Vicktor took a calming breath. “You killed Evgeny and the Youngs.”
“And Krasnov. Unfortunately, I didn’t get Andrei, but I heard his death was especially poignant.” He smiled, his head tilting in mock pity.
Gracie’s friend Larissa made a sound like she’d been hit in the gut. Vicktor didn’t spare her a look. Gracie’s eyes filmed, and adrenaline surged through Vicktor’s body. Patience.
“Let her go, Mikhailovich. She’ll give you the information. Just let her go.” His voice was cool, but inside he was shredding, fast. No. Not again. The plea started in his gut and rattled through him. Please, not Gracie. He locked her terrified gaze and felt pain sear through him.
“Drop your weapon, kid,” the Wolf said icily.
Gracie’s whimper sent Vicktor’s pistol crashing to the floor.
“I want Young’s notes.”
Vicktor indicated Gracie’s shoulder bag. “Let go of her and I’ll hand them over.”
“I am a fool?” He switched to English. “Drop your bag, Miss Benson.”
Gracie shook her head. A wild look entered her eyes.
“Gracie, drop the bag,” Vicktor said in a low tone.
“Never.”
He wanted to strangle her himself. Eyes on the Wolf, he strapped down every emotion and spoke in a monotone. “If you meant what you said about trusting me, prove it. Drop your bag.”
Her mouth opened, and he knew he’d hit deep and hurt her. Like she hadn’t proven her trust in him over and over and over. Stiffly, Gracie slid the computer bag off her shoulder. It thumped to the floor.
The Wolf kicked it toward Vicktor. “The notes,” he repeated.
With jerky movements, Vicktor grabbed the bag, wrenched open the zipper and yanked out the manila envelope. He held it out to the Wolf.
“Drop it on the floor.”
Vicktor obeyed. At the slapping sound of Dr. Willie’s life work offered as a sacrifice to the Wolf, Gracie flinched.
“Thank you. See that closet behind you?”
Vicktor shot a look over his shoulder. The janitor’s closet. Oh, God, I was serious about needing You. Now would be a good time to show up. He turned back to the Wolf, fresh out of ideas. “Let her go. You got what you wanted.”
“And have you track me across Russia?” The Wolf snorted.
“You could kill me,” Vicktor taunted. “That would keep me out of your hair.” Gracie’s choked sob sent daggers through his heart. But he was serious. He’d go to his grave this second if it meant Gracie might live.
“And let you escape the shame of knowing you failed…again?” Yuri smirked. Sweat glistened on his fat cheeks. “Some punishments are worse than death.”
Vicktor calculated the distance to his pistol. Ten centimeters from the Wolf’s foot, but only a body length if he dove.
“Get in, now, or your girlfriend dies in a Russian bathroom.” He made his point by pressing the knife against Gracie’s flesh. She refused to cry out, but Vicktor wanted to when he saw blood trickle across the blade.
Vicktor swallowed, every muscle aching to spring. He forced himself to open the closet door.
“Larissa, tie him up,” ordered the Wolf. Larissa avoided Vicktor’s eyes as she dug through her backpack and unearthed packing tape. She wrapped his wrists tight behind his back, then wound it around his mouth. Vicktor couldn’t bear to look at Gracie.
“Now, shoot him.”
Larissa paled. “Nyet. I’m not killing a cop.”
“Pick up his gun and shoot him now, Larissa. Or he’ll find us, and destroy our plans.”
Larissa glanced at Vicktor, then back to Gracie. Then she bent and picked up the gun.
Vicktor braced himself, and for a last painful moment, met Gracie’s beautiful eyes. They went wide, and then she screamed.
“No!” She fought Yuri’s hold as Larissa leveled the gun at Vicktor and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
No, oh please, Lord, no! Gracie’s knees buckled as Larissa lowered the gun and slammed the closet door.
Vicktor. She moaned, and began to shake. “Vicktor!”
“Calm down,” Yuri snapped. “Or you’re next.”
Gracie felt warm blood trickle down her chest. The prick of the knife burned at the base of her throat. She couldn’t look at Yuri, but his foul breath washed over her face, turning her stomach.
“Go ahead. I don’t care.”
“Get up.” He grabbed her by the hair, wrenched her to her feet.
She stared at the closet door, her heart screaming for the man who’d given his life for hers.
“Larissa, give me the gun.”
Yuri held out his hand, but instead of taking the gun, he yanked Larissa toward him. Before Gracie could jump, Yuri had stabbed her.
Larissa fell, eyes open, onto the floor. She clutched her stomach, blood pouring from between her fingers. “Boris…I trusted you.”
“Da, Tovarish.” He laughed, and it sounded more animal than human.
Gracie stood frozen, unable to breathe.
Yuri grabbed her by the back of her neck. “I’m going to put my knife away, but let’s hold hands, since we’re such good friends.” His fingers dug into her and she bit back a cry. A moment later, he released her and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go, dear. We have a plane to catch.”
Gracie tried to yank her hand away, but he jerked hard, nearly tearing the limb from its socket. She bit her lip, refusing to acknowledge the pain, amazed that she could feel anything.
Shock had her lungs, her heart filled her throat.
Yuri picked up Vicktor’s gun and pocketed it. Then, he lifted the envelope. “Open it.”
She glared at him, grabbed the package and pulled out Dr. Willie’s notes. “Satisfied?”
“Yeah. Perfect.” He snatched the pages away from her. “Thanks.”
She looked away.
“Now, if you’ll come quickly, and quietly, I’ll call zero-one when we get to our destination. Maybe they’ll arrive in time to save your friend Larissa’s life.”
Larissa? What about Vicktor? If there remained a remote chance he had only been wounded, and could be rescued…
Yuri pulled her out of the bathroom, walking as if there was nothing unusual about Gracie holding hands with the head pastor of the Russian Church, who had exited the women’s bathroom. Gracie scanned the lobby. It teemed with activity. Three long lines snaked from departure counters. A sea of people and not one of them familiar. Her chest constricted, her feet felt leaden. Please, God, get me out of this safely. Again.
Yuri pushed through a line of people and stalked toward the departure gate. A lone woman in a navy blazer with tired eyes stood sentry. She stopped him and Yuri pulled out a black passport. Flipping it in front of her face, he snorted at her. She paled and shooed them through.
Gracie’s brain could hardly keep up with her feet. Yuri had been after the medical notes the entire time? From his heated discourse with Vicktor, she knew there was more to the tale than just Dr. Willie’s medical notes. He’d betrayed her, his Church, her friends. He’d probably killed Dr. Willie and Evelyn, maybe even Leonid and Andrei. She glanced at him, noticing the sweat dripping off his sideburns, the folds of skin pushing into his dress shirt at the base of his neck. He’d tricked them all. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he’d moved among his flock, devouring. Disgust twisted her stomach.
He pulled her through the departure lobby, then out the glass doors onto the tarmac. The rain had slackened to a drizzle. It pelted the back of her neck and slicked her hair to her face. She stumbled blindly, wincing under his grip.
Thunder droned in the distance. In bewilderment Gracie searched for the source and her knees weakened at the sight of a small airplane, gunning its jets in preflight.
“I’m not getting on a plane with you!” Gracie tore at his fingers, fighting his grip. She kicked at him and landed a glancing blow on his shin. He jerked her hard, snapping her head back.
“I don’t wa
nt to hurt you,” he growled, “but I will.”
His words jolted her and she stumbled. He yanked her along with him, jogging toward the plane.
The sound of the plane engine took possession of her senses. “No!” she screamed again, digging her heels into the tarmac. “Don’t think for a second I don’t know you plan to kill me! You’ve killed everyone I care about.” Her voice shook. “You’ll probably dump me out over the ocean!”
“Not until I’m out of Russian airspace.”
“No.” If he was going to kill her, he had to do it here, now. Then Vicktor’s little army could shoot him out of the sky.
He cuffed her and she tasted blood. Clamping a hand around the back of her neck, he squeezed until she doubled over in pain.
“I’m running out of patience,” he hissed.
She staggered toward the plane. He pushed her up the steps and she fell onto the thinly carpeted floor. Yuri stepped up behind her and grabbed her by the collar.
“Get up.”
Gracie clenched her teeth and got to her knees. Yuri stabbed her hard in the back with his fingers and she swayed down the aisle.
“Over there,” he said, pointing to a row of seats. “Sit down and buckle up.”
Her heart lodged in her throat, Gracie fell into the seat. Yuri hollered to the front and returned to close the side door. The plane started to move. Gracie bit her lip and clutched the armrests as the ground seemed to travel by, gaining speed. Oh, God, now what?
Vicktor didn’t know where he was hit, but his entire body burned. Mostly his head, but he had to think that was from falling. He had a bump, but there was no sting of a gash.
But his shoulder screamed, and that, along with the stink of cleanser and bleach told him that this wasn’t heaven.
He was still alive.
And, hopefully, so was Gracie. Vicktor didn’t know how long he’d sat there, counting his heartbeats. He twisted his hands and the tape cut into his skin. Still, it gave slowly and he wiggled his hands, now slick with blood, free. Releasing his feet, he then worked off the tape over his mouth.
The first kick at the door made him double over in pain. Okay, so maybe he was shot. He touched his arm and winced, feeling moisture between his fingers. Probably adrenaline had muted the pain.
But no kind of adrenaline would dull the pain of losing Gracie. He kicked the door again, adding a growl to his efforts. The door shuddered and held.
Figures that Russia would build a fortress to protect their cleaning supplies while they let killers waltz in and out over a paper-thin border.
Probably, by now, the Wolf was halfway to some anonymous island.
Vicktor couldn’t believe he’d done it again. Failed someone he cared about more that life.
Closing his eyes, he could hear only the drip of the faucet and the sound of his own harsh breathing.
Gracie was a dead woman. The Wolf was a cold-blooded killer, and Vicktor had let the animal walk away with the woman he loved. Loved? Vicktor leaned his head against the cement wall and gulped searing breaths. Yes, loved. Everything inside him ached to be around her, to hear her laugh, to see the sun in her eyes. She was hope and faith and life—so much life that the world dimmed in comparison. And it wasn’t until forgiveness unlocked his shackles that he realized this was the woman with whom he wanted to marry, have children and grow old.
She believed in him.
And the Wolf had her.
If ever he needed help from above, it was now. Fighting the cloying smell of cleanser, he tried to form coherent thought. He should have put together that Yuri and the Wolf were one and the same. Of course. If he’d been thinking with his cop brain instead of his heart, he would have connected the dots, seen the trail from Andrei, to the Church, to the KGB, to the KGB-connected crimes and finally to the Wolf. Oh, God, what have I done? Raising his eyes, he searched for a speck of light. “God, I have nowhere else to turn. Please, save Gracie.”
Gray light streamed into the closet as the door eased open. Larissa’s pinched face wedged into the crack. “Help me,” she begged. “I’m sorry.” Tears trailed down her cheeks.
Vicktor got to his feet and slammed the door open with the palm of his hand. He stared at the pitiful girl, who had collapsed onto the floor. He pulled off his jacket and pressed it against her wound. She moaned.
“I’ll get help.”
He scrambled out to the lobby and nearly crashed into Yanna. She grabbed his forearms, her dark eyes fixing on his.
“Slow down, Stripes.” Her eyes widened. “You’re bleeding.”
“What are you doing here?”
Yanna indicated a group of COBRAs hauling a snarling, handcuffed man to his feet. Blood trickled from a freshly opened wound on his head. “Just trust your friends for once, will you?”
Yuri stood in the aisle, one hand on each row of seats, eyes narrowed as he watched the pavement roll by. Gracie licked parched lips and hung her head, wondering what it would be like to die. If only she could have saved Dr. Willie’s notes.
She heard Yuri’s grunt of pain before she saw him stagger forward, then crash to the floor with a grunt.
What?
Roman! Gracie unhooked her belt and scrambled to her feet. Roman straddled Yuri’s waist, his hand around Yuri’s throat.
“You okay, Gracie?” Roman asked, not looking at her. Yuri cuffed him. Roman’s grip turned white on Yuri’s neck.
Gracie covered her mouth as Yuri’s contorted face colored a dark red, his lips purple.
“Roman, look out!”
Yuri had flushed out Vicktor’s little black gun from somewhere beneath him. He shoved it into Roman’s temple.
Gracie screamed. “No! Yuri!”
Roman released his grip and backed off. Gracie’s eyes were glued to Yuri as Roman pulled her behind him. “Please, Yuri, don’t shoot,” she begged as Roman’s body became her shield.
Yuri inched back and climbed to his feet. He trained the weapon on Roman as Yuri felt for the cockpit handle, opened the door and slipped inside.
Roman spun toward her, and the grim look on his face made her flinch. “Open that door and jump out right now.”
Gracie reeled, blinking at him. “The plane’s moving.”
Roman’s blue eyes turned to steel. “I know.”
The cockpit door opened. A woman in army fatigues scuttled out and slammed the door. Her eyes were wide, her face slightly flushed. A shock of curly red hair fell from the bun at the nape of her neck. “He doesn’t want me to drive,” she said in English.
Gracie fought Roman, gripping the seat. “You’re an American?”
The woman nodded. “Let’s get off this plane, now.”
Roman pushed Gracie toward the door. Her feet dug into the carpet. “You’re trying to kill me!”
“The clock is running, people. Move!” the woman barked.
Gracie didn’t want to decipher the meaning of those words. Roman reached past her and unlocked the door. It swung open, nearly sucking Gracie out. Icy rain stung her face.
“No!” she shrieked, bracing herself in the doorway. The plane was moving so fast.
“I’m sorry!” Roman yelled above the din. His hand clutched her upper arm. “You have to jump!”
“Thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…”
Gracie screamed and flung herself into open space.
Chapter Thirty
Vicktor jumped aboard the luggage car and gunned it. Beside him, Yanna clung to the seat. The rain streaked in cold torrents down his back. He squinted and drove like a madman toward the taxiing AN-2. Heaven help the Wolf if he harmed one hair on Gracie’s head.
His heart nearly stopped when he saw someone jump from the plane. Two more bodies followed. Vicktor gripped the steering wheel harder.
As the plane accelerated down the runway, Vicktor made out Roman, rolling to his feet and limping over to one of the others. Shock ripped through him when he recognized Mae, her hair unfurled and glistening amber in th
e drizzle. That meant the figure sprawled flat and unmoving was Gracie. Please, no. He slammed the pedal to the floorboards.
The plane screamed as its front wheels lifted.
Vicktor’s eyes were glued to Gracie. She wasn’t moving. He felt his heart leap out ahead of him as he slammed on the brakes and jumped from the vehicle. “Gracie!”
She raised her head just before he skidded to his knees at her side.
“Vicktor?”
He took her in his arms. It was quite possible he was going to turn into a sniveling, oh-no-don’t-look mess right here, with Mae and Roman and Yanna watching.
“Vicktor! I thought Larissa had…” She pulled away from him, stared at his wounds. “You’re shot.”
She’d just jumped from an airplane and she was worried about him? His voice cracked, letting out his emotions. “I’m fine. Larissa just clipped my arm.”
She looked like she might cry. “Is Larissa dead?”
He ran his hand down her check. “I don’t know. She freed me and all I could think of was getting to you. I think Yanna called for help.”
“Oh.” Her expression began to crumble and she balled his jacket in her fists. “Oh.”
“Gracie.” He pulled her into his arms and held tight, trying not to cry himself. Except, his were tears of relief. “You scared me,” he choked out.
“I scared myself,” she said into his wet shirt. But she didn’t let go.
He held her away from him again and scanned her for injuries. Her pants had ripped open at the knees and an angry abrasion on her leg was quickly turning purple. He rubbed his hands over her arms, down to her wrists, and cringed at the scrapes on her palms. “Nothing broken?”
“Not yet.” She cupped his cheek and brought his gaze to hers.
In her eyes welled an emotion he could only hope was love. Please, let it be love.
Because he knew he loved her.
But he couldn’t say that. Not here, not on the tarmac, with the rain pummeling them. He buried his face in her soggy hair, let relief shudder through him. “I thought the worst.” Not just thought it, but believed it, mourned it, had felt his heart crushed beneath it.
In Sheep's Clothing Page 29
