by Terri Reed
Olga’s gaze searched Kate’s face. No doubt she was wondering about the bruises and the cut. It occurred to Kate that she and Brody could be putting Olga in danger now, as well. But the bad guys hadn’t found the letter so they didn’t know about Olga. At least so she hoped.
Olga gave a slight nod and then left the room, disappearing down the hall. They heard Olga speaking with her grandmother, their voices low, yet from the intensity, Kate guessed Olga was informing her grandmother of Petrov’s death.
“You okay?” Brody asked.
Kate felt as though she’d hit a brick wall. Numb, dumbfounded, shocked. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”
Brody took her hand. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks again for this man. She didn’t know if she could have done this without him.
Olga returned carrying a small wrapped box. One that could easily hold a computer disk. “I was waiting for Petrov to return before I opened this. Those were his orders.” She handed the box to Brody, who quickly dispensed with the paper. He opened the box and pulled out the contents.
A feminine gasp filled the air and Kate wasn’t sure if it were her own or Olga’s. As Olga reached for the stunning piece of jewelry that Brody lifted from the box, Kate turned away.
Just when she thought she couldn’t hurt anymore, Paul still managed to reach out from the grave and slice a fresh wound to her soul. The jade-studded gold pendant was identical to one Paul had given to her on their wedding night.
“It’s not here.” Brody’s frustration was evident in his tone.
Kate shut off her emotions and refocused on why they were there. “Olga, we’re looking for a computer disk. Did Petrov have a computer here?”
“No. He did not work with computers.”
“What did Petrov do?” Brody questioned.
Olga’s slim shoulders rose and fell in a stiff shrug. “He worked with my brothers. He traveled.”
Brody’s dark eyes took on an intense light. “What’s the name of the business and what is Petrov’s family’s name?”
“The company is Lanski Imports and Petrov Klein is…was his name.”
Kate brows rose in surprise. She glanced at Brody. He gave her a meaningful look and a slow nod. Brody’d been right that Mr. Lanski at least knew the name Petrov and most likely had known of his aliases.
Olga sniffed back more tears. “We were to be married next year. My brothers promised Petrov could stop traveling.”
As soon as the divorce was final and he could leave Los Angeles, Kate thought sourly and swallowed hard against the fresh taste of hurt.
“Do you have an address for his mother?” Brody asked.
She willed herself not to care as Olga gave Brody the information he wanted. Paul/Pete/Petrov was a rat and she would not waste any more pain on him or his memory. She hated hurting like this, hated that she’d so easily allowed herself to be sucked into this horrible mess.
Never again. Never again would she allow anyone close enough to hurt her so much.
Brody recaptured her hand and Kate turned to stare into his eyes. She wondered bitterly which was worse: being used by her dead husband or the pity so clear in Brody’s gaze.
Brody watched the shuttered look come over Kate and an ache deep inside twisted and squirmed. They’d received as much information as they were going to get from Olga. He rose and pulled Kate to her feet then quickly led her out, leaving behind a tearful Olga in the arms of her elderly grandma.
Once outside, Kate stepped away from him, her arms wrapping around her middle as she stared up the street. Brody sensed she wasn’t seeing the hustle and bustle of pedestrians or taking in the ambiance of Little Odessa.
He touched her arm. She looked at his hand before lifting her gaze. He sucked in a quick breath at the desolate expression in her eyes. She couldn’t be acting.
“I was such an imbecile,” she said, her voice full of self-loathing.
“No. He was the imbecile.” If the man weren’t already dead, Brody would’ve taken great joy in torturing him.
“I don’t understand. Why did he marry me? What plans did he have for me? For the woman up there?”
“I don’t know. We may never know.”
“That’s unacceptable.” Her hands clenched at her sides and her expression turned hard, unyielding. “I have to know.”
Brody understood her frustration, her anger. The only advice he could give her was the same advice he’d heard and eventually had to learn to live with. “You have to let go of the questions and make peace with the unknown.”
She scoffed softly. “How do I do that? How do I live with the knowledge that I trusted him, gave everything I had to my marriage, and there was never any hope? It was a sham from the beginning. How do I live with that?”
He grazed a knuckle down her soft cheek, wiping away a lone tear, the wetness hot against his skin. “You learn to live with it. Learn to focus instead on the needs of each day. You can’t change the past and you can’t control the future.”
Her hot glare seared him. “That’s easy to say. You’ve never had to go through something like this.”
He let his hand drop to his side. “I have, Kate. I know what you’re going through.” Only too well.
“You do?”
He wasn’t ready to open that particular door. “Come on, we should go.”
She spun away from him. “You’ll have to see his mother alone. I can’t do that.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
He hated seeing the hard edges going up around her, hated knowing that she was cloistering her heart behind a stone wall composed of anger, hurt and mistrust. He knew how lonely that place was. He hated that the fire and sparkle that had first drawn him to her were dwindling.
He stepped closer and gently grasped her shoulders. She felt stiff, yet fragile, beneath his touch. “Don’t do this, Kate. Don’t let him hurt you anymore.”
“I’d have to be able to feel to hurt.”
Her icy tone sent a shiver moving along his spine like a storm blowing in from the Atlantic Ocean. He wasn’t going to let her do this to herself. He wanted to see the spirited woman who’d fought him so bravely not that long ago. He turned her to face him. “Come on. I know you still feel something. Tell me you don’t feel the sparks between us.”
His words startled the coldness in her eyes back a step. Good. He wanted to chase that freezing bitterness as far away as he could. He refused to look too closely at why he felt the need to do so. “Tell me you don’t wonder what it would be like to kiss me.”
She blinked. Twin stains of pink spread across her cheeks. “Kiss you?”
“I’ve wondered, Kate. Would your lips be as soft as they look? Would you taste as sweet as the lilacs I smell in your hair?”
She tried to move away, but he held her firmly. Her gaze lifted. Beneath the hurt, an underlying current shimmered in the depths of her eyes. Her vulnerability stabbed at him, making his chest ache.
He silenced the voice inside his brain that warned he was getting in too deep. That warned he shouldn’t trust.
His lips descended and met Kate’s. Ripples of shock washed over him. She wasn’t soft and pliant, she was hard as steel and just as strong, and she held herself at a distance from the flame ignited between them as if she were afraid of being burned.
He understood because he felt the same way. Drawn, yet terrified of the conflagration searing the air around them, between them. But he couldn’t have pulled away even if the fire department had arrived to spray them with cold water.
He slid a hand from her shoulder to tangle in the mass of curls at the back of her head. Gently he caressed and massaged the tense muscles at the nape of her neck while he gentled his kiss.
She met his kiss with one of her own. His mind nearly exploded when that melting turned into a caress, her lips now receptive and sweet. He’d have sworn he could hear fireworks filling the sky.
Cement chips hit his legs with a sharp sting. Not fireworks. Gu
nfire.
ELEVEN
Deeply ingrained instincts kicked in and a familiar flood of adrenaline rushed through his blood. He pulled Kate down to the ground, covering her body with his own as his hand reached for the weapon holstered at his back.
A woman screamed, pedestrians ran for cover. Another round hit the pavement inches from his head and he flinched away from the flying shards of concrete. Time to move.
He pushed upward. “Come on!” In a low crouch, Brody hustled Kate to the shelter of a car. “Stay down!” he ordered.
Ignoring the swelling pain in his hip from the uncomfortable position, he peered over the back end of the tan sedan. His gaze roamed over the opposite sidewalk, along the storefronts and to the roof. There. Sunlight glinted off metal. Another round buried itself in the trunk of the car.
They had to get out of there. Brody looked for an escape. The B and Q subway station was a half block away. If they could make it across the street, the sniper wouldn’t have as clear a shot.
The rumble of an approaching train reached him. Brody squatted beside Kate with his back leaned against the car’s door, putting his weight mostly on his bent left leg. Kate was tucked in a ball. She peeked up at him through a veil of red curls.
“We’ve got to make a break for it, cross the street and go to the subway. Think you can do it?”
She blinked rapidly. Her chin lifted and she gave a shaky nod. Admiration arced through him. He knew she was scared, but she wasn’t giving into her fear. Atta girl.
Taking her hand, Brody pushed away from the car, aiming his weapon at the man on the roof. “Go! Stay low!”
He squeezed off two rounds as he ran. Kate followed closely on his heels. More shots hit the ground, but they reached the other side of the street unharmed. Side by side, they ran toward the metal staircase leading up to the raised platform of the subway station. Their labored breaths mingled, drowning out the sounds of the approaching train.
People moved aside, giving barely curious glances as they ran past. With more finesse than he thought himself capable of, Brody jumped over the turnstile and then helped Kate scramble over.
“Hey!” shouted the token booth clerk from within her enclosed stall.
“Shots fired! Call 911!” Brody yelled.
With a loud swoosh and forceful current of air, the silver train roared into the station. Still clutching Kate’s hand, Brody pushed their way to the last car and into the corner facing away from the station. He remained standing, while she sat on the bench.
Long moments passed as they waited for the metallic ding-ding that announced the imminent closure of the doors. Brody’s watchful gaze searched for the unknown enemy through the window. Hopefully, the gunman on the roof had been alone. He didn’t see anything that would lead him to believe they’d been followed. Who had known they were in Brighton Beach? Had they been tracked from Havensport?
The door closed and the train moved forward, picking up speed to rush over Brighton Beach toward Manhattan. Brody sank onto the seat beside Kate, his tension receding slightly even as his hip throbbed a sporadic beat. He glanced at Kate. Her chalky complexion and wide eyes as she stared out the window made Brody gather her into his arms. She shook violently and he expected hysterics. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She tilted her head back to look up at him, her gaze clear and sharp with intelligence. “And I thought things couldn’t get any worse. Thank You, God, for my protector.”
“Some protector,” he muttered. If he’d been paying attention instead of kissing Kate, she wouldn’t have come so close to being shot.
Kate twisted around to face him fully. “I’d have been toast a long time ago if it weren’t for you.”
Grateful to see her pluck returning, Brody gave her a grim smile and tightened his hold. “You’re one incredible lady.”
And if he wanted her to stay that way he had to start doing his job and control his attraction to Kate. Otherwise, he might just get them both killed.
Kate followed Brody from subway to subway until they reached Penn Station. She looked around with interest. She’d never been to the fabled train depot before and was surprised to see it had the same grime and grit as any station, only with a greater number of people filing in and out due to the commuter and Amtrak trains.
On the walls were pictures of how Penn Station had looked before the deconstruction in the sixties. Kate felt a pang of regret for the architecture and beauty of the old station. Brody ushered her quickly to the ticket agent’s booth.
He purchased two tickets for a private compartment on a train bound for Boston. She kept glancing over her shoulder expecting to see armed men bearing down on them.
She urged Brody to call N.Y.P.D. in case the subway attendant hadn’t, and ask for someone to check on Olga. Kate couldn’t live with herself if the danger following her harmed someone else. He led her to a pay phone where he made the call, because he had no cell phone service in the station.
They boarded the train and settled in the private compartment: a small cubicle with a window, two red-leather benches facing each other and an overhead storage area. Soon the rhythm of the steel wheels vibrated through the floor and lulled Kate’s frazzled senses.
Somebody had shot at her.
The frightening reality was much worse than any melodrama she’d ever imagined.
She sank back onto the cushioned bench, which was more comfortable than she’d thought it would be when she’d entered the compartment. For one person, the space would have been roomy, but Brody’s presence filled the small cubicle. Now an intimate atmosphere charged the close quarters.
He sat opposite her, his long legs stretched out between them, his big body leaned back and his strong arms, arms that had held her so close, so gently, folded across his broad chest. He studied her with hooded eyes. Her gaze dropped to his lips and heat crept into her cheeks.
She felt awkward after their kiss. Explosive didn’t do justice to the kiss and the connection she felt. She had wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and it was more wonderful than she could have imagined. Brody’s touch had awakened a yearning she’d never known before. A yearning that, if she gave in to it, could destroy what little remained of her self-respect.
Deep down, the craving to be loved and cherished sat with her like a stubborn child refusing to give up a favored toy. Brody had undoubtedly kissed her to distract her from her pain over Paul, not because he cared. She had to remember that.
She fidgeted under his regard and couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Why Boston?”
“I have friends in Boston who will help us,” Brody replied, his expression unreadable.
She remembered he wasn’t from Havensport. “Are you from Boston?”
He nodded.
When he didn’t offer anymore, Kate pressed, “There’s someone there you trust?”
“My ex-partner.”
Kate absorbed that tidbit. “So you were on the force in Boston?”
“Yeah.”
“What took you to Havensport?”
One solid shoulder rose and fell. “They needed a sheriff.”
Frustrated by his lack of cooperation in keeping the conversation going, she prodded, “So you decided to give up being a…detective?”
He nodded. “Homicide.”
Kate drew back. Everything inside her flinched. Homicide. Murder. Her husband. Thoughts tumbled around her head. A flutter of panic hit her stomach. Surely he couldn’t suspect her after all that had happened. She had to believe that her trust wasn’t misplaced because if it were…she’d be certifiable. Just lock her up and throw away the key.
No, she was being paranoid. Brody wouldn’t be helping her if he believed she was guilty of murdering her husband. With effort she continued the conversation. “So you gave up being a homicide detective to become sheriff of a small, sleepy, coastal town?”
His mouth quirked. “Something like that.”
“Why?”
His only response was a
raised brow.
Obviously, she wasn’t getting anything more out of him. Ever since they’d made it safely to the subway, Brody had been quiet. He seemed more withdrawn than she’d seen him before.
One moment he was holding her in a safe and secure cocoon and the next he was sitting stiffly beside her, his gaze barely touching her. And when it did, the reticence in his dark eyes made fresh tears sting the back of her throat.
She didn’t blame him for resenting her. He wouldn’t have almost been killed and wouldn’t be running now if she’d just agreed to let him call the FBI. Though she knew if Brody had really wanted the FBI’s help, he would have called them regardless of her wishes.
He wasn’t a man who let others make decisions for him. He was a man of action. A lawman. Living a risky, unsecured life. Even as a small-town sheriff, he faced the unknown every day.
Her mind replayed the events of the last few hours. The woman her husband had been involved with wasn’t some tramp. She’d been in love, planning for a future. Paul had used Olga, too. Kate felt sorry for her. The young woman didn’t deserve to be lied to. But then, neither had she. Bitter anger rooted around, trying to find a spot to plant itself.
As she stared at the man across from her, his intense eyes unreadable, his jaw set in a firm line, she remembered his words.
You have to let go of the questions and make peace with the unknown…learn to live with it. I have…I know what you’re going through.
He’d indicated once he didn’t trust in God to care, so how could Brody really have any peace? What kept him from leaning on God? Only one way to find out. “What happened to you, Brody? You said you know what I’m going through. How? What unanswered questions have you tried to make peace with?”
He didn’t move. The only indication that he’d heard her was his slight, indrawn breath. Kate studied him, learning his face, seeing the subtle changes as he thought about how to answer. He blinked, a slow sweep of black lashes over high cheekbones. Kate’s gaze rested on his mouth, the strong, hard lips that could be so tender.
