The Siren's Touch

by Amber Belldene

  “Nice try. But I know your tricks. Tell me about Sonya.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You hire those idiots to kill her and pretend she’s just a girl?”

  “Isn’t she?”

  Dmitri had to laugh. Gregor was playing the same exact routine he’d just fed the thugs. “Let me be clear. Anything happens to her and I’m never coming home. Now tell me about the goddamn teapot.”

  His uncle sighed. “Son, it’s such a long story, and I will tell you all of it, if you’ll just come home.”

  Dmitri had never heard his uncle plead before. His heart seized up at the desperation, and he pounded his fist into his chest, forcing himself to breathe again.

  “What about Makar?”

  “Forget about him. We’ll let it go. Maybe we should have a long time ago.”

  Let it go? A lifetime of hatred. The man responsible for all his problems. Nothing about that added up.

  Unless Makar knew the answers to Dmitri’s questions.

  Holy hell. Just one more fucking cover-up.

  Which meant he had to talk to the man he’d been raised to kill.

  “Did you murder the Truss family?”

  The silence bounced through wireless towers across half the world, and it broke Dmitri’s heart. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  He wanted there to be another explanation, longed to believe his uncle—but he didn’t. Not even a little. “I’m not coming home until I get to the bottom of this. Whether it’s with your help or Makar’s, or some other way.”

  Gregor cleared his throat, the sound crackling over the line. “I’m sick, Dima. I might not have that long.”

  Dmitri ran his hand over his head, kneading the muscles of his neck. “That’s a low one, Uncle, even for you.”

  Dmitri ended the call.

  Chapter 25

  Gregor’s heart, lethargic with sedatives, had been jolted into a reluctant gallop. Dima’s questions about the Truss family had fallen like cascading boulders into the pain-delirious sea of his thoughts. His nephew knew too much, and even worse, refused to believe Gregor was sick.

  Or maybe the worst part was what Demchak had reported about the girl. “Disappeared, vanished—poof. Like some kind of magic shit. Like a fucking ghost.”

  Gregor didn’t believe in ghosts, but he sure as hell knew that woman in the photo was the one who’d died in a nameless tributary of the Dnieper River almost fifty years ago, and she’d wormed her way into Dmitri’s already troubled conscience. Now it seemed inevitable—he would die alone, knowing everything he’d worked for would be lost.

  He was more than half dead, but he wasn’t ready to give up, which meant he needed some advice.

  Hours later, his driver dropped him off in front of the stately and towering Budnyok Uryadu, which housed all the offices of the prime minister and his cabinet. At the early hour, few lights illuminated windows between the Corinthian columns of its curving façade.

  The short walk to the entrance was distance enough to give him pause. He gathered up his strength and took the first excruciating step. The pain shot up his spine and stole his breath. He pressed his cane into the sidewalk and tried to summon up the energy to take another. Sergei Hritz, Minister of Defense, appeared at his side like a phantom in a dark suit. Gregor jumped, teetering until his cane found new purchase.

  “Old friend.” Sergei extended his hand. His government security detail kept a respectable distance.

  Gregor nodded at them. Those impassive intelligence types were his primary recruiting pool for the private security side of Lisko Enterprises. He put his foot down cautiously, but a searing pain shot from his hip up his spine, turning his reply into a guttural grunt.

  “That bad?”

  Gregor set his teeth and shook his head, denying the obvious answer. Aside from that tiresome estate lawyer, Sergei alone knew the extent of Gregor’s cancer.

  “Sit here. No need to walk up all those stairs.” Ten years older than Gregor, Sergei was the picture of health. His suit fit his slim shoulders as though he played tennis every morning.

  Gregor wanted to refuse the kindness, wanted to hit something with his cane. Instead, he collapsed onto the marble bench.

  “Where’s Dmitri?”

  Even though Gregor had sought out Sergei’s advice, he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth. “He’s negotiating a deal for me in California. Buying the latest technology in windmills.”

  Sergei chuckled. “The boy will come back with that Silicon Valley folded up in his suitcase. You’ve done well with him. I admit I had my doubts—”

  Gregor waved his hand, as if anyone would have been a fool to doubt Dmitri, when in fact it was the very likelihood of misjudging him that made him such an asset.

  Sergei rubbed his chin. “Do you remember the first time he sat in on a meeting with that ballbreaker, Yulia something or other? She was the health minister for all of three months two prime ministers back.”

  “How could I forget? She interrupted my introduction of him to start the meeting, as if he were my footman.”

  “Precisely. And then he bent her over a barrel with that argument about victims of domestic violence needing better security in shelters and clinics. Won you a deep five-year contract.”

  Filled with unjustifiable fatherly warmth, Gregor smiled. “On the way out, she slipped him her private phone number.”

  “You’re kidding.” Sergei slapped his knee. “She was a peach. Probably a spitfire in the sack. Did he call her?”

  “Of course not. I told him to write it on the men’s room wall in one of those nightclubs he frequents.”

  “Did he?”

  “No, he tore it up in front of me, saying those unsuspecting men didn’t deserve the likes of her.” A lump caught in Gregor’s throat at the memory. The two of them had laughed so hard tears had fallen down their faces. And now, Dmitri was so angry he wouldn’t even believe the truth, about the cancer, or about who had killed the Truss family.

  A dizzying burst of pain erupted like hot lava through Gregor’s leg, causing his brain to spin inside his skull. He planted his hands on the bench and took a deep breath.

  “Why the hell did you send him to California now?”

  “I didn’t. He went to find Boris Makar.”

  Sergei leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, I’ll be damned. Makar? After all these years. Remind me never to get on the bad side of a Lisko.”

  “I tried to call him off.” Gregor gave Sergei a moment to piece things together.

  “Does he know about the cover up?”

  “He does now.” Gregor tapped the cane on the sidewalk. His throbbing bones cried out for more pills, but he’d just had some, hadn’t he?

  “Why should that matter?” Sergei asked, his eyebrows pulled together. “Dmitri’s not exactly Gandhi.”

  “Four innocent people were killed, Sergei. Dmitri may not be nice, but he doesn’t make messes like that one. And I don’t blame him. I learned my lesson after just the one.”

  “So you’re going to slink off with your tail between your legs? You’re not dead yet. Fight to keep your family and your business, old friend.”

  Gregor straightened his spine, finding the strength to hold his head higher. He could count on Sergei to speak to him like a man, not like a sickly child.

  There was really only one thing to be done now—go to San Francisco. Maybe coming clean would feel good. He could unburden his soul in these last days. And surely, it was the only thing that would ever bring Dmitri back to Kiev to assume the helm of Lisko Enterprises.

  If Gregor succeeded.

  Chapter 26

  The voices were so close and so familiar. Sonya’s mother and father wailed. “Kill him, and come be with us. Kill him.”

  She shuddered, her response barely more than a sob. “I don’t know who he is yet. I’m trying.”

 
They kept at the mournful chant in the same loving voices that had sung her lullabies and chatted with her over breakfast every day for twenty-five years. She longed for them, for that idyllic life they’d shared. Their song was like a leash, pulling her toward them with a slow and powerful force. She wanted to give in to it, to follow wherever it led her, to see them again. Until she glanced at Dmitri.

  In her mind, they’d only died yesterday, and her grief stung, fresh and raw. But in twenty-four hours with him, the full span of forty-five years dead passed through her, making her into someone new, someone she wanted the chance to be, if such a thing were possible.

  The roar of the powerful cascade drowned out the voices of her parents, offering relief, a quiet moment alone in her mind. The water barreling down the fountain was a promise—of cleansing, of baptism. All her grief could be washed away, all her pain, her longing for her family, for a life, and for Dmitri.

  She floated into the water, and it passed through her ghostly body, refreshing and cool—remaking her.

  Opening her eyes, she stared through the rushing stream. The curtain of water lit up with eerie green light. More than loosey-goosey—she was nearly gone. No more Sonya, only anger, a pure furious consciousness. Exultant, she raised her hands into the torrent, a goddess, an avenger, a monster.

  Find him, rip him to shreds.

  She curled her fingers, raking through the water as if it were flesh. Blood and justice—the hunger shook her.

  No, not just her. All around, people in the park bent their knees and flung out their arms, bracing against the tremor caused by her need. The ground rolled and quaked with the force of it. She extended her hand out from the stream of water, beckoning a young man in a suit. He tilted his head and scratched it once before he took a step toward her.

  Suddenly, a hand gripped her wrist, yanking her from the fountain. He laid her in the concrete passageway behind the falling water.

  “Sonya. Sonya. Fuck. Please come back, ghost. Please don’t be gone.”

  She sputtered, coughed up river water, shivered with cold, and then she reached up to touch his face. “I’m here.”

  He blew out sigh and handed her the towel. “Sweetheart, you went all green-eyed on me, looked pretty damn scary, like you might eat somebody alive.”

  She rubbed her eyes, grimacing. “That’s kind of what I wanted to do.”

  “But now?”

  She took stock—no voices, no shaking. But her parents’ words lingered, as did the anger. Kill him, kill him.

  “I’m all right. But, Dmitri, if I do go nuts like that, don’t leave me in a place like this with so many people. Take the teapot somewhere far away where no one will stumble upon a bloodthirsty rusalka. Okay?”

  He pressed his lips together before nodding. “Yeah, if it comes to that. But instead, let’s find your killer. I have a lead.” With a firm hold on her wrist, he stood and extended his other hand.

  She took it and pulled herself up to standing. “And if it’s your uncle?”

  “Then you, me, and the teapot are going to Kiev.”

  His unwavering commitment reassured her more than a promise of success would have. He’d remain beside her until the end, regardless of what that end was. It was no small comfort.

  “Um, where should I get dressed?”

  He glanced around at the damp surroundings and shrugged. “Here. Move fast before we get overrun by tourists.” They stood in a walkway, hidden behind an angular concrete pillar. The wall of water offered a modicum of privacy. The sterile scent of chlorine hung in the chilly air, and she shivered. Lights illuminated the fountain, which would probably have been beautiful if she happened to be a visitor instead of a vengeful ghost.

  Dmitri wrapped her in the thick towel, cradling her in his arms for a minute before he allowed her to dress. They were getting pretty good at the dance steps, squeezing into the jeans and the camisole without breaking contact. The Eskimo boots she’d borrowed from Elena were a warm luxury on her icy-cold feet.

  Once she slipped them on, he looked around. “Great. Let’s go. I feel exposed out here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He yanked on her arm. “I need to track down Boris Makar. I think he knows what happened to your parents.”

  Good news. What the rusalka wanted, and what she wanted too. But a lump blocked her throat and her feet refused to budge. Right now, she desired something else even more.

  He twisted to look back at her. The strong lines of his face tipped her past the point of decision. She flung her arm around his neck and dragged his face down. Mimicking what she remembered of their first kiss, she plunged her tongue into his mouth without giving him a second to breathe. He responded by pulling her close and groaning.

  Their tongues twisted and tasted for a long time, and she was so drunk with it that she very nearly forgot her goal—not just a kiss, but everything.

  “Dmitri?”

  “Hmm?” He nuzzled her neck.

  She hugged her arms around his waist. “Before we go looking for him, I want to finish what we started in the fitting room. I want you to make love to me.” Romantic words, maybe, but his every touch had already proven them true.

  He stilled. By the particular way his lips pressed together and quivered, she could tell he wanted to argue.

  She went on the offense. “Please. This may be my only chance.”

  “That’s crazy. Your little light show in the fountain’s got me more than spooked. Sonya, you’re running out of time.”

  She closed her eyes and took stock. Even though she was real and alive, the spectral threads of connection that made her Sonya and held her soul together were frayed and growing looser every second. He was right, but it hardly mattered. Her mission for vengeance seemed doomed to fail. With only a little life left, there was one single thing she wanted—him.

  So she lied. “I’m sure there’s plenty of time. When you’re holding on to me I feel fine. Please, can we go back to Elena’s and search for Mr. Makar tomorrow?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Girl. This is your forever you’re risking, and all you can think about is getting laid.”

  No. She could think about how she was letting her parents down, and what a selfish, reckless choice she was making. But it was still her choice. “I want to live. And you’re my chance.”

  “You’re willing to trade a night with me for a future as an evil poltergeist?” He crossed his free arm over his torso and bumped one lean hip against a dry stretch of wall, resting there while she held his hand and chewed her lip like a schoolgirl.

  Urgh. He’d never been this infuriating before. She wanted to pound on his chest. Not like she could hurt him. So what if she was willing to make that trade? It was none of his business. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

  “Because I could never forgive myself if we wasted your chance—”

  Wasted? She understood his meaning perfectly, and yet the words stung. No, more than stung. They cut her down the middle, baring her poor heart to the cold night air. Of course, it would just be sex to him—not a one and only, not a single and last attempt to cling to life in its most basic form.

  She swallowed her pride. So sex wouldn’t mean the same thing for Dmitri. It was still what she wanted. And she knew how to get it.

  “Dmitri.” The rusalka voice rolled off her tongue, sultry and rich, as if it had been waiting for her permission. The air rippled around her.

  He stood straighter, at attention, his eyes suddenly glassy.

  “Will you deny me my one desire?” Power tingled down her arms and legs and coiled low in her belly. Her body shifted subtly of its own accord, angling breasts and hips and chin in a suggestive posture she would never assume on her own.

  His gaze traveled the length of her and he licked his lips. “I couldn’t deny you anything.”

  The soft flesh under one of his arctic-blue eyes twitched.

  Her insides turned icy. This was
n’t right. Commanding him held no appeal. His consent, his desire—they mattered. She wanted him to want her. And if he didn’t—

  She clamped down the seductive anger trying to take control of her and gasped. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

  He blinked, wiping the damp off his forehead—sweat or mist from the fountain or both. “Sonya?”

  “Forget it.” She tugged his wrist. “Let’s go find Makar.”

  He yanked her back, catching her chin in his hand. “Did you just—?”

  “I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  The corners of his lush lips turned down and she braced herself for a rebuke.

  He squeezed her hand. “You want it that bad?”

  She hung her head and nodded.

  He took hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. “Believe me, sweetheart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of getting inside you since the moment you came out of that teapot, and the rusalka had nothing to do with it. But I want to do right by you, not act like a teenager trying to get into your skinny new pants when you need my help.”

  “I don’t know how to make you understand. Making love with you is what I need.”

  He pressed his lips together as if he was actually considering it, and she saw her chance.

  “Maybe just once? And then we can go looking for this Mr. Makar.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “Girl, that magic sexy voice is wasted on you. You could talk a man into anything as regular ol’ Sonya.”

  Before he could change his mind, she said, “Great. Back to Elena’s then?” Her grin was audible in her own voice.

  “No. Her place isn’t safe. It’s where they would look for us, and I don’t want her involved any more than she already is. Let’s check into a hotel.” He took a hold of her elbow, his eyes sparkling with some mischievous light. “I know just the place.”

  Sonya’s limbs still tingled and anticipation still coiled in her belly, but it was with pure joy that he had agreed. She might have floated, even in her human form, if he weren’t holding on to her elbow so tight.