In Sheep's Clothing (14 page)

So they really were changing the topic. Okay, he wouldn’t push. Not yet. He shook his head as he answered, wishing he could lie and ignite a spark of jealousy. The truth was, however, he’d never been here on a date…if he could call this a date, which he couldn’t. “My buddy Roman has money in this place. He helped a mutual friend fix it up after the FSB ran out the local mafia.”

She looked impressed. “It’s nice. Cozy.” She reached for the menu. “Have you been with the FSB for a long time?”

Her voice stayed light, but he wondered what his answer would mean to her. Could a missionary trust a man who had dedicated his life to an organization that sent thousands of Christians to their deaths during the Communist reign?

He cleared his throat, thankful he could answer honestly. “No.”

She interrupted her scan of the menu and caught his eye. “But you seem so…practiced.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her search for the right word. He hoped she meant
capable
or even…
brave?
“I’ve been a cop for over ten years. Before that, I was a soldier in the Russian army for a number of years. I even served in Special Forces.” He liked the interest written on her face. Usually cops scared the general Russian population into deep freeze. He appreciated a woman who didn’t bristle at the sight of militia.

“Do you enjoy it?” She folded the menu, eyes glued on his face, her concentration chipping at his walls of privacy.

“Yes.” He shrugged out of his suit coat. Honeyed light dappled the white table through lace curtains and the white rose in the center of the table perfumed the room. Maybe it was a date, after all.

Leaning forward on her bench, her body language spoke anticipation. “Yes?”

“I never thought I’d be a cop.” That felt good to finally admit. Her wide smile reeled him in and he felt himself relax. “I always enjoyed detective work, but since my pop was a cop, I didn’t want to live a cop’s life.”

Her eyebrows arched in silent question.

“Because he couldn’t shake the darkness. It rode him home every night and seeped into his moods.”

A shadow fell across her face, her eyes.

“No, he wasn’t ever abusive or anything. He’s a pretty good guy, and a great cop.” He fixed his gaze on his drumming fingers. “It’s just that he couldn’t shake the frustration of seeing lives shattered and killers escape.” He met her piercing gaze and attempted a wry smile. “I guess I inherited his indignation.”

“Or his sense of justice.” She reached across the table, cupped her hand over his.

Hers was remarkably warmer. He stopped his drumming.

A knock at the door made them both jump. Gracie yanked back her hand. Vicktor grabbed the menu. The waiter entered the room, surveying them like choice cuts of meat.

“Decided?” Vicktor asked, ashamed at his rocky voice.

Gracie peered at him, her head lowered. “Whatever you’re having.”

He noticed the tinge of pink on her cheeks.

Vicktor frowned. “Gracie, can you read the menu?”

She shrugged.

He held up a finger to the waiter. “One minute, please.”

“Gracie,” he said gently. “How is it you’ve lived in Russia for three years—”

“Two—”

“Two,” he corrected. “And you haven’t learned to read Russian?”

She fingered a rebellious hair that had fallen from her hair clip. “I was only here short term, so I never learned. I had a translator and fumbled my way through.”

He leaned back in the booth, watching her smooth her hair, then her skirt. She smiled at him, her eyes rich and sweet.

He was suddenly thankful that Roman and Yanna would be at his apartment to chaperone. Maybe he wasn’t quite as trustworthy as he claimed.

She shrugged. “I know how to say, ‘I don’t understand.’ I use it a lot.” She wiggled her brows.

He had to admire her for the pluck it took to live and work in a country where she could barely buy bread.

“How did you survive?”

“The grace of God, I guess. He always gave me the right charades and lots of bilingual friends.”

She reminded him of Roman and Mae, with her faith in God. He felt a pang of emptiness, and he stared at the menu, seeing nothing. A woman like this didn’t just wander through a man’s life without turning it inside out. If he kept hanging around Gracie Benson he’d either have to dodge her faith or slam right into it.

He felt her hand on his arm and nearly jumped.

“A salmon steak and fried potatoes sounds good.”

“I’ll go tell the waiter,” he said, scrambling for a quick escape.

Gracie watched him leave and blew out a shredded breath. He certainly had a way of wheedling inside her good graces. She had nearly cracked when he touched her cheek and placed the blame for her fears on his shoulders. Poor guy. She’d had to restrain her tattered emotions and construct a hasty defense. Thankfully, he didn’t press her. The last thing she needed was to dissolve into tears, reliving the horror of her nightmare with Tommy.

She couldn’t tell Investigator Shubnikov that she’d been…raped. By a man she’d been dating. Yeah, that would make
their relationship take off with a roar. Either he’d peg her into a category…or he’d never touch her again.

Relationship? Touch? Just because she felt somewhat safe in his protection didn’t mean she was going to give away her heart.

And…She was leaving.
Pay attention to your future, Gracie.

Except, he had the most intriguing, nearly transparent blue eyes. And a voice that made her tingle. And he
was
kind, despite his offhanded compliment meant to give her the credit. True, it had delighted her, but the guy had a history of kindness…even when she’d aimed for his jaw with her boots on the train. He could have just as easily handcuffed her and hauled her away.

Instead, he’d let her cry, without criticizing.

He’d fetched her coffee.

He’d bought her a dress…a dress that made her feel beautiful. Or was that due to the appreciation in his eyes?

And didn’t that feel good.

Her face grew hot as she realized how much she enjoyed his ministrations. Someone better write it on her hand, and fast, that he was a Russian cop. More than that, she barely knew him. Most of all—and this was something that should make her get up and run for the border—
he wasn’t a Christian.
She closed her eyes. “Oh, God, please give me wisdom and help me to think clearly. Help me not to fall for him.”

The door handle clicked and Gracie added a hasty “My heart can’t take another disappointment.” She opened her eyes.

Her breath caught in her chest.

“I’ve found you.”

W
hat was Andrei doing here?

Larissa set down her cup of tea. “I thought you were with Gracie.”

Andrei sat on the edge of Larissa’s desk, rattling his key chain, picking out each key and examining it.

“She’s with the FSB. The agent took her out to lunch.”

Larissa grabbed the keys from his hand. “The FezB? Andrei, are you crazy? You’re supposed to protect her from people like the FSB.”

“Maybe he can do a better job.” His voice was tight. “We were shot at today.”

She saw the streaks of red in his eyes and knew she was in big trouble.

“Andrei.” She came around the desk and touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

He covered his face with his hands. “She’s going to get hurt. I can feel it. This FSB guy says the Wolf is after her.
The Wolf.
That can’t be true, can it?”

She stepped back, his expression scaring her. “The Wolf is a myth.” They’d all heard the stories—who hadn’t?—about a serial killer who eliminated people who betrayed the
Rodina.
People who acted for themselves in this new era, people who didn’t give a second glance at history and sacrifice and everything Russia stood for.

Russians had to band together to survive change, like dogs in a pack. Survival ran in the Russian blood, but some had to be reminded of it. The Wolf myth did that—reminded, and led by example. It was a lesson from the era of the NKVD—“terror is power.” She could understand why the FSB might use the power of the Wolf on Andrei. The death of foreigners, especially missionaries, would have to be dealt with delicately, quietly, domestically.

But why scare Gracie?

Unless the FSB was after something. Something they thought Gracie knew, or
had.

“You need to get her away from him.”

“What?” Andrei grabbed up his keys. “She’s safer with him. Wolf myth or not, they’re shooting at us. They almost killed Gracie today. I’m not going to let her die.”

“I think she’s safer with you.”

Andrei’s eyes hardened, and for a moment it rattled her. She could do this. She had to do this. She put a hand on his arm. “If you love her, you must keep her safe.”

He whirled, stalking toward the door. Then he stopped. “She’ll only be safe when she’s out of Russia.”

Larissa fingered the necklace at the base of her throat.
Won’t we all.

Gracie pressed her hand to her chest as recognition washed over her. “Pastor Yuri, you nearly scared the life out of me!”

Pastor Yuri closed the door behind him, his smile crinkling his eyes and turning up the corners of his steel-gray handlebar mustache.

“Sorry, Gracie, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He extended a fleshy hand to her.

She took it, noticing it was slightly sweaty.

“I’m so glad I finally found you. Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?” Gracie fought the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt.

Yuri grinned at her. His thinning gray hair glistened in the sunlight. He appeared grossly unkempt today, nothing like the Sunday-morning spit-and-polished pastor who spoke from the pulpit. His white shirt bunched loosely at his waistline tire, a black tie hung slightly ajar, and his face was red. If she didn’t know better, she’d accuse him of drinking.

Gracie indicated the opposite bench. “Sit down, please. How did you find me?”

“I saw you at the riverfront. I was just coming out of the orphanage across the street.”

So that’s why he was red-faced. If she knew Yuri, he’d spent the last hour playing tag with a group of gangly, parentless ten-year-olds.

“We’ve been worried sick about you. We called your flat but there was no answer.”

“I’ve been…hiding.” She lowered her eyes, ashamed she’d been so irresponsible as to not call him. “But I think I’ll be safe now. Thank you.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid we have a problem. Your mission needs to speak to you. You need to come to my office and call them.”

“What about?”

Yuri gave her a pained expression. “They are afraid for your safety.”

Of course. Guilt tugged at Gracie. She should have called them. Her oversight had been inexcusable.

He reached out to her. “I’m sorry. Can you come now? I think we should call immediately.”

Gracie fumbled to sort her thoughts. She felt Yuri’s hand on her arm. “Yes, of course. But I have to tell Vicktor.”

“We can tell him on the way out.”

She slipped from the booth. He opened the door for her. “Can you wait while I find him?”

“Of course.” He took her elbow, practically marching her toward the stairs.

At the top landing, she scanned the open room for Vicktor. “He’s not here.” Yuri was pushing her, gently, toward the door. “Wait, Pastor, I must tell Vicktor. He’ll worry.”

“Why don’t we leave a message with the maître d’?”

“I understand, but really, I’m sure Vicktor will be upset. Please, just wait, let me find him—”

“Find who?”

Gracie whirled, and relief flooded her as she spied Vicktor striding toward her from across the room. Except, he had a darkness in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Vicktor! I was looking all over for you!” she exclaimed, a little too brightly.

He scrutinized the man behind her. “Sorry, I was at the bar, trying to get you a soda.”

“I bumped into Pastor Yuri and he said I need to go to Headquarters and call my mission. Evidently, they’re worried for my safety.”

“As they should be,” Vicktor replied, but Gracie heard the edge in his voice. “Were you going to leave without telling me?” His gaze never left Pastor Yuri.

She shook her head, feeling suddenly uneasy.

Pastor Yuri stuck out a hand. “Yuri Visilovich Mikhailovich. Glad to meet you.”

A muscle pulled in Vicktor’s jaw as he took Yuri’s hand. “We’re having lunch right now, Pastor. Can it wait? I can assure you I’ll keep her safe.”

Gracie knew Vicktor well enough to know it wasn’t a request.

“Sure,” came Pastor Yuri’s easy reply, as if he hadn’t nearly hauled her, feet tripping, up the stairs.

Gracie stared at him, frowning as he smiled at her.

“See you later, Gracie,” he said.

Gracie could only nod, and watch him as he left.

Vicktor put a hand on Gracie’s lower back. When he finally met her eyes, his expression had changed.

She wondered, with a streak of fear, just what exactly he’d meant when he said, “keep her safe.”

“How did he get in here?” Vicktor asked after he settled her back into her side of the booth. His heartbeat was about to betray him and he fought to keep his voice schooled. Didn’t she listen to anything he said? He turned away from her, wanting to hit something, hard. Why couldn’t she just cooperate?

“He just came in. He was at the orphanage across the street. He said my mission board was trying to contact me.”

Vicktor forced a calm tone. “But what if he were the guy trying to kill you. You just got up and would have left with him! See, that’s why I want you to listen to me.”

She stared at him with a stark expression. “He’s the pastor of the church, Vicktor. Don’t be so suspicious.”

“My job is to be suspicious. Besides, one near miss a day isn’t enough for you? Trying to go double or nothing?” He looked away from her. “With a serial killer out there, I’m the
only
person in Russia you should trust at the moment. Please, in the future, don’t go anywhere without me.”

Silence answered him. When he turned back he noticed she’d folded her arms across her chest, and now stared out the window. Yeah, well, he felt the same way. So much for their “date.”

He flipped open his cell phone and dialed Yanna. Glancing at Gracie, he spoke quickly. “Yanna, find me everything you can on Yuri Visilovich Mikhailovich. He’s a pastor.”

Gracie didn’t spare him a glance. Probably, hopefully, she hadn’t understood his words.

Moments later, the waiter brought their salmon and potatoes. She ate in silence. He pushed around his food, his appetite soured by frustration.

He refrained from taking her hand as they walked back down the boardwalk. The fresh breeze shifted through his hair and he heard laughter from the beach below. A kite lifted above the trees, its red tail dancing in the wind. Vicktor walked with his hand on the small of her back, his gaze scanning their path. Maybe locking her up at HQ was exactly what he should be doing.

He hated how the wind reaped a delicious scent from her skin. “Forgive me, Vicktor. I know you’re only trying to protect me. Yuri would never hurt me, but I will listen to you. I
am
trying to trust you.”

He slanted her a dubious look. Her green eyes caught his, and he couldn’t deny she delivered apologies with convincing sincerity. The breeze played with rebellious golden wisps that had escaped from her hair clip, feathering the strands across her face.

He stopped, and couldn’t believe it when he caught her hair, pushed it behind her ear. So maybe her words meant more than he would admit.

“Okay. No more fast escapes and I’ll forgive you.”

She smiled, and it was so sweet, he couldn’t help but smile back. Yes, this was much better than locking her up at HQ.

The sight of Andrei leaning against his car, wearing an expression that could curdle blood, made Gracie yank her hand from Vicktor’s arm. She gulped and marched up to him.

“Where have you been?” he growled.

Vicktor answered in a tone rippling with anger. “Lunch. Where were you?”

“Waiting.”

Gracie took a deep breath. “Sorry, Andrei.”

“Sure you are.” He whirled and climbed into his car. He slammed the door and sat behind the wheel, refusing to look at her.

“C’mon, Gracie. Let’s go.” Vicktor touched the small of her back.

She acquiesced, sank into her car seat and fumbled for the belt.

“He was my best friend,” she murmured.

A half hour later, she was standing in front of Vicktor’s building, praying Andrei had forgiven her.

“I am not going to your apartment, Vicktor.” She crossed her arms. “Not. Not. Not. Are we clear?”

For the third time, Vicktor rolled his eyes, as if trying to figure out what he’d done to scare her. “Listen, I understand, I really do. I promise everything will be fine. I’m not lying when I tell you my apartment is safe.”

Yeah, from whom? He had no idea she’d heard those words before—with a disastrous outcome.

“No.”

Vicktor braced a hand on the hood of his car. Gracie glanced at Andrei, sulking in his car across the street, and silently pleaded with him to get out and help her.

“I have chaperones coming, I promise. But they don’t get off work for two more hours.”

“You arranged for chaperones?” What kind? Drinking buddies? Only, Vicktor didn’t seem the kind to get soused down at the local pub and then bring it home to her.

Then again, neither had Tommy.

Still, he used the word
chaperone.
Like he was aiming for…propriety. “Who?”

“My friend Yanna. And my buddy Roman. You’ll like him. He’s a Believer.”

A Believer? So that’s where he got his ideas about a chaperone. And a woman, too. Maybe…but… “Still, until they get here…no thank you.”

He winced. “What about Andrei? You trust him, right? He can come up.”

Gracie considered her chauffeur. Andrei sat hunched over in his seat, his eyes shooting daggers at Vicktor through his grimy car window. “I don’t think he will.”

Vicktor squinted at him, then gave a wry nod. “I don’t think so, either. He doesn’t like me very much.”

“That’s an understatement.”

He made a face.

“Why do you suppose that is?”

Vicktor pocketed his hands and shrugged. “Most people have had run-ins with the KGB. Many of them got pretty shredded, if not destroyed. Especially in the old regime.”

A shadow fell over her heart. Had Andrei been scalped by the Russian police force? She shuddered and cast her friend a look of pity. Poor, dependable Andrei. “Let me talk to him.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Andrei wouldn’t even crack open the window.

“C’mon, Andrei, please, let me talk to you.”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I need you,” she pleaded, ignoring Vicktor’s sigh. “Please, open the door.”

The door opened. “Get in.” Andrei unlocked the back door.

Gracie hopped in, ignoring Vicktor’s frown.

“What’s the matter?” She leaned forward in her seat, wrapped her arms around the headrest and propped her cheek on the seat.

Andrei floored the gas and the car squealed out into the street.

“Andrei! What are you doing?” She turned and spied an enraged Vicktor racing for his car.

“Andrei, stop! What are you doing? Stop the car!”

“Why? So you can run back to him?” His caustic words stung and she recoiled into the seat.

“I’m not running to anyone.”

His hands clenched on the steering wheel.

“He’s just trying to protect me.”

“That’s
my
job.”

Her heart fell. “No, that’s not your job. I almost got you killed this morning.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” He careened around a corner. Gracie heard the motor rev high as he pushed the pedal to the mat.

She searched for the seat belt. “Slow down!”

He ignored her. She clipped the seat belt, planted her feet. “Andrei, stop right now! Vicktor is only trying to protect me. And you can’t. I nearly got all of you killed today. If I hadn’t been there, your parents’ home wouldn’t have been attacked.”

He went silent. She caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror and was startled by the fury in his eyes. She clawed his shoulder. “Stop the car!”

“No. I have to get you away from him.”

“Vicktor isn’t going to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that!” The intensity in his voice shook her. “You don’t know what men like him will do.”

Men like him?
“Why did you bring me to him if you didn’t want his help?”

He clenched his jaw. But, thankfully, he slowed.

They drove in wretched silence while Andrei wove through Khabarovsk. The wharf skimmed by, as did Lenin Square, and finally they left the city limits behind in a cloud of dirty smoke.