waters, and the breeze turned calm, despite the increasing nip in the air.

  With God on their side, they just might make it back to shore in one piece, sneak back to the safe house and sort out how to get Yanna home safely.

  And him back in the game.

  Yeah, that would take a miracle. David ran his mind over the fireworks that had played out on the yacht. Why would Kwan kill Yanna in front of David? Was it just to show how tough he was? Or could it be that Kwan had already figured him out? Had the mole blown David’s cover, too?

  David looked out over the boat, toward the open sea and Kwan’s yacht, somewhere in the darkness hunting them down.

  “These things usually come with a dinghy.” He climbed past her, toward the back and opened the hatch over the smooth stern. Then he reached inside, pulling out a bundled mass of rubber. He tossed it toward the water, hanging on to the rope. The dinghy unfolded as it flew and hit the water half-inflated. He went back and extracted a small motor. “That Kwan knows his water safety.”

  Even in the darkness, he could see that Yanna didn’t smile at his attempts at humor.

  “C’mon,” he said, reaching for her. Yanna offered her hands and he pulled her to him, helped her up to the side. “Climb in. I’m going to push you off, and turn the boat around.”

  She scooted forward, then jumped off the hull toward the dinghy. She landed with a thud in the center of the dinghy and rolled to her back. David handed her down the motor, then shoved her away from the boat.

  Turning the speedboat around, he cut a length of rope and secured the wheel. “Hopefully they’ll follow it out to sea,” he yelled to Yanna, a second before he gunned it. He jumped over the edge as the boat hurtled toward open water.

  The wake rocked the dinghy and he waited a moment before hauling himself aboard. When he did, he lay beside Yanna, breathing hard, staring into the now-dark sky. His wet clothes pressed him into the dinghy, sucking out his energy. He refused to let fatigue have its way. Not until he’d at least gotten Yanna to safety.

  Beside him, he felt Yanna shaking.

  “You cold?”

  She said nothing and he turned on his elbow, staring down at her. In the rising moonlight, she looked painfully frail, not at all like the capable agent she’d become, and everything like a scared, broken woman. And yes, she was shivering.

  “Yanna, what are you doing here?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but scooted his arm under her and pulled her tight to his chest. She let him and curled in close, bringing her arms up between them. He cocooned her with his leg, putting his chin on the top of her head. “Shh. It’s going to be okay.”

  And then she started to cry. Deep, racking sobs that so shook him he didn’t know what to do. The Yanna he knew didn’t even cry at sappy movies—Love Story,

  Brian’s Song, even The Way We Were. She hadn’t even emitted so much as a whimper when she’d been attacked on the streets of Moscow so many years ago.

  And she’d never, ever let him hold her like he was doing now, like he’d longed to for way, way too long.

  What had she been doing with Kwan? For the first time David let what-ifs fill his mind. What if she was on a special op for the FSB? If so, where was her backup? Where was Vicktor, or Roman, who dealt specifically with Mafia? What if Kwan had planned on selling her to the slave market?

  What if David hadn’t come along?

  The thought tightened his chest, made him suck in a long, deep breath. Oh, thank You, Lord, for letting me be here.

  He closed his eyes. Breathed in deep the scent of the ocean in her hair, felt her cling to him, heard her shaky sobs start to calm, tasted her skin salty against his and, in that moment under the stars, with the sea lapping against the dinghy, he didn’t care why she was here.

  Just that she was.

  Chapter Five

  S he must be dreaming. Must be, because only in her dreams would Yanna wake up with David’s arms around her, holding her as if he’d never let her go. His heavy breaths made his chest rise and fall, and seawater scented his now-drying silky shirt. His skin was warm and dry and his arms secure around her. Yes, she could probably stay right here, forever, in this perfect world.

  Except, this wasn’t the real world. In the real world, Yanna Andrevka didn’t collapse sobbing into anyone’s arms. And she didn’t let her fear turn her into a cowering ninny who let fate push her from one disaster to the next.

  She opened her eyes, leaned back and was surprised to see that David was awake. He met her gaze, concern in his dark eyes. His long hair had dried, and now hung wavy and dark around his face. “Feeling better?”

  “I feel like I could sleep for a year, thanks to the adrenaline drop.”

  He smiled and ran his hand down her hair, pushing it behind her ear. “If it helps, you didn’t sleep long. And, most of all, you didn’t drool.”

  She narrowed one eye. “How do you know? I’m sopping wet. I might have drooled all over you.”

  “I would have noticed.” Of course, if he had, he still wouldn’t have said anything, because if she knew anything about David, honor came miles before his own comfort. That’s probably what had drawn her to him first—well, right after all that powerful I will save you energy he brought into their relationship. It had taken her years—long after he’d returned to America—to admit that his protective spirit had touched her in ways she could never express. David wasn’t just a hero at heart; he was also military—top-secret-go-up-against-the-extra-special-bad-guys-in-the-world kind of military.

  Which was precisely why he’d been on that boat, acting like a gunrunner.

  Oh, David. Why was it that as soon as she thought she’d gotten him far enough away to breathe again, he rushed back into her life with a velocity that made her reel? Apparently, right into his arms.

  He hadn’t released her, which felt more intimate than the moment demanded. Still, she didn’t exactly put up a fight. In fact, as she watched the moonlight caress his face, she knew it was now or never.

  If she wanted to kiss David, show him exactly how she felt about him, well, she’d probably never get closer.

  But she couldn’t. She’d tried that once, and it was quite possible she still harbored old wounds, if not scarring.

  “Thank you, by the way, for what you did back there, on Kwan’s boat,” she said softly. “I know that I destroyed whatever undercover mission you were on.” She smoothed his hair against his shirt. “I’m not sure I like the fact your hair is nearly as long as mine. And since when did you get a tattoo?”

  He didn’t smile. “It’s henna. And please tell me that Kwan didn’t, um—” he closed his eyes, as if even asking it caused agony “—rape you.”

  Her stomach did a little painful twist. “No. He hit me a couple of times, but no, no one hurt me like that.”

  A muscle pulled in his jaw as he digested that information. His arms tightened a little more around her. “I about lost it when I saw you sitting there. I’ve never felt such an urge to hurt someone as I did Kwan.” He ran his hand down her cheek. “I’m sorry he hit you. No man should ever hit a woman.”

  Of course he would think that. If only that standard might be adopted worldwide.

  “David, I have to ask…why were you there? What did I walk into?”

  His mouth turned into a wr
y smile. “Can’t tell you. Not if I want you to stay alive.”

  “Covert American op to stop drug smuggling?”

  “Something like that.”

  She dug her fingers into the lapels of his shirt. “I just can’t believe I destroyed it. All your hard work—”

  “What exactly were you doing there?”

  Yanna closed her eyes, a spike of pain making her tremble. Idiotic tears wet her eyes. David deserved to know, but she knew the moment she revealed her stupidity, he’d react like Roman. Maybe even worse.

  She couldn’t tell him, not yet. She needed this moment with him to be…good. Especially because it might be the last one.

  Perhaps he took her silence for fear. Or a post-traumatic response. She had no idea what David might be thinking, but surprisingly, he didn’t push her.

  “I’m just glad I was around to…intervene.”

  And then, the way he looked at her made everything inside her go a little weak. As if he might be contemplating exactly her thoughts.

  Which, at the moment, entailed her lifting her face to his and letting him see how glad she truly was to see him.

  No, this was not a good idea. Because, had she so easily forgotten what happened to Elena when she trusted her heart instead of her head? And if that weren’t clear enough, Yanna just had to take a look at her brokenhearted mother.

  Most importantly, she simply had to remember the last and only time she’d kissed David and tell herself that one delicious moment in David’s arms, letting her emotions off their leash, would destroy ten years of friendship, so carefully carved out and honed. She needed David as her friend. Her best friend, sometimes.

  Yet longing stirred within her, the one she’d buried over and over. David. Her David. The man who took her breath away.

  The man who had saved her life. She smiled up at him, the kind of smile that told him exactly what was on her mind.

  He didn’t flinch. But he swallowed. And wet his lips, an invitation….

  But even as she opened her mouth, even as she considered touching her lips to his, the dinghy rocked. Seriously rocked, as if it had had enough of both of them and wanted to dump them in the drink.

  Yanna jerked out of David’s arms, grabbing the side.

  David steadied her and sat up. “Oh no.”

  “What?” Yanna searched the darkness for anything that might match his tone.

  Her blood turned to ice in her veins. Not fifteen feet away cruised an oceangoing freighter, churning up a wake that could overturn their rubber raft. And behind it, maybe a mile behind, she made out the outline of yet another ship.

  “I drove us into a shipping lane!” David climbed to his knees. “What was I thinking?”

  “That you wanted to save us from the bad guys?”

  Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer, because he turned away from her and grabbed the outboard motor. He affixed it to the back panel, sat back and gave the ripcord a yank. “I obviously left my brains in the States, because this op has been one stupid mistake after another.”

  Like saving her?

  The motor sputtered, died.

  “C’mon!” His outburst shook her. Never, in all her years of knowing him, had he raised his voice in anger.

  Then again, maybe she didn’t know David anymore. The real David.

  He yanked it again. The motor coughed and again refused to engage.

  Another wave rocked the dinghy, throwing its passengers to one side in a tumble.

  “Get over to the other side, even out the weight. This thing could flip if we both land on the edge.”

  Yanna crawled to the opposite edge, holding on to a rubber handle. Please. She didn’t want to go back into the water.

  David unscrewed the primer and pumped it. “Please have gas, please have gas.” Then he closed it and yanked on the cord again.

  The motor gave another feeble effort and then died completely.

  Silence preceded another wave. This one she rode by throwing herself across the side, counterbalancing David’s weight.

  See, she was an asset.

  Except David wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for her, would he?

  David sat back on his haunches. “We’re going to have to paddle.” He didn’t look at her when he said it, almost as if he were talking to himself. He reached under the lip of the dinghy, into the folds, and surfaced with a folded paddle. Snapping it open, he turned and braced his knees against the bottom. “Hold on. This might get bumpy.”

  He turned the dinghy into the next wave and Yanna held on to the front as seawater sprayed her face, running down her shirt.

  In the distance, lights from shore mocked them as the next ship bore down, on course to run them over.

  Whoever had decided to lean on Vicktor’s doorbell at two in the morning, driving shards of noise into his sleep-hazed brain had better be bleeding from his or her ears and in dire need of help, or they soon would be. Vicktor’s bare feet froze against his cold linoleum floor as he yanked open his door. Roman put a hand on his chest and pushed him back inside.

  “Don’t…hurt…me.” He drew in heavy breaths, as if he’d run all three kilometers from his apartment to Vicktor’s.

  “You do have a telephone at your place, right?”

  “Get…your…gear…” Roman leaned against the wall, his breath less fierce now. “Yanna’s in trouble.”

  “What?” Vicktor turned on the hall light, bathing the foyer in harsh luminescence. Roman wore a pair of black jeans and his leather jacket. Vicktor felt a little stupid bare chested and in his sweatpants. “What do you mean in trouble?” He turned and headed for the bedroom, yanking his jeans off a hanger in his wardrobe.

  “She has dual tracking devices. One is still working—her phone—but she was supposed to call me twelve hours ago. I didn’t panic until her GPS—the one she’s wearing—went dark about two hours ago.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  Vicktor yanked a T-shirt over his head. “What kind of GPS was she wearing?”

  “A pair of diamond-studded earrings. It’s got global GPS and a panic button. She texted me from Korea, said she’d checked in. We were both hoping that she’d befall the same fate as Elena, and that she’d be able to connect with her kidnappers. Yanna and I figured that whoever had her would find her phone. But her GPS going dead isn’t great.”

  Vicktor was already tying his shoes. “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly—you wanted her to be kidnapped, perhaps killed? Because, in my line of work, that’s not such a happy ending.”

  “No—if you’d listen, we believe Elena is alive, and Yanna thought she knew who had taken her, so she posed as one of the girls in the dating service. And, just to be clear, I’ve hated this plan from the beginning.”

  “Apparently not enough to stop her. Please, please, tell me that you have a backup plan.”

  Roman looked away.

  “Oh, that’s perfect, Roma. She’s pulling a classic Roman Novik—run off into trouble without a plan.”

  “Hey, for your information, I tried to stop her. I tried to tell her to wait for us. But she wasn’t having any of it. She had Elena on the brain and wasn’t going to hang around waiting for us to get clearance for Taiwan.”

  “Like I said, pulling a Roman.”

  Roman clenched his jaw. “I got clearance,” he said finally. “We leave in an hour. Transport to Korea, and from there a commercial flight in.”

  Vicktor stood in the doorway, an uneasy feeling clenching his gut. And it wasn’t just Yanna’s disappearance that made him want to hit something. His fiancée, Gracie, had become increasingly distant over the past month, and he’d finally screwed up the courage to ask, beg…plead for her to tell him the truth.

  Did she really want to marry him? Yes, theirs had been a lightning-fast courtship, with the kind of life-threatening drama that would push any girl into the arms of her protector. But since then, they’d had a relat
ively calm, no-one-shooting-at-them sort of relationship, and he thought everything he saw in her beautiful eyes when he’d proposed had been true.

  Real.

  Only, that had been nearly a year ago, and she still wouldn’t set a date, still wouldn’t give him the faintest hint of encouragement to run down to the embassy and apply for a fiancée visa.

  He was losing her. And he hadn’t a clue why.

  He blew out a breath, rubbed his temples with his finger and thumb and let out a cry of frustration.

  “Soglasno,” Roman said. “Ditto on your frustration.”

  “No, it’s not just Yanna. I was supposed to hook up with Gracie online tonight. We had a fight last time we talked about her living alone in downtown Seattle. I hate being a few thousand miles away, especially when I don’t know how to fix whatever is going wrong between us.” Her words, from a previous conversation, rushed back at him: You don’t always have to fix everything. Sometimes I just want you to listen.

  Yeah, well, he didn’t operate that way.

  “She’s probably just busy with work.” Roman picked up Vicktor’s arm holster and tossed it to him.

  “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.”

  “At least you know that Sarai is committed enough to live in the same country as you. Gracie doesn’t know where she wants to live.”

  “I thought she was waiting for God to tell her.” Roman picked up Vicktor’s leather jacket.

  Vicktor loaded his pockets with his money clip and attached handcuffs to his belt. “I’m hoping that is a legitimate argument and not just a reason to put off the wedding date. Because I’ve told her I’d be willing to live in America.”

  “And she’s willing to live in Russia?”

  “She says she is. But I don’t see her applying for a visa, do you?” 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?”