And Yanna didn’t do weak.
Only, she suddenly didn’t care about her nose. Or that she had blood all over her hands, or down her chest. She only saw the concern in his blue eyes, the ones that could turn her into some sort of sappy schoolgirl. She didn’t even protest when he said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Nor did she protest as they walked in, past the storge, the dorm mother who sat at her desk. The old woman, built like a tank, raised an eyebrow as she handed Yanna her room key, dangling from a giant wooden knob.
“Volleyball accident,” David offered.
Yanna smirked. David never took his hand off her elbow as they walked up the stairs and down the hall. Yanna noticed how her heart had started to thunder, how her pulse felt hot, everything inside her aware that he walked beside her, tall, amazingly handsome, with arms that could carry her, with a smile that made her forget her own name. This incredible American she’d known for two years, the one who had protected her when she needed it, and even when she didn’t.
In fact, she didn’t recognize this Yanna, not really, because this Yanna didn’t depend on men, didn’t let them see her crumble.
But this Yanna loved David Curtiss.
Probably had since the day she’d met him, in that dark alley off of Red Square.
They reached her room, and she stood there, suddenly shivering as she opened the door.
“You cold?” David asked, his hand, his hot hand, on her shoulder.
“It’s just the blood loss,” she said, smiling up at him.
He looked at her and his smile dimmed. She watched him swallow.
And then she opened her door.
He followed her inside the tiny room, where two single beds were shoved up against opposite walls. A thin rag rug lay on the floor in front of a long wooden night table. The bathroom door hung ajar.
“I’ll get a washcloth,” he said, turning, the strangest tone to his voice.
She watched as he wet a towel and brought it back to her. She held out her hand, but he took her chin in the cup of his hand, lifted it, and began to wipe the blood from her nose, her chin, her lips.
She put her hand on his arm.
He stilled, then looked her in the eyes. And right then, before he could blink it away or hide behind that perfect smile, or his righteous exterior, she saw it.
He loved her, too.
Or something like it, because suddenly he bent down, put his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her. And it wasn’t a gentle, I’m-sorry-that-I-just-gave-you-a bloody-nose kind of kiss, either, but urgent and needy and nothing like she would have expected from Mr. In-control David Curtiss.
But, well, she didn’t mind. She put her arms around his broad shoulders and stepped close, curling herself into his arms and kissed him back. Just like she meant it.
His arms tightened around her and pulled her tighter against him, and he leaned down, deepening his kiss. She could feel his heart pounding against hers, and even heard a little groan in the back of his throat, as if he might be losing a battle he’d been so long in fighting.
Me, too, David. Emotion swept over her. Finally. After two years of waiting, hoping…her eyes closed and she lost herself in his arms, letting him kiss her over and over, and—
He tore away, his eyes wide, a look of horror on his face, so much like the one at the volleyball court for a second she thought she might be bleeding again.
But no. It was she who’d wounded David this time, because he stepped back, disentangling himself from her arms, breathing harder than she thought was necessary. After all, they were just getting started.
Or, not.
“I’m so, so sorry, Yanna. I don’t know what came over me—”
She smiled, “That’s…fine, David. I’m not complaining.” She inched closer, but he grabbed her by the upper arms, stopping her, his eyes so dark it scared her.
“No, it’s not okay.” He looked down, away from her, although not letting go. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s just a kiss, David.” Now she felt cold. She stepped away, shaking free of his grasp. Her voice lowered. “It’s just a kiss.”
He shook his head, still not looking at her. “No, see, that’s the thing.” And when he looked up, the guilt on his face, in his eyes, now red rimmed, rocked her. “Not to me, not where my mind was going, it wasn’t just a kiss.”
Oh. Yanna wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. She didn’t feel any of the wretched guilt so clear on his face.
Which only made her step farther away from him. Apparently, what was okay for her wasn’t okay for David, which made her…what? Dirty?
“Is it because I’m Russian?”
His expression changed, and for a second, real anger flashed across his face. “What? No! Is that what you think?”
She shrugged, hating the fact that her eyes began to burn. Oh, she would not cry in front of him. Never. She turned away, grabbing the first item of clothing she could find—her silk robe—to cover herself. She put it on, hitching it tight around her waist.
“No, Yanna, I…” He ran a hand through his sun-streaked blond hair. “I feel everything for you that I put into that kiss. I just can’t…”
She rounded on him. “Kiss me? I didn’t know that was so…taboo.”
He tightened his jaw, but his gaze didn’t leave hers. “It’s not…about the kiss.” His voice dropped as he looked away. “We’re not married.”
Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “One kiss, and you already have us in bed?”
He closed his eyes, and she saw the faintest tint of red. He shrugged. “It’s hard not to,” he said softly. “You’re so beautiful. And I…I’m sorry I thought that.”
Her throat burned. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, yes, she’d thought that, too. Even, for a split second, hoped it.
But that was the difference between her and David. David thought beyond this moment. Always had. Always preached about eternity, and doing the right thing because “life mattered beyond right now.”
Well, right now was all they had.
She let out a laugh that had nothing to do with humor. “Oh, I forgot. God and the church would frown on it.”
David opened his eyes, looked at her, pain in his expression. “My heart would frown on it.”
Ouch. She took a breath, fighting her voice, and the way it quaked. But inside she felt the old Yanna returning, the one who didn’t believe in sappy love stories, and storybook promises. She turned away. “Get out.”
“Yanna—”
“Get out, David. Now.”
She heard him open the door.
“I’ll be down later, after I get cleaned up.”
He said nothing.
“Don’t—” she hated herself for the hitch in her voice “—don’t tell anyone.”
David sighed. “No…I won’t.”
He shut the door behind him as he left. And Yanna climbed up on the bed, pulled her legs tightly to herself and heard her heart fall to the floor and shatter.
See, even David broke his promises. Still, even in memory. Even her dreams couldn’t change that.
“Yanna?”
She roused, and shook herself out of the memory, aware suddenly that her eyes felt gritty, hot. She blinked and saw that shadows filled the bus. A slight sweat slicked her, and oh, no, was that drool on her chin?
She put a hand to her face, looked up.
And yes, David stood there, all windblown and sweaty, leaning over her looking like he’d just caught Moby Dick.
“Welcome to Taichung.”
“The locket is Yanna’s, which only proves what she said when she texted me—that she’d made it to Korea. And I think whoever took her sister also took her, right from the hotel.” Roman stood in the passport-control line behind Vicktor, his voice just above a whisper. “And I think Choi is a part of it.”
Vicktor didn’t look back at Roman, just observed the people standing in line. Like the short dark-ha
ired woman and her four-year-old son, who hung on her leg as she balanced a huge floral bag and a suitcase on wheels. And the stick-thin Asian coed plugged into her iPod, chewing gum and toting a dark backpack.
Or the two Asian men standing beside three teenage girls who seemed as if they’d traveled for days on foot from the interior of Mongolia by the way they stumbled forward in line. He lifted his chin, caught eyes with Roman.
Roman nodded. “Could be that Yanna came right through here, drugged to the eyeballs, courtesy of our friend Choi. Who knows what kind of operation he’s set up?”
“I can’t believe that traffickers would bring people through right under the noses of the government.”
“In some countries, passport officials are on the payroll. And once victims are in the country, their passports are taken or burned, and even if they do have the courage to escape, if they’re found without a passport they are sent to prison. Human trafficking is the third largest industry in the world, right behind arms dealing and drug running.”
Vicktor moved forward in line. “If Yanna is here, I’m going to find her.”
“Me, too, pal,” Roman said with the same tight emotion in his voice.
Vicktor pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. But reception didn’t kick in. He pocketed it and held out his passport and visa to the Taiwanese official. She looked him over and stamped it. Vicktor passed through to the receiving area of the airport.
Outside, although still twilight, darkness pressed against the windows, seeping into the dirty linoleum floor, across the rounded vinyl seats set up in rows. He dug out a handful of rubles and headed over to the money exchange.
Roman came through moments later.
Vicktor took the brightly colored Taiwanese money as it passed through the little drawer. “Now what?”
“First, flash her picture around passport control, see if we get a hit. Then we find someplace where we can set up shop, and pray that we can get a signal on her laptop. The last location I had for her came through Taipei, and then headed straight out into the ocean, which means there is a boat in our near future…” He trailed off, watching as the Asian men came through with their party of women. “Or…”
“Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing.”
Vicktor watched the group pass through the lobby, through the grimy double doors, out to the street where they piled into a grimy white-sided Toyota Liteace van.
“I got the license plate,” Roman said.
Vicktor watched them go, frustration rising in his chest. “What if we’re too late? We may never see or hear from her again.” He tried to keep the edge from his voice. “Why did you let her go to Taiwan in the first place?”
Roman said nothing, pressing his lips together. “I already know I’m an idiot.”
“I doubt it.”
“We’ll find her,” Roman said, heading for the office at the far end of passport control.
Vicktor had turned to follow when, from his pocket he heard a beep. He pulled it out, smiling as his reception kicked in. Gracie’s text message. He connected, opened it.
V—Srry. Pls ck name—Kosta Sokolov. Luv U. G.
He slowly deciphered her words. At least she was still talking to him. He released the smallest breath at that. Sokolov.
“Vita, c’mon, the passport chief wants to talk to us. He’ll let us interview his people.”
“Sokolov. Ever heard that name?” He looked up at Roman.
“Maybe. Sounds familiar. Why?”
Vicktor pocketed the phone. “Gracie asked me to check on it.”
“Later.” Roman pulled out Yanna’s picture. “She’s not the one who’s in trouble.”
Chapter Nine
“S it down or get off, but I’m staying on this bus until I get to Taipei,” Yanna snapped.
Sometimes Yanna acted just like his sister, Sarai, stubborn to the bone and like a three-year-old. She even had the toddler pout nailed. She crossed her arms over her chest and drew up her knees. “How’d you catch me, anyway?”
“You don’t want to know,” David said, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet.
“Ow. Hey! What’s your problem?”
“Oh, honey, don’t get me started.” He pushed her out into the aisle in front of him.
“David, perestan!” She made to round on him, but he pointed her the other direction.
“No, you knock it off. We’re getting off this bus, right now. Playtime is over.”
She looked back, and he should have ducked, because the glare she gave him hit him square in the heart.
He refused to flinch, however. “Get moving, sweetheart.” He raised an eyebrow, like a dare, and she read it just fine, because she pursed those pretty lips and moved to the front of the bus.
But just as she got to the entrance, she moved to the side and tried to trip him.
He caught her move at the last second and grabbed her by the arm. They tumbled off the bus together. and he managed to clip his skin on the stairs. He barely caught his balance as they hit the pavement.
Apparently the bus driver had had enough of his tourists because he closed the door behind them.
“What did you do that for?” Yanna snarled, pushing away from him and sitting down on a padded vinyl chair. “You could have broken my neck.”
Oh, yeah, never mind his. Or the fact that he’d broken about a hundred and ten laws between Kaohsiung and here, starting with the theft of a motor scooter. He’d have to track down the owner and send him a hefty check. He got up, aching a little on his leg where he’d left some of his skin inside the bus. He shot her a look, something loaded with everything he wanted to say and knew he shouldn’t, and plopped down next to her.
They sat in silence, as if reading each other’s defeat. He hoped she also heard the sound of airplane doors closing behind her as she flew away from Taiwan, and danger.
“I’m not sorry I ditched you.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“And I am going to find my sister.”
“And I’m going to put you on the next plane to Russia.”
“You can really be a jerk, you know that?”
“Right back at you, honey.”
He looked at her, at the way she crossed her arms over her chest and suddenly hurt, right down the center of his sternum. He sighed then turned in his chair. He laid his arm along the back of her chair. “I will find your sister, Yanna. I promise.”
She shot him a look, one eyebrow high.
“I just can’t think when you’re here. You’re…distracting.”
She rolled her eyes. “Get a hold of yourself. Roman and Vicktor work just fine with me.”
Roman and Vicktor hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t thought of her nearly every day for ten years. Didn’t live to see her e-mails in their in-box.
Or at least, they better not.
He sighed again.
“You know, my phone might still be aboard Kwan’s yacht…if I can track down the signal, maybe I can find him…and then we’ll have another shot at finding Elena.”
Now she had his interest. “You can really do that?”
“Please. Give me some credit for knowing what I’m doing.”
He glanced down at his bleeding shin. Back up at her. She smiled.
“I’m taking you someplace where you’ll be safe while I hunt down Elena, and while you’re waiting for Roman to come and get you.”
Her smile vanished.
Taichung looked like every other Taiwanese town, with scooters cramming the streets and bright neon signs littering the thoroughfare, turning the pavement red or blue, orange and yellow against the night sky. He’d ditched his stolen ride and rented a bright red scooter. Yanna climbed on behind him, not afraid, apparently, to hold on and wrap her arms around his waist as they zigged in and out of traffic. Driving in Taiwan reminded him of surfing—he just had to let the traffic wave take him along. They drove through downtown, and he glanced at a KFC and a T.G.I. Friday’s. He’d bet the
re wasn’t one frog leg on the menu.
This late at night, the shops were gated, and now musicians and teenagers roamed the streets, their music loud. Men with leggy women riding behind them in short skirts and helmets, glanced over at him, smiling. Apparently, Yanna caught more than a few eyes.
Then again, he’d never been able to take his eyes off her, either. Distracting…that just might be the understatement of the century. Which was why, with her pressed close to him, her arms around his waist, he had to think of anything but how much he longed to simply keep driving into the night, away from all this.
But that wouldn’t solve any problems. He’d walked over that line, nearly trampled it once before, and it had taken years for him to earn his way back into her life.
No, her friendship, her trust meant too much to risk it again by taking her in his arms. What he really wanted, more than her friendship, even more than her arms around him, was her arms around God. Letting Him love her past all those hurts she buried so deep. So deep, in fact, she thought no one remembered them.
David motored through another light.
But he did. Remembered the stories she’d told him in e-mails, the sketchy tales of abuse and neglect, and everything inside him hurt at her words, imagining what she left out. Sometimes, after their e-mails, he sat in the darkness of his apartment back in the States, stared out the window and simply prayed that God wouldn’t let her be alone.
“I’m wondering if you’re going to feed a girl,” she said into his ear at the next light.
“You’re not the only one who is hungry,” he said over his shoulder. “Because this fella had no cash.”
“She might say she’s sorry if he took her someplace.”
“And not run away?”
She tightened her hold on him. He’d take that as a yes. He got into the right lane, turning onto a side street. In fact, he knew just the place.
They drove though the neighborhood streets of three-story apartment buildings and homes, past gated entrances to tiny courtyards, and little garages that held shrines to Buddha and other gods. Worshippers had left flowers and jewelry and food. Burning incense evidenced their prayers.
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