Red Midnight (26 page)

The instant of paralyzing numbness was over. Before the next
zzz
whistled by, he had dropped and rolled in the snow, finding cover behind a workmen’s scaffolding. He lifted his head, his blue eyes scanning the frosted terrain, for in the orange glow of the lights was a figure, running. Keeping low he leaped back to his feet, shouting.

Whistles shrieked through the night as he tore after the disappearing form. He was not a lone figure anymore; the square had come alive with racing men in uniforms.

Jarod ran with the pulsing of his blood pounding in his temples. He searched every possible avenue of escape; every nook and cranny near the high brick walls. But despite his efforts, and those of the ultra efficient, productively trained officers, the form had disappeared.

He was breathing heavily, dusting the snow from his fur cap upon his knee, as his long strides brought him disgustedly back to the square. He stopped dead as he saw the man waiting for him, his eyes taking on a guarded mist that shrouded emotion as the snow did the ground.

“Well, my friend, you must be on to something,” Sergei said with quirked brows. “Someone taking potshots at you in the snow—that someone must be frightened of your knowledge, Jarod.”

“I haven’t got a damned thing, Sergei,” Jarod said tiredly. “If I did, there wouldn’t be someone there taking potshots at me in the snow.” He accepted a cigarette from Alexandrovich and watched as the smoke joined the mist of his breath. “Thanks for the quick action, Sergei. My thanks to your men. It is no fault of theirs that we lost this wraith.”

Sergei shrugged. “Murder is a crime in the Soviet Union, too, my friend.”

“Unless it’s sanctioned?”

Again Sergei shrugged. “From you, Jarod, I will not take offense.”

They both fell silent, the flames of their cigarettes flaring against the glow and the darkness.

“How come you happened to be here?” Jarod asked.

Sergei laughed. “Feeling, my friend. The same as you. Gut feeling. And I didn’t want anything happening to you, Jarod.”

“Thanks, Sergei, but I can take care of myself.”

Sergei characteristically raised his shoulders again. “No man can always take care of himself, Jarod. And this is my country.”

“Yeah.” Jarod dropped his cigarette to the snow, and out of habit, crushed out the flame. He jammed his gloved hands into his pockets.

“I’m heading home. I’m freezing, I’ve got snow inside my clothes.”

Sergei chuckled. “If I were you, Steele, I would be home now. Very warm in my bed. Only a fool or a fanatic leaves a woman like that.”

Jarod moved off, cursing silently beneath his breath. “Maybe I’m a bit of both,” he shouted aloud over his shoulder.

Sergei’s deep laughter grew in the night. “Maybe, friend, maybe!” He watched as the tall dark figure diminished. “I’ll pick you up in the morning myself, and see you to the airport for that Leningrad trip.”

A hand lifted in the air assured him he had been heard. Still chuckling, Sergei Alexandrovich walked off through the snow.

When Jarod reached the apartment, he couldn’t quell the temptation to look at her. He entered the room with no real attempt to be silent. But she slept like an angel. Her gold hair spread over the pillow in a haloed web, hair that compelled one to touch, hair that held a man in a web of seductive fascination.

She was the only one who had known where he would be tonight. A devil in an angel’s guise?

He wanted to wake her, to shake her, to demand that she tell him the truth, the complete truth. Who had she spoken with, who did she see? Had she whispered to someone at the party, or had she waited until the door closed behind him and made a phone call? Had she known?

He ground his teeth hard. She had only been used, she had only been used. He wanted to think that, believe that, so badly. But suspicions were rising again along with his alarm. He had cleared her in his own mind and now …

Now I really cannot let you go, he thought with bitter irony.

He pushed his hands farther into his pockets, the fingers curling inward. Damn, did he want to wake her. Jerk her out of the bed.

Shock her from her cool composure…. And take her into his arms.

Rake his fingers through her golden field of hair. Force her silver eyes to his. Dare her cool innocence, her denial, her dignity. Let her know that the denial was a lie. Prove that he could strip away her pretense, find the woman he had created. Feel himself within her again. Feel warm, the fever burning away the cold, the reckless, unchecked passion that could erase the world.

He stared at her a moment longer, closed his eyes tightly and swallowed, and retraced his footsteps out of the room.

“W
AKE UP. NOW. I
leave in ten minutes and I have to talk to you first.”

Erin blinked groggily, not really believing that he was standing over her again, already clad in his coat, his gloves in his hands.

She shook her head, astonished by the rudeness of his tone and trying desperately to clear the sleep from her mind.

“What?” she mumbled in confusion. “You’re leaving again? Where—where are you going?”

“Leningrad,” he said briefly, reaching for her hand and pulling her from the bed. “I have a cup of coffee poured for you downstairs. You have to hurry up. I let you sleep as late as possible.”

“What a gentleman,” Erin murmured sarcastically. She twisted her hand from his grasp. “Let me wash my face—”

“You have sixty seconds.”

She stared at him with ill-concealed outrage but stepped cautiously around him and into the bathroom, where she rinsed away some of the fog of her deep sleep.

“Erin!”

“I’m coming!”

She followed him down the staircase and into the dining room. He thrust a coffee cup into her hand and she sipped at it. “How long will you be gone?”

“Overnight. And I mean overnight. I’ll be back by noon tomorrow. And while I’m gone, you will not leave the apartment. I mean that, too, Erin. There’s going to be a guard outside, and should you choose to disobey my orders, I want to warn you that you will be returned bodily to the apartment.”

Erin gaped at him, astounded and infuriated.

“Why?” was all she could manage to gasp.

Jarod stepped past her, carrying his suitcase to the hall. He opened the door, looked out in the corridor, then returned to her briefly.

“Who did you talk to last night?”

Erin’s eyes narrowed dangerously and her fingers curled into claws within her hands. “Jarod, you know damned well who I talked to last night. We had a dinner here. I talked to all our guests. Mr. and Mrs. Alexandrovich. Tanya. Joe Mahoney. Gil Sayer. I also spoke to the cook and the two girls who served dinner, but I’m not sure that counts because I don’t believe they understood a single word I said.”

“No one else?”

“No one else.”

“Who did you tell I was leaving last night?”

Erin inhaled sharply, but rigidly held her composure. Something had obviously happened. But she couldn’t be at fault, she hadn’t said anything to anyone….

Yes, she had, she had told Gil. But she was certain Gil was guilty of nothing. And it was evident that Jarod disliked Gil to begin with, whether he behaved politely toward the man or not. She couldn’t tell Jarod she had spoken to Gil. Jarod was angrier than she had ever seen him, and she felt it was only the tip of the iceberg. Gil would be hanged in Jarod’s book without a trial, and whatever it was, Gil couldn’t be involved.

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

Jarod was silent for a moment, but the blue daggers that riveted her to a standstill told her she was a liar.

Indignation suddenly flared within her. He didn’t give a damn about her, but he was raising a stink over this whole Gil Sayer thing. Because he was possessive, because he didn’t want his pride and ego marred…. And he was acting like a jailer.

“Don’t leave the apartment,” he warned her again.

“Go to hell!” Erin flared. “You may have one of your paid dragoons outside now, but it won’t last, Jarod. I’ve had it. There’s a phone here, and I’ll get hold of someone at the embassy. I am getting out. Out! I don’t care any longer about appearances, I didn’t create this fiasco! I was willing to try things your way; I was willing to give up two months of my life. But that was when you could behave like a halfway decent person. You are insufferable. You belong at the head of the Soviet purges. As I’ve told you before, you should be a damned communist, you make a marvelous Russian, you have a—”

“Stop it, Erin!”

His words were a roar, but she couldn’t heed them. She was torn in two, feeling cleanly knifed in half. She loved him, and the more that the feeling ingrained itself within her heart, the more he seemed to turn from her. She loved him, and she hated him with a terrible intensity because of that love.

“I will not stop! And you will not tell me I can’t see or talk to Gil Sayer. At least he still remembers how to be an American.”

“Erin!” He grasped her shoulders, and her wrath bubbled within her uncontrollably.

She tried to wrench from his grasp but found it firm. “Let go of me”—her palm worked free and rose, coming across his face—“you dictator! You—”

She broke off abruptly, stunned as he returned her slap, his palm delivering a stinging blow across her cheek. Her fingers moved instantly to her sore flesh. She realized somewhere in a far corner of her mind that his eyes were picturing a pain deeper than her own. He opened his mouth, an apology forming, but she spoke out first. “I despise you.”

His mouth clamped shut, then opened once more. “Yes, you do make that quite evident.” All the safeguards had slipped over his eyes once more. He spoke again with bitter mockery. “I do apologize. That was unforgivable.” He turned, only to halt immediately.

Sergei Alexandrovich was standing in the open doorway. How much he had heard or seen was impossible to fathom.

Erin felt her entire body tense, and she realized she was holding a weak breath. But for his own reasons, Sergei seemed determined to ease the situation, pretending he had walked in on nothing.

“Good morning, good morning! Erin, you are truly a delight among women. Beautiful even in dawn’s dishabille!” He caught and kissed her hand. “I’m glad to see you awake, my dear. I would like to request your company for luncheon, after I see this husband of yours off at the airport. Would that be convenient to your plans?”

She couldn’t seem to speak. It was all too ridiculous. She and Jarod were both wearing the red marks of one another’s hands and now this Russian was charmingly asking her out to lunch after probably having heard her taunting Jarod with degradations aimed at his associations with the Russians. On top of all that, she had just been told she would be lugged back in if she attempted to leave the apartment. She should tell Sergei that, Erin thought. I’m so sorry, Mr. Alexandrovich, my husband doesn’t allow me out of the apartment, and I really didn’t mean all those things I said, about Jarod, or in general. You’re a very nice man, Mr. Alexandrovich. And Tanya is lovely. I know that there are wonderful Soviet people.

Her thoughts were racing, but all she could actually manage as an answer was an “Ahh … ahhh …” And to her ultimate self-disgust, she found herself looking to her husband for guidance.

“Go to lunch with Sergei,” Jarod said. “He’ll see you home safely.” He addressed the other man. “We’d better go. I don’t want to miss this flight.”

Jarod made no pretense at kissing her good-bye, Sergei spoke to her gently, then both men were gone. The door was closed.

Erin stared at the closed door numbly for several seconds. Then she sank to the floor and sat there and cried.

She wore a cape suit to have lunch with Sergei. It was both proper and conservative and yet eye-catchingly fashionable. That had been one of the differences she had noticed in the U.S.S.R.: the clothing worn was much more drab than that worn in the U.S. She wanted to dress to please the Russian man, and she felt she had done just that with a perfect compromise between attractiveness and utility.

She had wondered a bit bitterly why Jarod had been unconcerned about handing her over to Sergei when he had—in no uncertain terms—restricted her from the company of a fellow American. But she had to admit that she didn’t object to Sergei. He was constantly charming, and although she knew she would be a fool to think him any less intense than Jarod, she also felt an instinctive trust.

She was a bit mortified over the scene he had witnessed, but she was also eager to get away from the apartment, and she was very eager to quiz Sergei. Perhaps she could draw some of the answers from him that Jarod refused to give her.

Erin was glad she had showered and dressed as soon as she had managed to pick herself up from the floor, because Sergei returned promptly at eleven. He complimented her on her appearance with both words and sparkling eyes, then ushered her into his car.

“Where are we going?” Erin asked.

He smiled. “Leningrad.”

“Leningrad?” Erin gasped.

“Umm. Don’t worry, Mrs. Steele. I am not planning a clash with your husband. I shall never tell him about our little trip—we shall keep it a secret.”

Thoroughly confused, Erin began to stammer. “But Sergei—I can’t go to Leningrad! I wind up in trouble every time I move! I don’t dare try to hop a flight—”

“We won’t be hopping a flight—we will be taking my plane. And unless you step on a guard’s foot at the Hermitage, it will be impossible for you to get into trouble in my company.”

This was crazy, Erin thought. She had no good reason to trust a Russian, but she did. And suddenly she was laughing. “Don’t ever tell that one to Jarod—he would be convinced that I would manage to step on a guard’s foot!” She sobered. “Sergei, I don’t get this. We’re going to take your private plane and fly to Leningrad. Why?”

Sergei glanced at her with an easy grin and then returned his gaze to the road. “Because I think you have a few questions you wish to have answered. If I am going to answer them, I wish to do so correctly. So if you will bear with an eccentric man, you will return home this evening a far wiser woman.”

He was a conspirator, Erin realized. Why? She sighed. Apparently she would discover soon enough. She fell silent for a moment and then asked, “Sergei?”