Dance With Me (19 page)

“What? You have to. It’s a lie.” She followed him in, her voice rising. It was her story. If she wanted it retracted, it was going to happen. Then she stopped, the words frozen in her throat.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what he says,” Frank shrugged.

There, sitting in the chair facing Frank’s desk was Alexi. He turned to look at her, the mix of emotions he was feeling openly displayed on his face: worry, relief. Love.

She rushed to him as he stood up to grab her in a fierce hug.

“Oh my God, Alexi. You’re all right. They let you go.”

“Yes.” He breathed into her hair. Then he held her at arms’ length so he could look into her eyes. “I gave them some valuable information. They were willing to overlook the incident with the gun, especially since it was registered to the man they really wanted. Your friend, the lawyer was very helpful. And he was so kind as to drop me here so that I could talk to this gentleman.” He gestured to Frank. “I wanted to support your story with my evidence.”

“But … how? What?” she looked back and forth between the two men. Frank tapped the phone that was lying on his desk. Alexi’s phone, she realized.

A recorded voice started speaking in Russian. With a shiver, she recognized it as Sergei’s. She couldn’t understand what he was saying, of course, but the tone of his voice was filled with pride and arrogance. He sounded like he was bragging.

“That’s Sergei, admitting to diverting funds from ABC to support the rebels in Eastern Ukraine,” Frank explained, a grim smile on his face. “Sounds damn proud of it, too.”

Sherry let out a long whistle. “It must have been incredibly hard for you to give that recording to the police. I mean, Sergei saved you. His words.”

“Yes. For his own purposes.” Alexi’s mouth was twisted as if he had tasted something bitter. “Still. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, giving that recording to the police. When I went to Sergei last night, I planned to record our conversation only for you. To prove you wrong. But you were right. How could I have been so blind? So stupid?”

“You can’t blame yourself. He had a lot of people fooled,” Frank said. “Including your director and Ninny Vanderbeck, both of whom called to claim their innocence. The whole of ABC is in a serious tizzy.”

Sherry scanned Alexi’s face for signs of conflicted emotion, wondering if, secretly, he blamed her for the dethroning of his mentor. After all, if she hadn’t started digging around in ABC’s finances, it might never have come to light.

As if Alexi had read her mind, he said, “You must not blame yourself for this, either, Sherry. He is the one who made poor choices. And perhaps me, for trusting him.”

“But how did you get him to admit what he had done? After the scene at the Hyatt?”

Alexi closed his eyes with a pained sigh. “I told him that you had betrayed me and that we were finished. That I hoped never to see your face again. That is what he had hoped to accomplish by sending me your photo with the lawyer. I only told him what he wanted to hear.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Then I told him you were a fool, like all western journalists, believing that Putin was serving his own energy-security agenda by annexing Crimea, when he was really just liberating the Crimean people. Returning them to the embrace of Mother Russia.”

“Very convincing,” she said.

“I suppose Sergei thought so. This is when he told me what he had been doing. He was so proud. He claimed that Vladimir Putin himself had congratulated him. Promised him directorship of the Bolshoi for life.” He shook his head. “Can you believe he thought I would be impressed?”

Sherry thought of the double-headed eagle tattooed on Alexi’s shoulder. “You weren’t.” She didn’t voice the question that was in her mind.

“No, of course not. Never!” Spots of bright pink bloomed on his cheekbones.

Frank cleared his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets awkwardly. “I, uh, I feel the sudden urge to get a cup of coffee. I’ll be back in ten.” He left, closing the door behind him.

Sherry looked deep into Alexi’s eyes, seeing only honesty. “But the tattoo,” she whispered, touching the spot where she knew it was beneath his jacket.

“This I got years ago. It was one of my first, before this foolishness began in my country. Yes, my parents are Russian, and their parents before them. Yes, I am Russian in my blood. That is why I got the tattoo. But this violence? This killing and destroying? This I can never support. Certainly not by stealing from my own company.” He searched her eyes. “How could you believe this of me and still love me?”

“Oh, Alexi,” she breathed, pulling him against her. “You didn’t believe me when I told you I would love you, even if you were a criminal. Now you know. There is nothing you could do that would make me love you any less.”

He cupped her face, looking back and forth between her eyes. “You were willing to sacrifice your professional credibility for me? More than that. You were willing to betray your deepest beliefs, the very essence of what makes you who you are, only to stop a criminal, no, a terrorist, from being deported?”

What could she say? It was true. “Wow. When you put it like that, it sounds really bad.” She shrugged. “You’re right. I probably would have come to my senses and let them ship you off to the gulag, or whatever they call it in the Ukraine.”

He smiled, touching the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Ah, my Sherry. Always joking.”

“I wasn’t joking when I said I loved you.” She stared into his eyes, hoping the truth of her emotions were there for him to see.

“I know,” he said. His eyes were soft as he bent to kiss her. He stopped himself. “Wait,” he said. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the Tiffany necklace. He moved behind her and fastened it at the back of her neck, letting the ruby-crusted peony drop to rest on her clavicle.

As she turned to face him, she touched the delicate charm, looking into his eyes.

“My beautiful peony.” He lifted her chin and brought his mouth to hers.

And as their lips met, Sherry knew it was true. She loved him. Principles be damned, work be damned, family be damned. Well, maybe not family. Her mother would take some convincing, but it the end, she would just have to accept Alexi, the way she’d accepted Sherry’s choice of a career.

She put her arms around his neck and melted into his embrace. Pulling her mouth from his, she pressed her lips to his ear. “Frank said he was going to be gone for ten minutes. Do you think we have enough time?” She nodded toward the desk.

A wicked grin spread over Alexi’s face. “Always so impatient. Always so greedy.”

She leaned against the desk, returning his smile. “Yeah?”

He walked backward toward the door. “But maybe ten minutes is not enough? Home is better, no?”

She smiled. “I like the way you think.”

Frank was waiting outside the door when she opened it. “Hey. It’s Sunday. Go home, would you?” He put one hand on Alexi’s shoulder and another on Sherry’s, walking them past the glaring Kim and through the still-buzzing newsroom. “I am going to have to suspend you without pay for a while for your, um, unorthodox investigative techniques,” he said, loudly.

A smug smile spread across Kim’s glossy lips. Sherry rolled her eyes.

Frank lowered his voice. “Gotta keep the peace. Besides, you could use a vacation.”

Peter was on the phone, but gave her a thumbs-up, wiggling his bushy brows. She waved back. She’d only be gone a week, but she’d miss him. Kim, not so much.

As they sat on the subway back to Soho, Sherry rested her head on Alexi’s shoulder, content that he was safe and they were together. Nobody was getting deported or killed. They still had their individual baggage, but they’d find a way to carry it together.

They got off at Spring Street, and as they approached a Starbucks, Alexi tilted his head toward it.

“Let’s get some coffee and one of those…” He moved his hand in a plunging motion.

“French press. Good idea.”

“We may not have clean underwear, but at least you can have coffee.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “I don’t think we’re going to need the underwear, but we’ll definitely need the coffee. I intend to get as little sleep as possible.”

As they waited in line, Sherry tried not to eavesdrop on the one-sided conversation in front of her, but it was impossible. The woman was holding her rhinestone-covered iPhone to her mouth, treating the whole queue to a monologue on her shopping scores.

“God, I hope traffic on the Bridge is moving again.” She paused. “It is? Excellent. Oh, they caught the guy? Thank God. I forgot to TiVo
Desperate Housewives
.”

Sherry and Alexi exchanged glances. “The guy” could be anyone. But Sherry’s reporter’s instincts told her it was Sergei. The look on Alexi’s face told her he was thinking the same thing.

He leaned close, so his lips were touching her ear. When he spoke his words sent pleasing shivers down her spine. “Have two cups. I want to keep you up all night.”

The End

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