Final Stand

by Helen R. Myers

  “After we lost him, she said his death had created a permanent open wound in her. Illogical as it may seem, I know that’s why she bought that outrageously expensive car. It was too much car for her. But all that insurance money she’d been left with did nothing to ease her grief. She was desperate to feel something again, something other than pain. Does any of that make sense?”

  Gray didn’t look happy at what she was saying. “It sounds like they were close all right, but in those kind of relationships…well, it doesn’t seem there would have been a lot of room for you.”

  “If I gave that impression, I’m sorry. Are you kidding? I was an only child, a love child.” The memories did as much to warm Sasha as the coffee. “I was so lucky. I got the best of both of them.”

  “If you say so.”

  She sent him a reproving glance. “You’re determined to see my mother as selfish, but she wasn’t. She was giving and compassionate and…You went through my things, you saw her photo. That wasn’t superficial beauty, she was that way through and through. It’s just that she had her demons. But she was aware of them and tried not to let them touch us. When she felt them closing in on her, she would just…withdraw.”

  “What do you mean? Stay in bed, like with a migraine?”

  “In a way, although I never heard her complain of pain. Later, she seemed to find greater comfort from closing herself in my father’s study. I remember I was about four the first time I noticed the soulful music coming out of there. When I asked my father what she was doing, he said, ‘She’s visiting with her ancestors. Let’s go catch some trout for dinner, Junior.’”

  Gray choked on a mouthful of coffee. “He called you Junior?”

  The unlikely nickname drew a small smile from her. “Never in front of my mother. It was our secret after I once confided to him that I really thought it would have been better if I’d have been born a boy, so he could stay home and keep Mama smiling, while I worked to support us.”

  “Thank God you didn’t have a say in that chromosome mix,” Gray drawled. Then he added, “It sounds like your father was a solid guy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So whose idea was it to name you Sasha?”

  “Dad. That’s another reason I think he might have been hoping for a boy. Sasha is a derivative of Alexander, which breaks down to basically mean defending warrior.” She shrugged, sorry she’d brought that up; it only reminded her of what a bad job she’d done defending her mother.

  “It suits you, even more so than Anna did.”

  She remembered his initial comments about her alias and the sexual energy she’d felt exuding from him as he’d spoken. That energy was all the stronger now. “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “What’s it like growing up with two cultures pulling at you?”

  She stopped worrying the mug. “That’s an interesting way to put it. I guess they do in a way. I grew up hearing so many stories about life in Russia that sometimes I feel it’s my experience, too. There was one tradition my mother taught me, what they called a ‘poor man’s fortune-telling’ over there. Every New Year’s Eve you put three slips of paper under your pillow, on one you write better, on the second the same and on the third worse. On New Year’s Day, you pick one, and that’s supposed to tell you what kind of year you’re going to have. She would never do it. She might as well have been a Gypsy for being so superstitious. But children being fearless, I thought it great fun, and I always got the paper with the same, which made us laugh because that meant perfect for us. Except the last year,” Sasha murmured, glancing out the window again. “The last year I pulled worse.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Lied. It was the first time I ever did. I told her it was the same as usual. That summer my father died.”

  A number of New Years had come and gone since, but Sasha never played the game again, nor did her mother ever ask. These days she always volunteered to work on New Year’s to keep from thinking about such things.

  “Do you speak the language?” Gray asked quietly.

  She welcomed the change of focus and offered a look of mild chagrin. “Not as much as I used to. Not as well as I should. I’m your typical lazy American in that sense. Not my mother’s daughter at all.”

  Gray shook his head. “You don’t have to do that, you know, put yourself down in order to build her up. I hope you realize you’re every bit as beautiful as her.”

  The words were a gruff caress, and not entirely deserved as far as Sasha was concerned. “I’m not as kind, definitely not as fragile. Sometimes it’s difficult for me to turn the other cheek, let alone trust.”

  “Probably a smart thing, considering your line of work. Is that why you became a cop? To settle the score for your father?”

  “That would have been an irrational outlook, since the man who shot him died, too. But in a way, I guess you’re on to something. I was furious with how the police handled that episode, and I never wanted to feel that helpless again, or that useless. Yeah, being at the right place at the right time in a crisis to make sure things turn out better for more people—that’s been important to me.” Once again Sasha stroked the ribbed exterior of the mug like a worry stone. “Was that disapproval I heard in your voice?”

  “It’s not disapproval. Yours is a better answer than some I’ve heard, not that it’s any of my business.”

  “Cop-out answer, Slaughter. As the man I was about to go to bed with this afternoon, I’d like to think I was attracted to an honest one.”

  He remained silent as he gazed at her.

  “What? Did I misjudge that kiss?”

  “No. I’m just adjusting.”

  “To?”

  “Liking you. A lot.”

  Sasha appreciated his stilted reply. He’d been repressing his feelings for so long, any exposure had to be uncomfortable. That made the awkward phrasing more seductive than some of the come-on lines she’d heard from men who could buy this entire town several times over.

  “You mean more than you want, don’t you? Relax. I understood it would only have been a one-night fling. I’m not the type to compete with a ghost.”

  Gray frowned. “There’s no ghost.” When she failed to look convinced, he sighed. “All right, but not the kind you think. The truth is, the day of my wife’s accident I was planning to tell her that I thought we should divorce. She was a police officer, too.”

  32

  Over the southwest Texas skies

  2:00 a.m. CST

  The Citation Bravo banked, and immediately Borodin opened his eyes. He had shut them moments after the business jet had left McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, and climbed to its cruising altitude, letting Yegor do the planning and worrying. For the last five minutes or so, he’d been aware of their descent, as conscious of it as the busy scratching of Yegor’s pencil, and in the back the soft snoring from young Kolya, as Yegor called his protégé Nikolai.

  Alert and refreshed, he asked, “So where did you decide we should put down?”

  In the seat to his left, hunched forward and wearing reading glasses as he studied one of the maps spread on the table before them, Yegor touched his pencil to the circled spot on the map. “Sonora. Is maybe fifteen minutes from this place Bitters,” he said in his far less polished English. “Not best news, but best airport. Worst news is this is county seat.”

  Borodin understood that meant city, county and state police were situated there. “Why not land us inside Huntsville Prison already?”

  “Nichevo. We luck out maybe. Akim reports big problem at jail. All attention is there.” He tapped the pencil to the map. “Landing strip is key. This one 4,037 feet. Perfect municipal airport.”

  “How so?”

  “This airport nobody attend at night. Pilot use radio to turn on landing-strip lights. We make ourselves gift of fuel. We leave, we have maybe sixteen-hundred-mile range.” Slipping off his glasses, Yegor used them to point to the back of the jet. “Maybe not so far—Boba has been eating for wh
ole flight.”

  Borodin allowed a brief chuckle. “It’s a good thing there’s no ocean from Nevada to Texas or we would never have gotten him on board in the first place.”

  Yegor nodded at their mutual appreciation of Boba’s fear of flying. “With full tank we make Florida, maybe Orlando. We fuel again and—” He made a sweeping climb with his hand.

  After that they would be safely out of reach of the U.S. authorities. Borodin wondered how things were going back in Vegas. By now the commotion over Gloria had to be in full gear. Were the cops buying the drug angle and tying it to Sasha and Tatiana? The story wouldn’t hold together for too long, but he didn’t need forever, a few hours would suffice. The fire about to start at his warehouse would also buy some time for his former employees scattering throughout the country to look for new employment with associates in other cities. Only Demyan, having closed Red Square—Borodin checked his watch—a mere half hour ago, had been kept out of the loop for his own good as well as theirs.

  “Here is map from description Akim gives of Bitters.” Yegor offered the hand-drawn layout of the community he’d been working on.

  The sketch almost had Borodin laughing again once he saw how ridiculously small the town was. Sasha had to be going absolutely nuts there. But her loss was their gain, he thought as the business jet touched down.

  He and Yegor were pulled forward as the pilot down-throttled, and glancing out of his cabin window, he checked for buildings in the area and traffic. “It looks quiet enough.”

  “Da, is small place. Only three thousand peoples. In whole of county maybe six thousand.” Yegor glanced out the window, too, and pointed when, downfield, vehicle lights flashed on and off. “There. Our ride waits.”

  Less than a minute later, four of them exited the six-passenger-capacity jet. All except Kolya carried a metallic case. Boba carried two. It was Kolya’s job to look unobtrusive. He would stay behind and supervise the refueling and handle any problems that arose—diplomatically if possible. If not, then with the Glock he wore under the sports jacket he was slipping on.

  As they reached the tarmac, Yegor lingered behind to give his protégé final instructions. Borodin approached the man standing several yards away in the dark.

  “You have the other vehicle we need?” he asked Akim.

  The lack of greeting and Borodin’s icy tone had the burly man swallowing. “Da. All is prepared.”

  They climbed into the Suburban, both Borodin and Boba claiming back seats. Yegor ran to join them and slid into the front passenger seat. Then the Suburban rolled out of the airport and headed toward the interstate.

  33

  “Mo was a cop?” Sasha asked.

  Gray could see by her expression that she had been one hundred eighty degrees off on a few conclusions, and he’d helped her get there letting her think what she did, as he had let so many here do. It wasn’t that he’d deceived by playing the tormented widower—well, except after his initial, unexpected reaction to Sasha, he amended drolly. He’d been plenty miserable without having to do that. But, God knows he’d been far from honest.

  “Mo was Frank’s nickname for her. I preferred Maureen.” The distinction sounded petty even to him now.

  “I saw the photo of her on your desk. She was very pretty. She must have been fun to be around.”

  It was the only picture he hadn’t boxed away. At first he’d kept it to feed his guilt, and finally his disappointment—disappointment in himself as well as them as a couple. The picture was taken just after a volleyball game with fellow officers. Her spiky, short blond hair and lanky body had been gleaming from exertion, her blue eyes and wide grin adding to her sparkle. She exhibited the personification of athleticism, and her smile always dared you not to grin back—an entirely different person than who she became around him.

  “She was that. Like you, she enjoyed the outdoors,” he continued. “Not much of a fisherman, not enough action, but anything competitive, she was ready, willing and able to take on.”

  “Sounds as though she’d have been a perfect candidate for our Search and Rescue Unit. They tackle everything from lost campers and backpackers, to injured mountain bikers and cavers. I was encouraged to try out, but I’m not wild about heights and snakes.”

  “Maureen wasn’t thrilled with snakes, either, though spiders scared her more. As for heights, she’d already championed bungee jumping and parachuting, and she was trying to talk me into trying hang gliding.”

  “Would you have?”

  “No way. I did what I had to do while in the service. That was enough excitement for me.”

  “I guess it was tough for you having to deal with her working under Elias.”

  “You think she could find what she was looking for here? She was with the Sonora PD because it’s the county seat, but that was fast proving an inadequate challenge. She’d begun talking about us moving to San Antonio or Houston, or else trying to get on with the state police.”

  “I didn’t realize. I assumed, since Elias seemed to know her as well as you did…” She shrugged.

  “For good reason. He was once her fiancé.”

  Sasha shifted to stand with her back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. The expressive reaction said more than words could about how the admission stunned her.

  Gray watched her settle the mug between her bent knees and stroke the thing. It might as well have been Aladdin’s lamp, since she was undoubtedly thinking, “Beam me up, Genie,” as she processed the crystal-clear image of the Bermuda Triangle he, Maureen and Frank had created.

  To give them both time, Gray went to the window and checked for activity. There was none and the desolation and deceiving peace brought to mind McCarthy’s line: “All quiet along the Potomac.”

  “That certainly clarifies a few things,” Sasha finally remarked. “But I’m surprised you and Elias are able to continue living and working in the proximity that you do. I know size and strength-wise you outmatch him, but Elias strikes me as the kind to play dirty if the opportunity strikes.”

  Gray ran his thumb across the old scar on his chin. “He got away with it once. Caught me the day I was leaving the cemetery and slugged me with the barrel of his gun. At first I was almost sorry the damn thing didn’t go off. I don’t suppose I have to tell you about what those moments are like.”

  “You’d guess wrong. I’m in no hurry to die, Slaughter.”

  He was relieved to hear that, especially with this latest threat hanging over her head on the heels of her horrific loss. As for continuing with the explanations, he didn’t know how. He’d never discussed his private life with anyone, not even during the drinking binges with J.M., and he didn’t have a clue where to begin. Standing over her like a sequoia didn’t help, so he tried to balance things somewhat by lowering himself into his recliner. When he felt her gaze as he started rocking, he abruptly stopped.

  “How long were you married?” Sasha asked gently.

  “Nine years.”

  “Did you know each other long beforehand?”

  “Since we were kids. Well, teens. By the time my family settled here, Frank and Maureen were already a pair. Me, I was more interested in fixing up my first truck and getting it fit for the road. Thing was, any time you spent around Frank meant girls were a front-burner issue. That, as you’ve found out, hasn’t changed.”

  “Girls coming second to a wreck on wheels…please.”

  He appreciated her effort to lighten the moment. “Put it in context—an only, adopted child of elderly parents, months away from turning fifteen…”

  She became immediately contrite. “Adopted? Slaughter, you should have said something.”

  “Why? Not all orphans suffer a childhood out of a Dickens novel. It was great. My father was a neat guy. He established the clinic. Took a lot of pressure off of puberty, too. Procreation was simple math around here, but to get the timing right on a small block Chevy V–8 engine, now that was an accomplishment.”

  Not only didn�
��t Sasha smile at his joke, her facial expression didn’t change at all as she studied him. Like a terrier with a bone, she asked, “Do you know anything about your birth parents?”

  “What’s to know about someone who abandons you in a rest room at the Lubbock bus station? I figure my mother was unmarried, and my father might never have known she was pregnant. There are worse scenarios as far as I’m concerned. Since the Slaughters got me within weeks, I never knew anything about being adopted until I joined the service. The only reason they told me then was in case of medical emergencies. Truth is, afterward, I loved them more for what they’d done.”

  “I don’t doubt that you did, I’m just not buying that it didn’t rattle a few brain cells.”

  No, he’d been fine until he became a full-time nurse to Maureen, with nothing but time to think.

  “Anyway,” he replied, “Maureen was a long-time pal, one I was worried about. She was a year younger than us, and Frank was…Frank.”

  “Even back then?”

  “For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had a knack for testing people. Maybe it had something to do with his rocky relationship with his father, a decent enough guy, but no-nonsense.”

  “You said something about the family farm failing.”

  “That’s right. His mother tried to take up the slack there, but she had a bad heart, and there were four other kids to worry about besides. No, don’t ask what happened to them. They all left as soon as they could and haven’t been back. I don’t think he’s kept in touch with any of them. The lack of attention had to have done something to him, too. Maybe that’s why he needs to prove himself as being top dog in everything with everybody. As far as I’m concerned, it gets old when each day is medal day at the Olympics.”

  Sasha moistened her lips. “At the risk of offending you, it sounds as though he and Maureen were more compatible than you two were.”