Tango's Edge, Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Heart pounding a kettledrum beat in his chest, Mikhail raced back to the motel room. Somehow, O'Malley had tracked them down. How? How had he known? And how had his men found them so quickly? No time for that now. They had to get the hell out of here. Thank Christ he'd gone into the office when he did. The alternative made him weak in the knees. They would've been caught like reindeer in the headlights of a snowmobile.
He unlocked the door of the motel room and burst inside. “Kerry! We must go!”
The room was dark in the late afternoon gloom, but in the light of the TV, he saw a blur of movement, followed by what sounded like a whoosh of air and then a strangled squeak of pain, followed by a Russian profanity.
“Mikhail!” Kerry rushed toward him, her face pale-blue in the light of the TV. “We've got to get out of here!”
Mikhail moved across the room and looked down at the groaning man folded into a fetal position. He was clutching at his genitals, his face twisted in agony. A stranger. “No shit. And he is not alone. Get your stuff.”
It took them only a moment to grab everything they could carry, but after Kerry reached the Jeep, she tossed in her suitcase, and whirled around, still clutching her purse. “Wait!”
Already inside the Jeep, Mikhail watched in horror as she ran toward the office. “What are you doing?” he shouted. Had she lost her mind? He opened the door of the Jeep to run after her.
She was standing in front of a black Mercedes, fumbling around in her purse when he reached her side.
“Kerry! We must go!”
Ignoring him, she pulled out a lethal-looking nail file, and squatting by the front left tire, rammed it into the rubber. A soft hissing sound broke the silence. She grinned and hurried back to the left rear tire. Just as she was standing up, the office door opened and a man stepped out.
“Shit!” Mikhail muttered, grabbing her arm. “Come on!”
They ran. Mikhail heard a shout behind him. He risked a look backward as he jumped into the passenger side of the Jeep, and saw the man's feet slip on the ice. Kerry scrambled into the truck and inserted the key into the ignition.
“Fuck!” the man shouted, as he tried to stand, and fell again.
Kerry turned the key, but the engine only grumbled, refusing to turn over. “Damn,” she muttered as the engine protested. “I should've been coming out and starting her up.”
The man was on his feet again and running toward them. Kerry turned the key again, pressing on the accelerator. “Start, you bitch. Start!”
The man reached Mikhail's door, and began pounding on the glass. And at that moment, the engine turned over and began to run, albeit, raggedly. Mikhail stared into the man's weasel-like face. His dark hair was cropped short, his forehead low and broad. He grasped at the locked door, cursing, his mouth twisted in a snarl revealing a half-dozen rotted teeth.
Kerry thrust the gearshift into reverse. The Jeep bucked, and for an awful moment, the engine coughed and sputtered. Mikhail's stomach dipped. But as Kerry thrust into first, it recovered. She pulled out of the parking lot, tires skidding on the icy road.
“Do you think he'll come after us?” Kerry asked, glancing into the rear view mirror.
Mikhail looked over his shoulder at the road. No headlights yet. “Not in that car. Thanks to you. Besides, he’ll have to wait for his partner to recover from whatever you did to him.”
Kerry glanced over and gave him a wry grin. “Let's just say he'll be hitting some high notes for a while.”
“How did he get in?” Mikhail asked.
“I thought it was you. That you'd forgotten your key. When I opened the door, he pushed his way in and grabbed me. I was so startled, I froze. Then when I heard you at the door, my instincts kicked in and I did a little maneuver on him, something I learned in self-defense class.”
Mikhail looked at her. “You surprise me, Kerry Niles. Over and over. That was smart thinking. To ruin tires.” He shook his head. “But very risky.”
Kerry shrugged, her eyes fixed on the road. “We had to make sure they don't follow us. As for the other thing, I started taking self-defense classes a few years ago after a good friend of mine was raped. This is the first time I've ever had to put what I've learned to the test.”
Mikhail looked out his window into the darkness. “Because of me. I should never have brought you into this.”
Kerry didn't speak for a moment. Finally, she looked over at him. “Okay, I know you feel guilty, so let's get it out of your system. Because from here on in, I don't want to hear it. You told me from the beginning it could be dangerous. You said someone might come after you. I agreed to help you, even with that knowledge. So, let's just do the job and get you to Virginia, okay? So, who do you think it was?”
Mikhail ran a hand through his hair, not surprised to find it was trembling. “Sean O’Malley. Elena’s boyfriend. I just do not understand how his men knew where to find us so quickly.”
“Unless they've been tailing us from the very beginning,” Kerry said.
“But why? How could they know?”
She shook her head, but didn't answer.
He looked at her. “Were you not frightened?”
“Of course. I'd be an idiot not to be.”
“Let me see your hand.”
She glanced at him, her brow wrinkled. He held out his hand, fingers beckoning. Kerry took her right hand off the steering wheel and placed it in his.
At the touch of her warm skin, a memory of her bare breasts flashed through his mind. He remembered the sweet taste of her lips, the promise of her body pressing against his. And to think, if he'd had a condom, they'd probably be in the hands of the O’Malley right now. And maybe dead.
He dropped her hand as a chill went through him.
“So?” Kerry asked. “What was that all about?”
“You are not trembling. Your face still has color. And you say you were frightened?”
Kerry sighed. “Well, it's a funny thing about me and fear, Mikhail. I don't show it the same way most people do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as long as the adrenalin has kicked in, I'm okay. It's only afterward that…oh, damn.” She took a hand off the wheel and clutched at her belly.
“What is wrong?”
Kerry slammed on the brakes. The Jeep shuddered as she pulled off the road, coming dangerously close to a mound of snow. She shoved the gearshift into park, and clutching a hand to her mouth, jumped out of the vehicle and slammed the door. She'd parked so close to the snowdrift that Mikhail couldn't open his door. He could only watch helplessly as Kerry slipped and slid her way to the front of the Jeep where she squatted, retching into the snow.
Mikhail opened the center console, and found a packet of travel tissues. He had a handful of them waiting for her when she slipped back into the driver's seat, her eyes tearing, her skin as white as the snow drifts outside.
She gave Mikhail a sheepish look. “That's what happens when I get scared. After it's all over. It's better than it used to be. When I was first competing, I'd have to make a beeline for the bathroom as soon as I left Kiss & Cry. We'd better get out of here.” She shifted into first and pulled out onto the empty road. “I think it would be a good idea to stick to the highway instead of the interstate, don't you? So…this Sean O’Malley. That’s not a Russian name. What’s the deal with him?”
Mikhail stared grimly ahead into the darkness. “He is ruthless man. Worse than KGB ever was. Rumor has it that his pub in Tallinn is front for racketeering and gun-running for IRA.”
She slanted him a glance. “How do you know all this?”
“Like I said, is rumor.”
Kerry's hands tightened on the steering wheel as the Jeep skidded on an icy patch. “I still don't see how they found us so quickly.”
Mikhail braced himself on the console, grimacing as Kerry easily handled the skid and kept going at a pace way too fast for the snow-packed road. Yet, he didn't tell her to slow down. With those goons after them, they needed to put as much distance between them as possible. He glanced at her profile. Her face was tense as she concentrated on the road, yet, not panicked, or even especially frightened. He admired her courage. But perhaps she just didn't realize how dangerous their situation had become.
“So, tell me, what is this little trick you used to overpower that Russian? He looked like big, muscular guy.”
She glanced at him and grinned. “It's called 'bite the shit out of his hand and then knee him as hard as you can in the balls.' I also like the 'ram your knuckles up his nose followed by a nut twist with the other hand' move, but it all depends on the position he's got you in.”
“Remind me never to piss you off,” Mikhail said wryly. Then he sighed. “This changes things, yes? I had hoped we'd be able to get closer to Virginia before they let the dogs go for us.”
He sounded so sad that Kerry decided not to joke about his screwed-up colloquialism. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. Their eyes met, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. That if Sean O'Malley's men hadn't arrived, they'd probably be making love right now.
She looked back at the road. “We'll trade in my Jeep for something more…discreet in the morning. And we'll keep to the back roads. It'll be okay, Mikhail.”
He was silent for a long time, and then he said, “I hope I will not be sorry I brought you into this.”
“I wanted to do it. I'm still glad I'm doing it.” She bit her bottom lip and then went on, “My father started working for Greenpeace after he won his Olympic gold. It used to upset me when he'd go away for long periods of time. I remember once he was going to miss my seventh birthday, and I was really ticked off at him. He was on his way to Newfoundland to save the baby seals instead of staying home and celebrating my birthday, and I just didn't get it. Why was that so important? What about me? Wasn't I important to him, too? You know what he said? ‘Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices to do what you know is right.’ That's what I'm doing, Mikhail. I don’t know why you feel you have to leave your country, but I do know, just for the short time I've known you, that you wouldn't do it for an insignificant reason. That's why I'm helping you, and I don't regret it. I won't regret it.”
“I hope that will be true.” He gazed into the darkness out the passenger window. “I would tell you if I could,” he added softly. “But I must not. It could put you in even greater danger.”
She nodded. “I understand that.” She glanced into the rear view mirror to see if they were being followed, and was relieved to see nothing but darkness behind them. “Why don't you get some sleep? I'll wake you in a couple hours and let you take over.”
He nodded, and adjusted his seat back. After a few moments of silence, Kerry reached for a CD. Maybe a Van Morrison would calm her nerves.
“Perhaps it is for best,” Mikhail said suddenly.
She glanced at him. “What?”
He didn't look at her. Just stared up at the ceiling of the Jeep. “You and me,” he said quietly. “What did not happen back in motel room.”
Kerry's heart thudded. She knew he was right. She agreed with him. Absolutely. But God, it hurt to hear him say it. She swallowed hard, and found her voice. “Yes, you're right. It is for the best.”
He didn't speak again as they drove on through the darkness toward the Kansas state line.
* * * * *
The road conditions improved the closer they got to Kansas, and by the time they crossed the state line, a weak sun was just beginning to rise.
Kerry yawned, and glanced over at Mikhail who was taking his turn at the wheel. “You okay?”
He nodded. “This Jeep Cherokee, I like. Handles very good.”
“Yeah, I like it, too.” She frowned. “Too bad…” Then she caught herself.
He looked over at her. In the early morning light, she could just make out the sober expression on his face. “Too bad you must sell?”
“It's okay,” she said. “I've been thinking about trading it in, anyway. Get something a little more…you know…feminine.”
That made him grin. “I think Jeep Cherokee is perfect for you.”
She slanted him a derisive look. “Are you saying I’m not feminine?”
Color flooded his face. “No! You misunderstand. You are…most feminine, but unlike any woman I have ever met.”
“Oh, I was just giving you a hard time. Look!” Her eyes fastened on a green sign along the roadway. “Norton is less than two hours away. We should get there about the time the used car lots open. Still no sign of our friends?”
Mikhail shook his head. “No. Very little traffic.”
“Good. Maybe they still think we took the interstate.”
Mikhail stifled a yawn, and then said, “Kerry, I'm famished. We never had dinner last night, remember?”
Oh, did she ever. His words immediately brought to mind those exquisite moments on the bed, the warmth of Mikhail's body, the touch of his hands and his mouth tenderly exploring hers. Heat shot through her, and biting her bottom lip, she reached out to turn the temperature control down a notch.
“I'm hungry, too,” she said. “Should we risk stopping for breakfast?”
Mikhail shrugged. “We have to eat.”
They found a truck stop, and pulled in, carefully glancing around to make sure no one was watching them before they got out of the Jeep.
Everything seemed normal inside, just the usual mix of truck drivers and families on the road. A waitress led them to a booth overlooking the parking lot, and they ordered eggs, bacon and coffee. As before, Mikhail remained silent, allowing Kerry to do the ordering. This time, though, the waitress barely acknowledged him. Kerry supposed they'd been successful in turning him into just another American guy, albeit, a really great-looking American guy.
An hour later, they were back on the two-lane highway heading for Norton. It was eight o'clock when they pulled into a used car lot just off the road. Kerry turned off the ignition, and looked at Mikhail. “You'd better let me handle this. Your accent would really make you hard to forget.”
The corner of his lip lifted in a wry smile. “No problem,” he said. “I play henpecked husband.”
The used car lot was quiet this early, and Kerry didn't see a salesman anywhere. Hands tucked deep in the pockets of her insulated parka, she picked her way through the brown slush, casting a critical eye over the variety of vehicles in the car lot. Mikhail followed behind her silently.
“So, we're going to stick to the northern route,” she muttered, thinking aloud. “Because they'll assume we're planning to stick to I-70…the sane route in the dead of winter. That means we need to find something that can handle the snow. But what? I have no idea how much they'll give me for the Jeep.”
Mikhail stopped behind her, eyeing a sleek black Camaro. Kerry noticed and gave a short laugh. “No way, Mikhail. Move on.”
“Ah, you're breaking his heart, Ma'am. Be a sport.”
Kerry whipped around to see a little man with twinkling blue eyes standing a few feet from them, his hands tucked into a black parka etched with Buddy’s Pre-Owned Autos. He grinned, and Kerry immediately felt a kinship with him. In some weird way, he reminded her of Grandpa Johan. Used car salesman, she reminded herself sternly as she automatically returned his smile. Not to be trusted.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning to you, folks. What can I do you for?”
Kerry took a deep breath. “Well, my…er…husband and I want to trade in our Jeep Cherokee for something more…oh, I don't know…practical?”
The salesman's eyes widened, but he recovered from his surprise quickly, thrusting out a gloved hand. “You can call me Buddy.” He shook Kerry's hand, and then Mikhail's who nodded and smiled, but didn't speak. “Okay, now…let's see…” The car salesman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Something more practical than a Jeep Cherokee. That's a tall order…uh…” He slanted a look over at Mikhail. “Something wrong with the Jeep?”
“Not at all,” Kerry said quickly. “It's just that…uh…” With a flash of inspiration, she patted her belly through the thickness of her parka. “We have a little one on the way, and we just want something…you know…sturdier. Safer. Something good in snow, but not too expensive. Something good for a long trip. But not too flashy. In fact, the more boring, the better. You got anything like that?”
Buddy's eyes burned with curiosity as he looked from Kerry to Mikhail. Mikhail grinned and nodded. “Um…well…I'll have to think on that,” Buddy said. “Tell you what let's do. Let me take a gander at that vehicle of yours, and then we'll know what ball park we're in. How's that sound?”
“Hunky dory,” Kerry said, starting to enjoy the game. “Come, Michael. Let's go show Buddy our car.”
A half hour later, they sat in Buddy's office signing the papers for the trade of the Jeep for a 1997 Volvo.
“She's really good in snow,” Buddy was saying as he put the paperwork together. “Yes, Ma'am, chocolate on a stick in snow. You're going to really enjoy her. I drove her over from KC during a sumbitch of a blizzard…excuse me, Ma’am…a couple months ago, and didn't have nary a problem with her. Too bad, though, we don't have something in a better color. That charcoal gray is a little drab, but hey, it'll get you where you want to go, and that's what counts, right?”
“I like the color,” said Kerry. “And so does Michael. Don't you, Michael? Don't you like the color?”
“Uh huh,” Mikhail said slowly, with a smile that looked about as genuine as Pamela Andersen’s breasts.
Buddy flashed him an appraising look. “You're the strong, silent type, aren't you, partner?”
Kerry laughed. “Oh, that's Michael, all right. Only speaks when he has something to say. And of course, it's hard to get a word in edgewise with me around.” She laughed heartily.
Buddy slid some papers over the desk toward them. “Okay, just need both of your John Hancocks right here, and you'll be on your way with your new car.”
“Oh, Michael doesn't have to sign,” Kerry said. “The Jeep is in my name, and I'm going to write you a check for the balance…although, I really think you should let that two thousand slide. Seems like a fair trade to me…but…oh, well…we've been through this, haven't we?” She reached for the pen.
Buddy sighed. “This is the very best I can do, Mrs. Niles. You got my word on that. Okay, now, we're all set,” he said as Kerry signed the papers. He stood and gave her the keys, then stretched out a hand. “She's all yours. Good luck to you.” He turned to Mikhail, hand outstretched. “And you, sir. Come on back when the Missus gives you permission to buy that black Camaro out front.” His eyes twinkled with humor, and Kerry could practically read his mind.
You'll get that Camaro, friend, on the day Hell freezes over.
“Okay, then…” Kerry jangled the keys. “You ready to hit the road, Michael? It's a long way to California.”
“Uh huh,” Mikhail said.
A few minutes later, they slid into their newly acquired Volvo, Kerry, of course, at the wheel. She waved warmly at Buddy as they pulled onto the street.
“No point in shattering Buddy's illusions,” she said with a grin, “about who’s wearing the pants in this marriage.”
Mikhail eyed her. “You enjoyed that, did you not?”
Kerry laughed, and a tingle of pleasure raced through him at the joyous sound of it. He was glad she could still laugh after their close call last night.
“Mikhail, you've got me all wrong! Do I look like the type who would enjoy hen-pecking a husband?”
He examined her thoughtfully. “Not hen-peck,” he said finally. “But I think you are woman who enjoys having her way. Being in control.”
Kerry turned this over in her mind, and then gave a grudging nod. “I suppose that's true. When you've been on your own…figuratively speaking…as many years as I have, I suppose it's hard to give up control.” She glanced at him. “Do you find that unattractive in a woman?”
A slow flush crept over his face, and he avoided her eyes, looking out the window at the town of Norton. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, but she heard it all the same.
“I find nothing unattractive about you, Kerry Niles. And that scares hell out of me.”
* * * * *
The day passed quickly as they sped toward Missouri, taking turns driving, and stopping only for gas and a quick lunch in St. Joseph. They hoped to make St. Louis by nightfall, but it didn't look good. Darkness came early in the plains in February, and the pregnant gray ceiling of clouds hinted of more snow, and perhaps lots of it. Despite Buddy's promise that the Volvo was “chocolate on a stick” in the snow, Kerry wasn't looking forward to trying it out in a blizzard. Or was she kidding herself? Was she just making excuses to prolong her time with Mikhail? She'd never been nervous about driving in snow before. What was different about now?
There was no doubt in her mind, though, about their fatigue. They'd been driving now for over sixteen hours, with only three breaks. Despite taking turns at the wheel every two hours, they both were exhausted. There'd been no sign of their pursuers, and finally, at four o'clock in the afternoon, Kerry said what Mikhail had been thinking.
“Let's pack it in for the night.”
As they approached the small town of Mexico, Kerry saw a quaint L-shaped motel, a throwback to the Sixties, with rooms that opened up directly to the parking lot. Not exactly the safest place to stay, but Kerry knew if they continued on, they would be in more danger from a car accident than being caught by O'Malley's thugs.
She pulled up under the portico of the office where a big neon sign flashed, “Office. Vacancy.”
“We might as well keep playing the hen-pecked husband and overbearing wife,” she said, opening the driver's side door. “I'll check us in.”
There were only a couple of other cars in the parking lot, she noticed. One with Minnesota tags, the other with Nebraska. A white dog sniffed around a garbage can at the side of the office building, looking up at her approach, and giving a half-hearted wag of his tail.
“Hey, Pooch,” she greeted him. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”
A stray snowflake drifted down from the dark sky. Her heart lifted. Snow, she pleaded to the heavens. Snow all night, all day tomorrow, for a month. The more the better. Snow is my new best friend.
Five minutes later, she stepped out of the office with a key. Mikhail was reclining in his seat, eyes closed in slumber. Kerry regarded him tenderly for a moment. Poor baby. You didn't know what you were getting yourself into, did you? I guess I didn't either.
But oddly enough, she didn't regret anything. Despite the danger, the fatigue, the uncertainty of what the next day would bring, she couldn't regret being here with him. For the first time since her father died, she felt fully and joyously alive, and even with the fear of bad people chasing them, she wanted to hold onto this time, this adventure. Hold onto every precious moment with Mikhail.
Oh, God. What is happening to me? She hadn't felt like this since those early days with Josh. When she'd felt like she was walking on air, and every tissue, every blood vessel inside her felt electric and wild and heady with newfound love. But look what that had got her. A broken heart, a police record and a stern dressing down from the USFSA.
She gazed at Mikhail's sleeping face, and despite the warning bells tolling inside her head, she wanted to reach out and touch him. Brush her fingers down his bristled jaw, trace the outline of his full, perfectly molded lips. It took everything she had to turn away from him and start the engine. He awoke, his senses at full alert.
“I've got us a room, Mikhail,” she said, her voice husky. “In a minute, we'll be able to crawl into a nice warm bed and sleep. Doesn't that sound wonderful?”
He gave her a warm smile, and its power was such that she felt shattered, as if her defenses were crumbling into a thousand tiny pieces.
* * * * *
They slept in separate double beds through the night, so exhausted that neither of them moved even when the winds whipped up to a howling frenzy, and the snow, mixing with sleet, beat against the small window overlooking the parking lot.
When Kerry finally opened her eyes and stretched out her legs with a long, satisfied groan, she thought it was still the middle of the night. It was unbearably hot in the room and so dark she could barely make out the large bump on the other bed hunched under a blanket and a purple paisley bedspread. Her skin was slick with sweat, her hair damp. She threw off the bed covers, and felt immediate relief. The drawstring pajamas and skimpy camisole top she wore was soggy with perspiration.
She'd turned up the thermostat upon entering, and hadn't bothered to turn it down before crawling thankfully into her bed. She supposed she should get up and turn it down now, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.
Turning on her side, she looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table and saw that the illuminated hands indicated it was six o'clock. Impossible, she thought. She'd had to have slept more than two hours. Gingerly, she swung her legs over the bed, and stood, glancing again at Mikhail's slumbering form.
God, wasn't he steaming under all those covers? She crept across the dark room to the thermostat and turned it down to sixty-five. There, that should cool it off in here. Then she moved to the window to peer out and make sure everything looked as it should. She caught her breath.
A glaze of ice covered the window so thickly it was like looking through a frosted shower door. That's when she noticed the wind. She must've been hearing it all the time, but she'd just assumed it was the furnace. But no, it sounded more like the howl of a lonely wolf as it whistled through the eaves and hammered against the fragile walls of the old-fashioned motel.
Kerry tiptoed to the door, and turned the double latch, then cautiously, opened it a crack. The wind whistled in, bringing with it a torrent of whirling snow. A pale, ghostly light told her she'd been wrong. It was six in the morning, not night, but it was definitely not the kind of morning for travel. A drift had piled up knee-high on the threshold, and from the look of things, the snow wouldn't be stopping any time soon. Kerry slammed the door and locked it, her heart pounding.
Oh, thank you, God. Yes, this is exactly what I prayed for.
She turned back to her bed, a pleased smile on her lips. Might as well crawl back under the covers and get some more sleep. They weren't going anywhere today.
Just as she reached her bed and sat down on it, Mikhail moaned and threw off his covers. Kerry's heart jolted at the sight of his bare chest and his long, lean haunches as he stretched out on his back, clad only in a pair of red boxer shorts. A slow-moving tide of heat crept through her, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Oh, how she wanted to follow her instincts and cross that small space separating his bed from hers, crawl up next to him, and fit her body against the pulsating heat of his.
He was totally vulnerable to her now, still lost in whatever dreams that were playing across his brain. If she wanted to, if she had the nerve, she could slide her hands over the light carpet of hair on his chest, travel up his strong, corded neck, and capture his mouth with hers. He would make slow, sensuous love to her, and not even be fully aware he was doing it. She knew she could make it happen.
If she had the nerve…

Tango's Edge, Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

“Here's the situation, love.”
Sean sat on the edge of the bed next to a pale-faced Elena. She lay on her back, the black satin mask hooked securely over her eyes, her full, seductive mouth nearly bloodless.
She'd calmed down a lot since the previous day, once she'd shrieked her fury, thrown a couple of lamps and ripped her skating costumes to ribbons with a pair of cuticle scissors. But then, the team doctor had prescribed a sedative, so that accounted for her momentary calm. Sean had decided it would be a good time to bring her up to speed on what he'd discovered from his contact in Estonia.
Immaakin had been easy to find. He had a law office right in downtown Tallinn. Getting information out of him, though, had been more difficult than anticipated. But in the end, he'd talked. Niko always got them to talk.
“Kozlof has defected,” Sean said, stroking Elena's arm. “He has come across information about the TNG formula, and is trying to make his way to Virginia to deliver it to the CIA.”
Elena moved her hand, and her nails bit into the skin of his arm. “How could he do this to me?” she said, her voice ragged with anger. “How could he?”
Sean gave a grim smile, knowing she couldn't see his face. In a perverse way, he was enjoying this. And was about to enjoy it even more.
“He has an American girl with him. The ice dancer, Kerry Niles.”
Elena bolted up in the bed, and in the same motion, ripped her mask off. Her red-tinged eyes glared at him, wild and enraged like a rabid animal's. “He is with that woman?” she hissed.
“It would seem so,” Sean said coolly. “Do not worry, love. They won't get far. I have a couple of men hunting them down. I can guarantee you they won't make it to Virginia.”
Elena's nails bit into his arms. “I don't care what you do to that little bitch, but you bring Mikhail Kozlof to me. You understand? You bring him to me untouched. I will deal with him, and when I do, he's going to wish you killed him.”
She flopped back on the bed, and tugged the mask over her eyes again. Sean stepped out into the living room, a satisfied smirk on his face.
Yes, perhaps things were working out for the best. Elena hated Kozlof now, and anyone who knew Elena knew how lethal her hatred could be. He'd do as she asked. He'd bring Kozlof back and let her take care of him.
It might be very entertaining to see exactly how she'd do it.
* * * * *
Kerry stepped out of the bathroom in her warm fleece robe, a towel wrapped around her head. “Okay. Shower's free.” She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Mikhail standing at the window of the motel room, staring out at the falling snow. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of the jersey sweatpants they'd bought yesterday. She sucked in an admiring breath. The man had an absolutely gorgeous back.
He turned around, and her breath left her body like a balloon releasing its air. Oh, Lord, save me, she thought at the sight of his magnificent chest, washboard abs and flat tummy. Could a man look better than this? It was obvious from his rippling muscles that he worked out. Of course, being an ice dancer, he had to work out. Had to take ballet, too. That accounted for the almost feline way he moved. But even so, she hadn't expected his bare chest and belly to be so…so…scrumptious! And this was after eating half that box of Ding Dongs last night. Oh, and it was just the kind of chest she liked, too―not too much hair, just enough to be manly. It was golden-brown, trailing down to a “V” below the waist of his sweatpants. Yes, indeedy, this was a sight for sore eyes…as Grandma Vive often said.
Kerry saw the amused light in his eyes and realized she was staring. She quickly looked away. “Still snowing?” she asked, rubbing the towel vigorously through her wet locks.
“Like a mother,” Mikhail said.
Kerry laughed. “You sure pick up on Americanisms fast.”
He grinned. “I am quick learner.”
He'd learned this latest Americanism from her as they'd walked back from Wal-Mart. And it was still “snowing like a mother” she saw, glancing out the window. Perhaps they'd have to spend another night here. The thought warmed her. It had been fun last night. After a dinner of hearty beef stew at the small restaurant down the road, they'd returned to the motel room, got into their comfortable sweats and watched TV all night, snacking on Ding Dongs for dessert. Mikhail hadn't been kidding when he'd said he loved American TV. He'd laughed his butt off at “Friends” and then later got absorbed in “CSI.”
“I will shower now,” Mikhail said. “And then we go eat breakfast, yes?”
Kerry glanced at the box of Ding Dongs on the table, and raised an eyebrow. “One Ding Dong left. It seems to me like you've already had breakfast.”
He shrugged and gave a lopsided smile. “There is something about winter air and snow that gives me big appetite.”
“Well, you eat many more of those Ding Dongs, and you're going to lose that nice trim figure of yours.”
“Ha!” He scoffed, and pounded his abs with his fists. “I am hard as rock, see?”
“Yeah, I see.” Boy, did she ever! “Right now, you are. But I still think after we eat breakfast, we should go walk off some calories. I'll go crazy if we have to sit here in this room and watch TV all day. Once I get you hooked on the soaps, forget it. I'll never get you out of here.”
His eyes lit up. “Ah, yes. I have not seen 'Days of Our Lives' since Colorado Springs. Do you know what time it shows?”
Kerry rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Get in the shower, Mikhail! And make it fast. I'm starving.”
He headed for the bathroom, and Kerry reached for the last Ding Dong. Might as well go ahead and eat it. If not, the Walking Russian Sweettooth would scarf it down. They'd have to make another pit stop at Wal-Mart and restock. Maybe they'd go for the Ho Ho's this time, or how about those yummy Snowballs covered with marshmallow and pink coconut―or green since St. Patrick's Day would be coming up soon. God, it was so good to be able to eat whatever she wanted without being worried about fitting into a slinky skating dress. Of course, she'd have to be careful not to go overboard. She was pretty sure Mikhail wouldn't be attracted to her if she turned into a moose.
Not that she wanted him to be attracted to her, she reminded herself as she unwrapped the Ding Dong.
“Aha!”
She jumped and looked around. Mikhail stood at the bathroom door, wrapped only in a towel. Her face flamed at the sight. But of course, he thought she was blushing because she'd been caught unwrapping the Ding Dong.
“I knew I could not leave you alone with last Ding Dong,” he said, an eyebrow quirked in jest.
Kerry glanced down at the cake, and finished unwrapping it. “Yeah, you caught me red-handed.” She took an enthusiastic bite. “So, what's my punishment?”
He gave her a slow, sexy grin, and she almost choked on the cake. Oh, God. This man was doing things to her libido that she'd never imagined could be done. Maybe a good roll in the snow would help cool her off. With an effort, she turned away from him, and sat down at the small desk, reaching for the newspaper they'd picked up the afternoon before. She took another bite of the Ding Dong, her eyes studiously fixed upon the sports page. Not a word about Mikhail so far. Thank God.
Holding the ends of the towel in one hand, Mikhail crossed over to the dresser and grabbed a plastic bottle. “My new shampoo.” He gave her a smile and a wink, and then headed back to the bathroom.
Kerry watched the door close, and then released a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding. Then she shook her head. “There should be a law about looking like that in a towel,” she muttered. She popped the last bite of chocolate cake in her mouth, closed her eyes and chewed slowly.
Chocolate was a great substitute for sex.

* * * * *

After breakfast, they trudged through the snow back toward the motel. Kerry estimated that another foot had fallen since last evening, and so far, there had been no sign of any snow equipment clearing the interstate. A few four-wheel drive vehicles had trundled by, so realistically, they could probably get on the road tonight. But…
But she didn't want to.
Why risk driving on snow-packed roads? Would it matter if they delayed here another day? After all, it wasn't as if they had a schedule to keep. Roger had no idea they were coming. What difference would it make if they arrived in Occoquan three days from now? Or even a week from now?
The truth was, she didn't want this time with Mikhail to end. Not yet.
Beside her, he glanced up at the gray sky, blinking to avoid a dive-bombing snowflake. “Still snowing,” he said unnecessarily.
But Kerry understood what he meant. “Yeah. It would probably be a good idea if we just stayed put another night.” She held her breath, half expecting a protest.
“I like Colorado,” he said, turning to smile at her. “Perhaps I make this my new home.”
Kerry grinned back as the wind tossed her hair wildly about her head. Her heart suddenly felt lighter. Yes, they would stay another night. Wait until this snowstorm blew itself out, and then head for Virginia. God, it was so beautiful here! She'd never really noticed the wild beauty of this state before. And with the snow, it looked like a scene from a Currier & Ives Christmas card. She glanced around, her eyes lingering on a smooth hill behind the motel, a gentle slope of land covered in drifts of snow like swirling mounds of whipped cream. It was the perfect hill. Just like the one on Grandma and Grandpa's farm where Dad had often taken her sledding.
She stopped in her tracks, a grin spreading across her face. “Mikhail!” She grabbed the sleeve of his parka. “We’ve got to go back to Wal-Mart. I just figured out what we could do to pass the time.”
* * * * *
Fagan sat across the table from a burly Russian with cropped brown hair and a flat nose that looked like it had been broken once too often with a crowbar. He was looking at the menu with incomprehensive brown eyes, and Fagan wondered why he bothered. He could barely speak English. No way could he read it.
“Don't worry, mate,” Fagan said. “I'll order for us both.”
With a shrug, Boris Shlusvaka put down the menu and glanced out the window at the falling snow. Fagan followed his glance.
“Yeh, it's coming down to beat the band, isn't it, now? The road will be impassable soon. Probably be a good idea to find a place to hunker down for a wee bit. Kozlof and the girl won't be getting far in this.”
Boris's stone-cold eyes fixed upon him, showing no emotion whatsoever. He didn't speak, but all the same, Fagan picked up on his thoughts, and it was all he could do to control a shudder that wanted to snake up his back.
Fine. Let's hunker down a wee bit, and if the Russian gets away, Boss will have your Irish ass in a sling.
“Christ!” Fagan went on, as if the Russian had said those words aloud. “We couldn't see the bloody road! Why risk our necks? Oh, here comes the waitress.” He reached into his coat pocket and drew out two photos, then grinned up at the blowsy blonde in the hot pink uniform. “Hello, me love. How you doing this fine snowy mornin?”
The waitress barely cracked a smile as she waited, pencil poised over a notepad. “I've been better, mister. The durned truck wouldn't start because of the cold, and I had to get a ride from the cook. Should've just stayed home in bed.” She glanced out the window with a worried frown. “Probably be here all night now. The way it's coming down. What can I getcha?”
Fagan grinned up at her. She was just the type of woman he liked―blonde, buxom and with some generous meat on her bones. “Well, now, we'll both have the Farmer's Delight breakfast and coffee…the stronger, the better.”
The waitress―Sue was the name on her tag―looked over at Boris, and her thick lips twisted in something resembling a grin. “Cat got yer tongue, mister?”
Fagan saw she was missing a tooth, but he supposed that was a fair trade for those beautiful titties thrusting out against the nylon bodice of her uniform.
“Laryngitis,” Fagan said.
Sue nodded. “Must be going around. Okay, two Breakfast Delights and coffee. Coming right up.”
“Oh! Miss Sue?” Fagan said as she turned to go. “Would you…by any chance…have seen this couple in the last twenty-four hours?”
Sue took the photos of Kozlof and the American girl, Kerry Niles, and peered at them. She nodded and handed them back. “Yep. They was in here before daylight yesterday morning. I remember him, for sure. He's a doll baby. And I'm pretty sure she's the girl he was with. You friends of theirs?”
Fagan nodded and slipped the photos back into his pocket. “Yeh, you could say that. Did they happen to mention where they were headed?”
She shook her dyed-blond head. “Nah. He didn't speak at all.” Her eyes slid over to Boris. “Matter of fact, he had the same problem your friend here has. Laryngitis. That's why I said it's going around.”
She turned to go again.
“One more thing, love,” Fagan called out, and Sue paused. “When did it start getting bad like this? I mean, bad enough to make the roads dangerous?”
She shrugged. “Yesterday afternoon, I guess. Just the four-wheel-drives are getting through.”
Fagan's eyes followed Sue's ample figure as she moved back toward the kitchen. He turned to Boris. “Boss said Niles is driving a Jeep Cherokee. It could probably get through some bloody bad stuff. But then…”
Boris watched him, his face expressionless, but Fagan was sure he understood every word.
“My guess is after driving all night, they needed to stop and hole up at a motel off the interstate. And with this blizzard, they'll probably stay put for some time. So, here's what I propose to do…”
Sue appeared at the table with a pot of coffee. Fagan grinned up at her, and then waited until she'd moved on before he finished his sentence. “Let's check into the motel next door, and get a few hours sleep, then as soon as the snow lightens up, we'll head on down the interstate. I'm betting we'll find 'em before dark tonight.”
Boris didn't respond. His eyes stayed fixed upon Fagan, and very deliberately, he clenched his beefy hands together and popped his knuckles with a resounding crunch.
Fagan decided to take that as a “yes.”
* * * * *
Kerry shrieked, grasping the handles of the plastic sled for dear life as she careened down the hill toward a clump of scrub pine trees. To her right, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mikhail on another sled, and he was just as much out of control. The hill that had looked so gentle just a short time ago, had definitely taken on a new character once they'd plopped themselves onto the cheap plastic sleds they'd bought at Wal-Mart and pushed off from the top. In fact, Kerry thought, her eyes widening as the pines grew larger through the falling snow, this may not have been the greatest idea she'd ever had. Because…
Her hands tightened on the handles. Oh, Lord! Was that a creek down below, just visible through a break in the trees? Oh, shit. It sure was. And it was getting very, very close. “Mikhhaaaaaaillllll!” she screamed, “The creeeeekkkkkk!” She closed her eyes and braced for impact with the icy water, praying it wasn't deep. But just then the sled hit a bump, jolting her off. She went flying, landing on the snow on her left side and rolling. She squeezed her eyes closed, expecting to feel frigid water surrounding her at any second. But when she rolled to a stop, she realized she was still on solid ground. Then she heard a panicked shout.
“Watch ouuuuutttt!”
A hard body slammed into her, and then they were both rolling down the hill toward the creek. Kerry grabbed Mikhail's parka. His blue eyes stared into hers, wild with laughter mixed with mild panic. Her voice joined his in a whooping shout as they slid toward the creek, so close Kerry could hear the trickle of water. She closed her eyes, holding onto Mikhail as if he were a piece of driftwood in the ocean. If she was going in, damn it, so was he.
But no. Something stopped their progress. Mikhail let out a soft “oomph,” and slowly, Kerry opened her eyes. They had slid into a bramble of bushes, laden with snow―the last barrier before the creek. Grasping the nylon of his new parka, Kerry stared into his startled eyes.
He held her in a clumsy embrace, their legs tangled. The thought of what they must look like struck her, and she began to laugh so hard tears blurred her vision. Mikhail grinned. Suddenly a dollop of snow thundered down from the bush that had stopped their slide, landing full on Mikhail's face. Kerry laughed harder. Oh, God! Why hadn't she taken the time to pee before coming out here? Would she never learn? Grinning, Mikhail grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it into her face.
“Hey!” she sputtered as the slush slid down her neck. “No fair! I didn't do that to you! The bush did.”
“No. But you laugh.”
“Because it was hilarious! Come on, help me up.”
Mikhail untangled himself from her, and got to his feet. He reached down, grabbed her arms and pulled her up. Kerry looked around and saw they were less than a foot from the creek.
“Oh, that was close. Good thing that bush stopped us, or we'd be hating life right now.” She looked up at Mikhail and grinned. “Want to do it again?”
“You are crazy girl,” he said, eyes twinkling. He grabbed the collar of her parka and pulled her closer. Before she could take a breath, his mouth covered hers in a warm, searching kiss that jolted her senses. But just as she was starting to enjoy it way too much, he released her so abruptly she almost stumbled. “There. That will teach you lesson.” He turned to retrieve his sled, and headed back up the hill.
Kerry stared after him, her gloved fingers touching her tingling lips. “Lessons like that, I could get used to,” she muttered.
Mikhail glanced back at her, grinning. “One more time,” he called over his shoulder. “Race you.”
* * * * *
Okay, this was not working out the way he'd planned, Mikhail thought as he gazed at Kerry over a steaming mug of hot chocolate―one that he really hadn't needed or wanted. Enough heat had been generated between them during the afternoon of sledding that filling their bellies with hot liquid had been totally unnecessary. Mikhail had suggested going over to the restaurant for hot drinks simply to delay returning to the room. Because he knew that once he had Kerry alone in there, it would be almost impossible not to strip off her wet, snow-covered clothes and warm up every inch of her long-limbed body with his tongue.
What insanity had made him kiss her out there by the creek? He took a sip of hot chocolate, his gaze sweeping over her winter-pinked face, her sparkling eyes that looked greener than blue right now, her straight black hair, slightly tangled from the wind. Even with her pert, freckled nose reddened by the cold, she was adorable. And if this table wasn’t between them, he'd kiss her again, by God. Just because he couldn't get the taste of her sweet lips out of his mind.
This is crazy, his conscience told him. You can't seduce this American girl, and then leave her a few days down the road. You'll never see her again. It wouldn't be right. But since when had that mattered to him? There had been plenty of other women. Plenty of one-night-stands. Why did this feel different?
She was attracted to him. He'd seen the way she'd looked at him this morning when he'd stood in front of her, clad only in a towel. And what would be wrong with sharing a few nights of love? She wasn't an innocent teenager, and neither was he.
Still, it felt wrong. Making love to her would feel too much like he was using her. Better to keep things on a friendship level. A loaded silence had fallen between them, a silence charged with sexual electricity. It was time to find a safe topic of conversation.
“So, you said earlier you've trained for biathlon,” Mikhail said. “What made you change to figure skating?”
Kerry shrugged and took a sip of hot chocolate. “I lost interest after my father died. It just wasn't the same without him. I still cross-country ski occasionally and I can still shoot pretty damn good, but…I don't know. I just couldn't see myself doing biathlon training without Dad to cheer me on. So, I got into skating instead.”
“I know what is like to lose parents. My mother and stepfather both died in December,” Mikhail said, gazing out the window at the falling snow. His face was etched with pain.
Kerry caught her breath. “I'm so sorry, Mikhail.” Then she added, “It's hard, isn't it?”
He nodded, and swallowed. It took him a moment to find his voice. “You still miss father, yes?”
Kerry nodded. “Yeah. It's been sixteen years, and even now, every time I go downhill skiing, I feel like he should be there on the slopes with me. It still hurts that he's not.”
“I understand. Is not easy to get over loss of parent. What about your mother? She is still alive, yes?”
“Oh, yeah.” Kerry gave a short laugh. “She'll be around forever. She's too mean to die.”
“You do not have close relationship?”
“That's putting it mildly.” She stared down at the checked tablecloth, tracing its pattern with a forefinger. “Let's just say things are pretty rocky between us. She hasn't been an ideal mother. But to be fair, I'm not a big prize as a daughter, either. I guess I haven't given her much of a chance to be a good mother.”
“How so?” He gazed at her intently.
Kerry sighed. “I didn't want to move to California with her after my father died. And I was a real pain in the ass about it. I even ran away once, made it back to my grandparents in Utah by hitchhiking. Jana brought me back, kicking and screaming. I tried to sabotage her romance with my stepfather, but he saw through it.” She shook her head and gave a rueful smile. “I guess he really loves her. They've been married now about fourteen years. Anyway, she finally decided I was more trouble than I was worth, and she packed me off to Lake Arrowhead to live with the Petenka's. It's the best thing she ever did for me. They essentially became my parents until I was grown.”
A waitress came by and placed the check on the table. Mikhail waited until she'd gone before asking, “And you never see your mother?”
“Hardly ever.” Kerry shrugged. “She calls up once in a blue moon and says something about us getting together. I say, 'yeah, okay,' and then blow her off.” He supposed he couldn’t hide the shocked look in his eyes because she added quickly, “She doesn't really want to see me, Mikhail. She just calls out of a sense of obligation. Birthdays, holidays, you know. I'm just another chore on her long list of things to do.” She frowned and glanced out the window at the falling snow. It wasn't coming down as heavily as before. Was the storm finally moving out? “That's okay. I don't need her. I got along just fine without a mother for the first twelve years of my life. I certainly don't need one now.”
“What happened with parents?” Mikhail asked. “They were divorced?”
Kerry nodded. “From what I understand, their marriage was a horrible mistake from the very beginning. They met at the 1972 Olympics in Japan. Dad was a biathlon, and Jana, a figure skater. It was one of those lust-at-first-sight things, I guess. But they thought it was love. They got married in secret, and Jana moved to Utah with Dad. She hated it up there, though. See, she grew up in southern California, and she just couldn't adapt to life up there in the north. Well…that was Grandma Vive's take on it, anyway. If you ask me, Jana was a pampered little California girl who was bored to tears by life in outside of L.A. Grandma didn't come out and say so, but she was horrified when she found out Jana was pregnant with me. I think she would've aborted me if she'd had half a chance. Instead, she stayed with Dad just long enough to give birth, then she packed up and went back to California, leaving me to be raised by my father and grandparents.”
Kerry blinked quickly, embarrassed to find she was close to tears. She stared down at the chocolate remnants in her mug, feeling the heat warming her cheeks. “That would've been fine if Dad hadn't died in that avalanche when I was twelve. I had a wonderful life up there. I had everything I needed…and then Jana came and took it all away from me.”
She looked up and defiantly met Mikhail's sympathetic eyes. “She thought after twelve years of neglect, she could suddenly start being a mother to me. Well, I didn't need her then, and I certainly don't need her now.”
Mikhail stared at her thoughtfully. “Perhaps not. But do you think she might need a daughter?”
Kerry's lips parted in astonishment at his bluntness. Finally, she found her voice, “Jana needs a daughter like she needs another diamond tennis bracelet. Look, Mikhail, you probably had a great relationship with your mother. I know you're still grieving for her. But all mothers aren't the same. Just because one gives birth, doesn't automatically infuse her with maternal feelings. Trust me. Jana could care less about me. The only reason she stays in touch with me at all is to put on this appropriate facade for the outside world. I still don't know why she insisted on taking me away from my grandparents, but one thing is for certain. She wishes she'd never laid eyes on me. And the feeling is mutual.” Her jaw tight, Kerry unzipped the front pocket of her parka and pulled out three-dollar bills. She placed them on top of the check and looked at Mikhail. “You ready to head back to the motel?”

Tango's Edge, Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Mikhail gazed out the window at the glowing skyline of downtown Salt Lake City, his stomach tight with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He glanced over at Kerry at the wheel of her monstrous vehicle as they headed around the city on Interstate 84. He hadn't expected a vehicle of this size―a Jeep Cherokee she called it. The automobile somehow didn't fit the feminine beauty of the woman at the wheel, but then, he had a feeling there would be plenty more surprises from her before this was all over. The very first one had been that she'd actually agreed to help him. He still couldn't quite believe it, even though they were on their way out of the city.
“Take a last look at the Olympic flame,” Kerry said. “It's probably the last one we'll ever see. Unless it's on TV. Well…me, anyway.” She gave him a quick glance. “If you get asylum in America, you'll probably be able to skate for us in the next Olympics.”
He shrugged and gazed out at the flame, feeling a deep sadness in his heart. “I will be thirty-two by then. That's quite old for competing in Olympics.” He shook his head. “I believe there is no Olympic medal in my future.”
“And how do you feel about that?” She looked at him.
He met her gaze. “How do you feel about it?”
She thought about it, and then gave an off-hand shrug. “C'est la vie.”
He gazed at her for a long moment, trying to figure out if she was serious. Deciding she was, he said, “You are amazing woman, Kerry Niles. When I think of how Elena will react when she discovers I am gone…well…” He gave a mock shudder. “She will not be so complacent. She will go…” He struggled for the right English word.
“Ape-shit?” Kerry offered, her dimple flickering.
“Ape-shit?” He tested the word on his tongue, and then nodded. “Yes, that is good word.”
She laughed and looked back at the road. Mikhail turned his head to catch one last glimpse at the Olympic flame glowing orange against the dark sky. Would this be the last Olympics in which he'd ever compete? He felt a stab of fear at the uncertainty of his future. Dear God, what if he was doing the wrong thing by defecting? Although he'd never thought of himself as Russian, preferring to acknowledge Estonia as his homeland, the fact was, he'd spent most of his life in Moscow. It had been a good life, one that ordinary Russian citizens would've felt blessed to have. Living in luxury and training for the Olympics. Now, his future was a question mark, and he'd be a fool not to be apprehensive about it.
Kerry glanced at him. “You okay?”
Christ, was she a mind reader, too? He shrugged and looked out the window at the last of the skyline sliding away. “I am thinking of what I am doing. What I have already done.”
Kerry remained silent. The traffic was light on the freeway heading out of the city. The Olympics weren't even half over yet, and Salt Lake City was teeming with people. But the Games were over for him and Kerry.
The escape had been easier than he'd thought possible. Sergey Fadeyuska had reserved a private room at a Salt Lake City restaurant in an upscale hotel to entertain their athletes. Mikhail had immediately ordered one screwdriver from the free bar, and then switched to straight orange juice, pretending to grow inebriated with each one. At eleven, he'd said his goodnights and staggered into the lobby of the hotel, and out the front doors where a doorman hailed him a taxi. Mikhail saw Kerry's monster of a truck waiting at the curb, and when the doorman turned to help another departing couple, he'd slipped inside, and they were off.
Earlier that afternoon, they'd rendezvoused at a quaint bistro in the historic part of the city, and Mikhail had given Kerry his meager belongings―a change of clothing, a few toiletries, and of course, the valuable information Vassily Immaakin had compiled to convince the CIA he was telling the truth―-and leaving everything else―his skates, his costumes, his luggage in the hotel room in Park City. It was done, and now…Mikhail looked out the window. The lights of Salt Lake City had disappeared.
“When will we reach state border?” he asked. “I will feel better when we leave Utah.”
Kerry's front bumper practically kissed the car in front of her, causing Mikhail to cringe and press his foot onto an imaginary break pedal before she swerved into the left lane and passed the car as if it were parked. Did all Americans drive so crazy?
“Oh, an hour…hour and a half,” she said, eyes fixed on the road.
He shifted uneasily and glanced over at her profile. She had the most charming nose―slightly tilted and somehow, mischievous. He'd earlier noticed that dimple flickering near the right corner of her mouth when she smiled or grimaced in a certain way. She wasn't smiling now, but looked rather thoughtful. Was she regretting her decision to help him already? His gaze drifted over her. She was dressed completely in black―black slacks, black turtleneck, black leather coat, even black cowboy boots. And why not? She was playing a spy game, wasn't she? Why not dress for the occasion? Her hair was loose around her shoulders, anchored by a black knit cap pulled low over her ears. All she needed was a pair of dark sunglasses and she'd look like she'd just stepped out of a James Patterson novel. It was endearing, really, except…
A fresh jolt of fear shot through him. Did she have any idea what she might be getting into? Had he made it clear to her about the danger, the possibility that somehow, Elena and her granite-faced bodyguard might know what he was up to, and would stop at nothing―even murder―to prevent him from reaching Washington and Roger Ellery? Because, of course, O'Malley had to be up to his eyeballs in this. Elena did nothing without him knowing about it.
“Is not too late to change your mind, Kerry,” Mikhail said slowly. “We can turn around and go back. No one will ever know you were involved.”
She looked at him, one black eyebrow raised. “Are you nuts? How do you think you can do this without me?”
He shrugged. “I will find way.”
“Like hell!” She shook her head and sighed. “Look, Mikhail, you're just having what we Americans call a case of the jitters. It's too late to turn back now. I'm in. And I'm going to get you to Occoquan, Virginia, or die trying.”
“Do not say that!” His voice came out in a harsh croak.
She gave him a strange look. “Hey, I was kidding. It's just an expression.”
“An expression that could turn out to be apt, Kerry,” he said, his voice softer, insistent. He had to make her realize this wasn't a game. “I try to make you understand that there are dangerous people who, if they discover what I am doing, will do anything to stop me. And because you are with me, your life will be in danger, as well. It does not matter that I have not told you details.”
“I realize that, Mikhail. Really, I do. But you have to understand something about me, okay?” She glanced at him again, and then looked back at the road. “For the first time in my life I’m on my ownfree. Do you know how good that feels?” She looked at him and grinned, making his heart turn over with the appearance of that sweet dimple. “And so are you. How does it feel, Mikhail? To feel so free?”
He stared at her, knowing he couldn't admit the truth, that he didn't feel free at all, that all he felt was fear and an unwelcome sense of isolation. Their eyes met and held for a moment. Mikhail was the first to look away.
He fixed his gaze on an air freshener in the shape of a cat hanging from her rear view mirror. It smelled like cinnamon, not cat. Thank God! He loathed cats. Ever since the day a young female skater brought a cat to the rink, and spooked by the noise of the skates scraping against the ice, it had jumped out of her arms, straight at nine-year-old Mikhail, practically taking his ear off, before slipping and sliding on the ice as it made its maddened escape. He'd hated―and had a phobia―about cats ever since.
“Perhaps when I have asylum I will feel free,” he murmured, continuing the conversation.
“Of course you will.” Kerry glanced at the illuminated clock on the dashboard. “We should be able to make Denver around first light.”
“How do you know area so well?” Mikhail asked. “You are from California, yes?”
“Yeah, but I grew up in Utah with my dad and grandparents. I learned to drive here the summer I turned sixteen.” She flashed an impish grin at him. “Grandma Vive said it took ten years off her life.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Mikhail said dryly as she passed another car at such a rate of speed, it looked like it was stalled in the middle of the road. “I did not know I was getting mixed up with crazy driver.”
She gave a saucy laugh. “I’ve had my share of speeding tickets. And of course, there’s that little police record thing…”
He glanced at her, unable to hide his curiosity. “What made girl like you get mixed up with Canadian hockey player?”
She shrugged. “Oh, same old story. Impressionable young woman who gets involved with a good looking, but very bad boy. It's not very original, and would probably bore you to death.”
Mikhail knew nothing would bore him if it came out of this fascinating woman's mouth. She was an enigma, an unusual combination of coltish girl and sensual woman. He wondered how badly the bad boy had hurt her. And if there had been other love affairs since. He wanted to ask her, but it would be rude to delve into her personal life on such short acquaintance. But he very much hoped that before they reached Washington―or Occoquan, as she insisted on calling it―he would have a chance to get to know her better.
“I would like to hear this story sometime,” he said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
She chuckled. “Okay. Maybe later. But I warn you, Mikhail, once I start talking, you won't be able to shut me up. And you'll be sorry you ever asked.”
He nodded, smiling. “I am warned. How long will it take us to get to Wash…I mean, Occoquan? What is this odd name, Auk Oh Quan?”
“It's a Dogue Indian name. Means “at the end of the water.” It's the cutest little town. Sits right on the Occoquan River. I visited Roger and Sharon there after an exhibition skate at the MCI Center. Sharon took me to this fantastic craft show. They totally closed down the whole town, and blocked off the streets and…” She glanced over, and grinned. “Oh, sorry. I told you once I get started talking, I can't shut up. How long will it take us to get to there?” She shrugged. “Depends on the weather, and how hard we want to push it. Josh and I drove from California to New York that summer, and made it in three days. But he's a speed demon, so…” She gave another shrug.
He stared at her. “And you are not?”
“No!” she scoffed. “I just go with the flow of traffic. Seventy-five, eighty…whatever. Do you drive?”
He glanced at the dashboard and shrugged. “I have sports car at home. But this big truck I do not know.”
“What kind of sports car? Is it a stick shift?”
He looked puzzled.
“A five-speed?” Kerry said. “You know, like this.” She indicated the gearshift between them. “Or is it automatic?”
“It is Mercedes convertible. With shift like this.” He shook his head and sighed. “I will miss that car.”
“Oh, don't worry, Mikhail.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Once you turn professional in America, you'll be able to afford several Mercedes. Although, personally, I'd go for a Porsche. It's sexier. Anyway, since you can drive a stick, you'll have no problem handling Big Bertha here.”
He looked at her, confused, and then realized she was talking about her car. Odd thing, naming a car. There was so much he had to learn about Americans and their customs.
“Why don't you try and get some sleep,” Kerry said. “After we cross into Wyoming, you can drive for a while. How about a little music?” With her right hand, she pulled a cassette tape from the holder on her sun visor. “You like Nickelback?”
He shrugged. “I have not heard such music.”
“It's hard rock. You like rock?”
He grinned. “Oh, yes. I play guitar. Maybe I will be rock singer some day. It will be new career.”
“No kidding?” Kerry glanced at him. “Yeah, you kind of got that rock star look going on. Maybe someday I can say I knew you when.”
She popped in the Nickelback CD and tapped the “seek” button to track number two, then began to sing along with the vocalist in a decidedly off-key alto. Mikhail adjusted his seat back and closed his eyes. No way would he sleep. He was too tense. But perhaps he'd just close his eyes for a few minutes. Almost immediately, though, the hum of the tires on the road and the music on the cassette player began to work its magic, pushing away his troubled thoughts.
This is nice, he realized, being here in a warm truck driving through the dark winter night. The woman sitting next to him was very much responsible for this momentary sense of well-being. Why he felt so comfortable with her, he didn't know. He liked the way she was so down-to-earth and real. She smelled good, too, like wildflowers and musk. And listen to her!
“This is how you remind me,” she sang along with the rock group, totally unself-conscious, even though her voice was, to be charitable, more Lucille Ball than Madonna. But even her off-key notes, he found charming. Damn. This was not good. He was becoming entirely too attracted to Kerry Niles. That was a complication that neither one of them could afford right now…not if they wanted to keep their wits about them.
* * * * *
The phone shrilled out on the bedside table in the early morning darkness. Half asleep and cursing, Sean rolled over on his side to grab it before it woke Elena.
“Yeah?” he grunted.
“Fagan, here,” said the voice on the other end.
Sean became immediately alert. His voice lowered. “Did you take care of it?”
“Uh…not exactly,” came the mumbled reply.
Sean’s hand tightened on the phone. Fuck! He glanced over at Elena. In the graying light of dawn, he could just make out the black satin mask covering her eyes, her lips parted in slumber. He released a frustrated sigh and found his voice.
“What happened?”
“He didn't come back to the room. I've been waitin' here all the fuckin' night. It's been bloody boring, too.”
“I don't give a shit if you're bored out of your fucking mind.” In his anger, Sean spoke louder than he intended, and Elena rolled over on her side, mumbling something unintelligible. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. Then he spoke between clenched teeth, “He left the restaurant just after eleven. Elena said he was sloshed to the bloody gills. And you're telling me he didn't come back to the hotel room?”
“That's what I'm telling ya.” Fagan's reply was mildly sarcastic. “I was sitting here, dick in one hand and my Makarov in the other, waiting to send him to Kingdom Come, and the bastard didn't bloody show.”
Asshole, thought Sean. Fagan was getting just a little too cocky for his britches. Soon, very soon, he was going to have to put that smelly sod back in his place.
“Hey, Boss,” Fagan went on in a more conciliatory tone. Sean supposed his ominous silence had put the fear of God back into him. “Maybe if he was that lit, he got rolled by some enterprising dickhead, and he's floating in the Green River by now.”
“You wouldn't be that lucky,” Sean retorted. “No. He's probably found a woman, and is sleeping it off in her bed right now. Elena has been bitching that he's been sniffing after that hot American skater with the black hair.” He ran a hand through his tangled hair, his brows furrowed in thought. “Look, stay there. He'll have to come back to his room sooner or later, and when he does…” He glanced over at Elena, still on her side facing away from him. “You know what to do.”
“Boss, I'm tired and famished,” Fagan whined. “If he's in some wee gel's bed, he won't be back for hours. Can I not go get me a wee bit of breakfast?”
“No!” Sean said harshly. “You heard me. Stay there, and take care of the job. Got it, Fagan?”
“Yeh, Boss.” His reply was sulky.
Sean hung up the phone, shaking his head in disgust. Jesus Christ! Good help was getting bloody hard to find.
* * * * *
Kerry pulled the Jeep into the brightly-lit gas station and put the gearshift in park. A few errant snowflakes hit the windshield, melting on contact. So much for the good weather holding out. But hey, she was used to driving in snow. No problem-o.
She looked over at Mikhail and grinned. Hadn't he said he was way too wired to sleep? Obviously, he'd been wrong. She wondered if she should wake him up. She had to pee like a racehorse, and if she was going to keep driving for a while, she needed coffee. The cessation of the motor hadn’t awakened Mikhail like she’d expected.
Her gaze swept over his face. Oh, how her fingers itched to stroke that strong, stubbled jaw, to run through his silky blond hair. She grimaced. What was she thinking? This must be what it felt to be a diabetic longing for a Hostess cupcake, and knowing it would be a huge mistake to sink your teeth into the sweet chocolate. Her gaze moved to his lips, and she remembered the passionate kiss the other night in front of Adam. He had taken her breath away with that kiss. A shiver of excitement zipped through her even now as she relived it.
Stop it, she told herself. That had been a game, a deception. They'd made it out of Utah; there was no reason now to pretend they were anything more than strangers. And it would be stupid―really really stupid―to act upon this attraction she felt, even though her intuition told her it was mutual. A woman knew when a guy was interested, and those vibes had been coming from Mikhail from the first moment they'd met. But nothing was going to happen between them. No way. Josh had taught her not to jump impetuously into a relationship. Not that it would be a relationship. If anything, it would be a one-night―maybe a two-night―stand. The skating world might have labeled her a “bad girl” but she wasn't into casual sex. And never had been.
She touched his shoulder. “Mikhail! We're at a gas station. I’m going to get some coffee. You want some?”
He opened his eyes. For a moment, he appeared disoriented, and then recognition dawned. His lips quirked mischievously. “Depends.” His gaze moved lazily over her lips. “I like mine sweet.”
Kerry's cheeks flamed as her heart turned over. She managed what she hoped was a casual smile. “Tanya warned me about you being a flirt. Now, behave yourself. Sugar and cream?”
“I will go as well.” He opened his door and paused as a frigid wind blew into the Jeep along with a few stray flakes of snow. “I need to stretch legs.”
Kerry eyed him as he stretched, not only his legs, but his arms, too. Sinuous as a cat, she thought, then shook her head and got out of the Jeep.
Fifteen minutes later, they were back on the interstate. Mikhail had offered to take over driving but Kerry, wired from the first few sips of coffee, had turned him down.
She glanced into the rearview mirror and wished she hadn’t. “Oh, damn,” she muttered.
Mikhail looked at her. “What?”
“We’ve got company.” She put on her left turn signal and began to slow.
Mikhail’s head whipped around. He muttered a word in Russian that Kerry recognized as an exceptionally foul profanity.
“Don’t freak, Mikhail,” she said calmly, pulling into the breakdown lane. “It’s just the state police.”
He looked at her as if she’d just announced she was going to sky-dive off the Washington Monument in pink tights. “They found us already. How did they know?”
The police car pulled up behind her, lights flashing. Kerry reached across the back seat for her purse. “Don’t be silly, Mikhail. They’re not after us. I might have been speeding.”
His jaw dropped. “Might have been? Kerry, your speed has not dropped below eighty since we got on road.” He muttered another Russian oath. “Great! Just great. What if I am recognized? What if___”
“Shhhhh!” Kerry hushed him, her eyes on the rearview mirror. “Here he comes. Just stay quiet, Mikhail. Pretend you’re asleep.”
A uniformed figure appeared at her window, and Kerry pushed the button to lower it. “Hi,” she said brightly, giving the cop her most charming smile. “How you doing tonight, officer?”

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Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Kerry sat across the table from her best friend and fellow skater, Brandi Vanderkleef, and watched as she scooped up a huge spoonful of vanilla ice cream dripping with hot fudge. She slipped it into her generous mouth. “Mmmmm…heaven,” she mumbled, closing her eyes in ecstasy. “Pure heaven.”
Kerry narrowed her eyes and stabbed a fork into her salad, dressed with a low-cal vinaigrette. If she didn't love her friend so much, she'd hate her for being able to eat anything she wanted and not gain an ounce. “Mmmm. Bet mine tastes better than yours,” she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
They were sitting at a table in the Olympic Village cafeteria, having a late afternoon snack. Kerry didn't dare eat more than a salad because of the original dance competition that evening. Lucky Brandi, being a singles skater, had more than a week before her competition began.
At the thought of the competition, Kerry's heart missed a beat. Not really because of the competition, but because of what would happen after it― when she broke the news to Adam and Catri that she was retiring from competitive skating.
She thought she knew how Catri would react. Disappointment, at first, followed by acceptance. A kind-hearted woman, Catri would want the best for her, and if that meant giving up competition, then so be it. Adam, though, would react in a completely different manner. He'd freak. Totally, and without restraint. It would come as a complete shock to him despite the many hints she'd dropped in the last year. Because that was Adam. He heard only what he wanted to hear.
Hard to believe that in just a few short weeks, she'd be out on her own. For the first time, really, and at the ancient age of twenty-eight. She'd been only twelve when her father died in an avalanche in British Columbia. His death had been the first loss of her young life, and another had quickly followed when her mother wrenched her away from her grandparents and moved her to San Diego.
Kerry had never forgiven Jana for that. Her mother had never really wanted her; she just hadn't wanted her grandparents to have her. That fact had been proven quite dramatically to Kerry when, a year later, Jana married Erich Ellery, and packed Kerry off to live with the Petenka’s. Although that had quite suited Kerry, because living with Jana and Erich in his La Jolla mansion would've been hell on earth, it still hurt that her mother thought so little of her that she'd allow her to grow up with strangers.
But thankfully, the Petenka’s hadn't been strangers for long. They'd become her surrogate parents, and Vladimir had almost made up for the loss of her beloved father.
What am I going to do now? Kerry wondered as she took a sip of iced tea. Get a job in an ice show? Coach? Or…maybe just take some time off and travel. At the age of twenty-one, she'd inherited the trust fund her father had set up for her. It was a considerable amount of money, and she hadn't touched it. Hadn't needed to. Maybe she'd just take some time off and see the world. Really see it. Not just the airports and the skating rinks and hotel rooms. She'd been all around the world, and hadn't really seen a thing.
“So, where's your shadow?” Brandi asked, interrupting her train of thought. Her velvet brown eyes swept the room as she devoured her sundae. “I'm surprised Adam allowed you to have lunch with me without tagging along.”
Kerry groaned. “My shadow…as you call him…is starting to learn he's not surgically attached to my side. I've had to point that out to him…quite emphatically, in fact.”
Brandi finished her sundae and dropped her spoon into her dish with a contented sigh. “Why is it guys always want the girls they can't have, and the ones who want them might as well be invisible?”
“Because guys are idiots, that's why.”
Poor Brandi. She'd had a crush on Adam as long as…well…as long as Kerry first got her crush on him. She remembered how the two of them would stay up all night at sleepovers, giggling about how Adam looked exactly like JFK, Jr. But Kerry had outgrown her crush years ago. Brandi never had.
Kerry glanced at her wristwatch then looked at her friend. The pretty strawberry blonde was sipping a glass of ice water and glancing about the room at the other athletes. Checking out the prospects. It was one of their favorite off-ice activities, admiring the male athletes. And why not? Lord knows the cafeteria abounded with lots of “eye candy” today. Sitting at a table in the corner were a bunch of Norwegian skiers, all of them with hair of various shades of blond. Not an ugly guy in the bunch.
Must be something in the Norwegian water, Kerry thought.
The Nordic skiers were pretending not to notice the admiring glances of the female athletes in the room, but Kerry was damn sure they were well aware of their impact. Brandi had been flirting with one of them since they'd sat down―a hunk with sapphire eyes and shoulder-length wheat-colored curls. She was a sucker for a guy with long hair and an accent.
“So, what's wrong with you, anyway?”
Brandi had finally looked away from her Norwegian and was now spearing her with a sharp gaze, a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. Kerry's heartbeat faltered, but she tried to keep her expression neutral. “Nothing. Why?”
“Oh, come on. Is it because I blabbed to that reporter you were thinking about quitting? I said I was sorry. You know how I get when I’m nervous. I talk too much.”
Kerry took a deep breath. “No, it's not that, but you do realize now I’m going to have to tell Catri and Adam before they read it in the morning papers? Thank you very much.”
Brandi blushed and looked down into her empty ice cream bowl. “Sorry,” she said miserably.
Oh, forget it. It’s something else, anyway.” Kerry hesitated a moment, then
went on. “Something strange happened last night…” She felt an odd sensation and
looked up toward the entrance, and her throat went dry.
Brandi stared at her, alarmed. “Kerry! What's wrong?”
“N…nothing.”
Mikhail stood just inside the entrance to the cafeteria, his eyes fixed upon her. Kerry tried to look away, but it was impossible. Brandi followed her gaze. She caught her breath, then looked back at her. “Hey, have you been holding out on me? Is there something going on with you and that Russian?”
Kerry felt her face grow hot. “Of course not,” she said quickly, and only then did she manage to draw her gaze away from Mikhail. “I don't even know him.”
“Well, he sure looks like he knows you. Or wants to get to know you, anyway.” Brandi gave a sly grin. “He is good looking, isn't he? Except for that scar on his face. It makes him look kind of dangerous.”
Kerry glanced over at Mikhail, and was relieved to see he'd turned away and was heading to a table occupied by his countrymen. Was he still planning to defect? She felt a strange emotion wash through her, and for a moment, she couldn't identify what it was, and when she did, she shook her head in denial. Impossible! It wasn't regret. No one in her right mind would want to get involved in something like this. It would be crazy―and undoubtedly dangerous. But still…she couldn't quite banish the thought from her mind―she and Mikhail traveling together, making that long drive to Virginia. All that time…just the two of them. There would be plenty of time to get to know each other.
“But maybe 'dangerous' is too strong of a word,” Brandi chattered on. “It's more like mysterious. Like he's got a secret or something. You think that's it, Kerry? He's hiding something?”
If only you knew. Kerry attempted a smile. “You have quite an imagination, you know. You and Adam are perfect for each other.”
Brandi rolled her eyes, blushing. “Hey, I know what I saw. He walked into the room, and your face went white. There was enough electricity generated between you two to keep the lifts running all night. So, you're not going to tell me what's going on?”
Kerry pushed away her salad plate and stood. “There's nothing going on. Anyway, I have to go and work up the nerve to break the bad news to Adam and Catri at dinner tonight. Maybe if I do it in a restaurant, there won’t be a scene.”
Brandi chewed her bottom lip. “Sorry,” she mumbled again.
Kerry couldn’t stand the guilt on her friend’s face. She reached down and hugged her. “No big deal. It’s probably better I get it over with, anyway. Wish me luck.”
Kerry headed for the door. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Mikhail's gaze following her.
It was a good thing Mikhail was adamant about leaving on the night before the free dance. Because Kerry was very much afraid that if it weren’t for Adam and Catri, and their hopes for an Olympic medal, she might very well be tempted to help him. And that, Kerry Niles, would make you a crazy woman.
* * * * *
“Jesus Christ!” Adam snarled, his eyes shooting daggers at Kerry from across the table in the elegant French restaurant. So much for not making a scene in public. Apparently, she'd been way too optimistic. “I don't believe this! You're quitting? Just when we're hitting our peak?”
Catri raised a hand, halting Adam in mid-tirade. She looked at Kerry. “You've given this a lot of thought, Kerrelyn?”
Kerry ignored Adam and fixed her eyes on her coach. His reaction to her announcement about retiring had been as expected. Over-the-top furious. “Catri, don’t tell me you're surprised at my decision,” Kerry said. “I'm twenty-eight. Surely you've been prepared for this.”
“Prepared?” Adam cut in. “How did you expect her to be prepared? I'm your partner and I'm not prepared. This is the first I've heard you mention retirement.” He glowered at her. “How can you do this to me, Kerry? We've worked so hard, and now you're quitting on me? What am I supposed to do now?”
Anger sheared through her like a California wildfire. She'd hoped they could keep this discussion civil, but this was just too much. “Why is everything about you, Adam? I made a decision regarding my life. I've been competing since I was thirteen. I've had enough. Deal with it, why don't you?”
“It's my life, too.” His eyes sparkled with anger. “We're partners! Do you even know the meaning of that?”
“Oh, yes, I know exactly what it means.” Kerry stared him down and spoke in a clipped voice, “With you, it means having a father figure hovering over me twenty-four-seven, telling me what to do, when to do it and who to do it with. In case you haven't noticed, I'm an adult, and I'm sick to death of you treating me like a half-witted child.”
Adam's mouth dropped open. He looked as if a two-ton brick had hit him upside the head. “That's what you really think? I'm just trying to look out for you!”
Kerry clenched her fists and tried not to scream. “What's it going to take to get it through your thick skull that I don't need you to look after me?”
His brows lowered. “Obviously, you do.”
“Enough!” Catri's thick Russian accent cut through their argument.
Kerry and Adam stared at her. It was unusual for their coach to raise her voice, but when she did, she meant business. Her expression was stern as she gazed from one to the other, but Kerry saw something else in her eyes―sadness. She felt a pang of remorse. It wasn't her intention to hurt her coach. She loved her like a mother.
The older woman's gaze returned to Adam, her eyes owl-like behind magnified round glasses. “Please excuse us, Adam. We will meet you in the foyer.”
His jaw tightened and his entire body stiffened in protest. “But…”
“Please.” Her tone brooked no argument.
He scowled at Kerry, then without another word, stalked out of the dining room.
Kerry stared after him dejectedly. Why was it he always managed to make her feel like pond scum? She had a right to a life, didn't she? She'd given him fourteen years of hers. It was time to move on. Why couldn't he see that?
Catri reached across the table and placed her hand on Kerry's. “Gollupchic, look at me.”
Kerry met her gaze, and immediately her throat tightened at the tenderness on her coach's lined face. “Is this what you truly want, Kerrelyn?” Catri asked. “To give it all up?”
Kerry nodded. “I'm almost thirty. I've known for a long time that an Olympic medal isn't in the cards for us. Adam can't accept that, but I can. It's time to move on.”
Catri stared at her for a long moment without speaking. Finally, she nodded. “Okay, then. What are your plans?”
Kerry thought of Mikhail and of what she wanted to do. Her cheeks grew hot. What if she told Catri the truth? Well, Catri, I want to run off with a Russian defector and get myself into a whole shitload of trouble. Oh, God! What was wrong with her? Was she going insane?
“Um…well…I haven't thought it all through yet. I'll probably just take some time off…maybe spend a few months here in Utah with my grandparents.”
Catri nodded and with a final pat on her hand, she stood, signaling that their meeting was over. Kerry got to her feet, too, her gaze anxiously searching her coach's face. The older woman looked as if she were holding back tears.
“Cattie?”
When the woman paused, Kerry moved to her and gave her a hug. “Thanks for understanding.”
Catri's arms tightened about her, holding her close. Kerry breathed in her familiar scent of lavender and Scope mouthwash, wanting to preserve this moment of closeness.
“I knew you wouldn't be around forever,” Catri murmured. “I'm happy I had you as long as I have. But I admit it will be hard to let you go. You're like the daughter I never had, Kerrelyn.”
Kerry smiled, blinking back tears. “You know I feel the same. As far as I'm concerned, you are my mother, Cattie, and that's not going to change.”
They clung to each other for a long moment, and then Catri drew back, her eyes misty. “Perhaps you will decide to coach with me, yes? You and I would make a good team.”
“Maybe. But give me a few months, okay? I just need some down time.”
Catri nodded, then brushed a kiss onto her forehead. “I do not know what I would've done without you after Vladimir died. You and Adam were my salvation during those black days.” A gentle smile brightened her face. “He would've been very proud of you, you know. It would’ve been the greatest thrill of his life to see you two skate in the Olympics. I will always be sorry that he did not.”
Kerry gave a wry grin. “Even if we don't medal?”
“Just skate your best. That is all I ask.” Catri sniffed. “Now, go. You have made me cry and my make-up is ruined. I will have to go to the ladies' room and repair it.”
Kerry gave Catri a kiss on her artificially blushed cheek. “I love you.”
“Yes, yes, of course you do. Now, go!” Blinking back tears, Catri gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. “I will be with you in a moment.” She started to move away, then paused and turned back. “Is it safe to leave you and Adam alone out there?”
Kerry grinned back at her. “Don't worry. I've got my pepper spray.”
“You have my permission to use it on him if he does not behave,” she said, a mock scowl on her face.
Kerry breathed a sigh of relief as Catri walked away. She was so glad to have this burden off her shoulders. It had been weighing her down for months.
Soon, her new life would begin.
* * * * *
Sean watched the original dance from the stands, applauding wildly when Elena and Kozlof finished their flawless performance. The predominantly American crowd could be a little more enthusiastic, he thought. But then, that was typical of Westerners. They hated the Russians. Always had, always would.
Sean slipped a thumb and his forefinger between his lips and let loose a shrill whistle. As the couple skated toward 'Kiss and Cry,' Elena glanced up in his direction, but of course, she couldn't see him. He was too damn far up in the stands. His eyes narrowed as she flattened a slim, white hand against the pale blue bodice of her skating dress. Was it his imagination or was she more out of breath than she should've been after that short dance? Christ! He wished he could convince her to stop taking TNG.
Even her daffy uncle had warned her about the possible long-term effects the drug might have on her health, especially since she was mixing it with her asthma medication. Jesus Christ, if that bloody formula did something to her female parts to prevent her from having children, he'd personally slit Anton Boiko's scrawny throat. He wished he'd never told Elena about that fucking formula. From the moment she'd heard the words “performance enhancement” she'd never let up on him until he'd convinced Boiko to revive the project. At the time, he, too, had thought it was a good idea. But now that he was seeing the effects on her―the more frequent asthma attacks, the growing pallor of her luminous skin, the weight loss―the more he was convinced it was a horrible mistake.
Let Big Dan Sullivan have the fucking formula. Sean didn't give a shit if he injected every one of his IRA cronies with the stuff, and turned them into Celtic Supermen. Not as long as Elena stopped taking it, and they could take the millions Big Dan would pay for the formula, and live out their lives in Rio. He didn’t care if the entire world, including Northern Fucking Ireland, went to hell. There was a time when fighting for a united Ireland meant everything to him. But as he grew older, his convictions had weakened as he’d realized there were more important things in life than politics. Now, working for the IRA meant pretty much one thing to him—cold, hard cash.
When Kozlof and Elena reached the portal, Mikhail placed a hand on her waist as if to help her as she stepped off the ice, and Sean felt a blaze of pure fury rip through him. It was bad enough that he had to sit and watch that bastard place his filthy hands all over her body during their performances, but did he have to touch her off the ice as well?
His jaw rigid, Sean moved out of the row to the aisle, and started down the steps. The thing that really pissed him off, though, was knowing that Elena enjoyed Kozlof’s touch. Wanted and craved it. And of course, he wanted her, too. What red-blooded male wouldn't want Elena? There was only one reason he hadn't fucked her yet. Sean knew all about these crazy athletes and how they refused to engage in sexual activities before an important competition. Kozlof was just waiting until they got their gold medal, and then he'd be all over her.
Sean smiled grimly. But that wasn't going to happen. Mikhail Kozlof would die before he touched Elena. Sean was going to make sure of that.
A warm applause went up from the audience, and Sean glanced at the scoreboard. 5.8s and 5.9s. No surprise there. Boiko and Kozlof were on their way to the gold. The presentation marks flashed up, and they were just as good. Not much room there for any of the other skaters to move up. Good, thought Sean. She'll get her gold, and then I'll get her. In a year…two, at the most, he'd have enough money saved to buy that villa in Rio, and he and Elena would settle down, have a couple of wee bairns and live the good life. And if the deal with Sullivan came through, it would happen even sooner. Of course, he had to get his hands on the formula for TNG. But that was only a matter of time. Anton Boiko was a cagey old bastard, but sooner or later, Sean would find a way to get it.
He reached the ground floor and headed toward the tunnel. A security guard stopped him, and then waved him through when Sean showed his badge. There was some kind of commotion going on in the tunnel, and it wasn't until he got closer that he realized what it was.
“Somebody get a doctor!” shouted a frantic voice.
Sean elbowed his way through the crowd, his heart hammering. A sixth sense told him Elena was at the center of the commotion.
And then he saw her. She was in Mikhail's arms, clutching her chest and gasping for breath. Fear and rage engulfed Sean, but he fought it back, knowing it wasn't the time to allow his emotions free range.
“Where's her inhaler?” Sean shouted to Mikhail. “She's supposed to have it with her all the time.”
“Here! Here it is.”
For the first time, Sean noticed Sergey Fadeyuska, an effeminate-looking middle-aged man fluttering about. Elena and Kozlof's coach. About as useful as a paraplegic at a walk-a-thon.
Sean grabbed the inhaler from the coach's trembling hand, his eyes flitting over the man in disgust. “For Christ's sake, what were you waiting for?”
He dropped to his knees beside Elena and inserted the inhaler in her mouth. She clutched at it, eyes frantic.
“Breathe in, love, nice and slow.” Sean tried to keep the panic out of his voice. His gaze darted to Mikhail. “How long has she been like this?”
“Just a minute,” he said tersely. “She collapsed right after we left Kiss and Cry.”
Elena's hands clawed at him, and Sean realized the inhaler wasn't working. He felt a thrill of panic race through him. “We need an ambulance here!” he yelled. Christ! They were all staring like cows in a field chewing their cud. “We need a fucking ambulance!”
“It's on the way,” someone responded.
Sean stared down at Elena. The horrible gasping sounds coming from her throat raised goosebumps on his skin. He realized that Mikhail had relinquished his hold on her, so Sean could take over. He gathered her up in his arms and cradled her. His eyes held hers as he spoke in a calm, reassuring voice that was in direct odds to how he felt. “Relax, love, and let the inhaler do its job. You're going to be fine.”
But either she was too panicked to listen, or the medication just wasn't working this time. Eyes wild, she clawed at Sean's shirt, still making that desperate strangling sound. Her lips were blue, and purple shadows smudged the pads beneath her eyes. Jesus Christ! She was dying right in front of him. “Bloody Christ! Where is the fucking ambulance?”
Suddenly Mikhail jumped up and headed through the crowd. “We need a doctor here now!” he shouted. “There's got to be a team doctor around somewhere. Somebody find one!”
Christ! I should've thought of that, thought Sean. Of course there would be a sports doctor somewhere in the vicinity. Moments later, an athletic-looking man appeared with a medical kit. Sean and Mikhail watched as the doctor got down on his knees and gave Elena an injection. Within seconds, her breathing began to ease. Sean closed his eyes, releasing a sigh of relief. Oh, thank the good Lord.
“You'll be all right now,” the doctor said to her. His gaze went from Sean to Mikhail, as if he were uncertain which one to address his remarks to. “She needs to get some rest. I don't think I've ever seen an asthma attack this bad before. It would probably be a good idea to have her undergo a complete physical.”
“No!” Elena gasped. “I am fine now. There is no need.”
Sean gazed down at her tenderly. To his horror, he felt absurdly close to tears. He had really thought he was going to lose her. Brushing a finger over her cheek, he smiled and spoke in English, “Ya took ten years off my life, ya did, girl.”
He felt the curious gazes of the crowd around them, and realized he wasn't playing the part of a bodyguard, but of a lover. He didn't care. He was tired of pretending he was just her employee.
Elena smiled up at him, her eyes drowsy from the drug. Then Sean saw her gaze shift, and her smile widen. “Mikhail,” she said softly in Russian. “Thank you for getting the doctor.”
Mikhail leaned down and patted her shoulder. He answered in their native language. “I'm just glad you're okay.”
Sean had lived in Estonia for almost eleven years, and he spoke Russian and Estonian fluently. He felt an icy rage sweep through him at their exchange. Mikhail. Always fucking Mikhail. Look at the way he’s gazing down at her. Like she’s his personal property or something.
Sean stared at him, and allowed the hatred to grow and boil inside him. That fucking scar. How he'd love to give him a matching one on the other side of that pretty-boy face. Maybe he would. Maybe he'd do exactly that. And maybe he wouldn't stop with the face.
Fuck the gold medal. Elena didn't need to be skating anyway, not in her frail condition. It would be better all around if she had to withdraw from the competition.
And what better excuse to have to withdraw? When your ice-dancing partner ends up dead. Sean smiled. Funny, wasn't it? How people seemed to end up dead when they got in his way. Like Liisa. For a moment, he saw her luminous blue eyes, awash with tears as she told him, yet again, that another month had passed, and she still wasn't pregnant. But even then, despite her failure to conceive his child, he would've let her live if she hadn't demanded he give up Elena. By that time, Elena was in his blood. The accident had been unfortunate, but necessary.
And now, perhaps, it was time for another one. Mikhail Kozlof, dead. That had a really nice ring to it. He'd planned to do it anyway. Why not move up the timetable by a week or two?