Smoke and Mirrors (18 page)

Chapter Thirteen

It struck her, when she finally got back to her uncle’s apartment, that it was as well she’d set no time limit on her trip to Zavrekestan. She’d just wasted four days on a useless journey to the inn and back, and now she was so knackered she could barely direct herself to bed, never mind control the dreams.

At least she did dream of the children most nights—pretty much exactly the same dream she’d had before. Only when she awoke back in her uncle’s apartment did this begin to bother her.

Why did she only see them in this attic? Unless this was the only future they had.

She spent the following day quietly with her aunt and cousins, doing a little shopping and sightseeing, and found herself growing increasingly fond of her mother’s family. So when Sonya invited her to go on a night out with her and her friends, she agreed—with the stipulation that she couldn’t stay out late. She wanted to prepare for dreaming before she was too tired to concentrate. Somehow, she had to give those children the chance of a different future.

Sonya’s friends were young, friendly, and fun, if a little too image-conscious for Nell’s comfort. She wore the only dress she’d brought with her: the proverbial little black number that could be dressed up or down—and since she had no real idea what kind of places they’d be going to, she added a long linen cardigan that could be discarded or not, according to location. Her companions were much more imaginatively dressed in layers and straps and areas of bare skin that defied the Zavrekestan spring chills. Although much of their clothing was black, their hair and makeup covered a startling variety of eye-catching colours.

They were very interested in western fashions, and for a while, in the noisy, trendy bar, Nell did her best to answer their flow of questions, although in the end she threw up her hands and confessed, “Guys, I honestly don’t know! I spend my days in front of a computer, writing and translating. Young fashion passes me by.”

But this too seemed to make her cool. They were flatteringly interested in her writing, and Sonya produced her book for their admiration. Slightly embarrassed, Nell watched them pass it around and answered their questions on that too. At the next table, a man of around her own age in a blue T-shirt looked on with interest. He appeared about as out of place as Nell, since everyone else in the bar seemed to be under twenty. His gaze flickered to hers, and, instead of looking away, he inclined his head very slightly.

Nell looked quickly away, as though she hadn’t noticed. Was he just trying to pick her up, or did he have a more sinister purpose?

“Want to show me a different bar?” she said to Sonya.

They took her to a traditional tavern where they sold only vodka and beer. The music here was traditional and played so quietly that Nell’s ears still sang from the previous bar.

And it quite suddenly struck Nell that in all her dreams of the imprisoned children, there had always been music with a relentless beat. To drown their cries? Or was their attic near a nightclub?

Sonya said casually, “So if I went to a university in the UK, which do you think would be best?”

“Depends what you want to study,” Nell said vaguely. “What do your parents think?”

Sonya wrinkled her nose. “They think if I leave Zavrekestan, I won’t come back.”

“And will you?”

“Sure. I just thought they might be more okay with it if I went somewhere near you. You know, a family connection? Maybe you could talk to them?”

With an effort, Nell focused. “I’ll try,” she said. “So where’s the best nightclub in the city?”

“Round the corner. The Cat’s Eye. It’s expensive, though.”

“My treat,” Nell said lightly.

As they walked along the road, she glanced back over her shoulder. A man had stuck his head around the pub door as if looking for someone inside. He wore a leather jacket, but under it, Nell thought she glimpsed a blue T-shirt.

She walked faster, and Sonya’s crowd walked with her. After this, she thought grimly, it would be time to go home.

Who was that guy? Was he something to do with her search for Rodion? Or a secret policeman watching the foreigner? Zavrekestan still only played at freedom and democracy; in reality, old habits died hard.

The back of her neck prickled as she entered the nightclub—which turned out to be in the bottom left corner of a massive, tall, Victorian building that took up the entire block—and gave up her coat and cardigan. It cost her not to keep looking over her shoulder as she entered the main area, which consisted of a huge, tiled dance floor surrounded by tables and booths, with a long bar running the length of one side. The décor and the staff clothing all bore witness to themes of cats and eyes. There were flashing laser beams and projections of the dancers on one wall.

A knot of alarm as well as excitement formed in Nell’s stomach.

****

The nightclub had a different entrance from the apartments above it. Rodion wondered how much rent the poor bastards had to pay. Judging by the noise in the stairwell to the apartments, there was no soundproofing to speak of. The nightclub belonged to the Bear, so the private apartments, including the attic flat, were probably owned by him too. He probably rented the apartments to his staff, so it was a prime location to keep the treasure hidden from all except his own goons.

Except there were no security cameras, no extra locks, and Rodion doubted the Bear would sacrifice security just for appearance. Too risky. And yet…his nerves were jingling. He had to be close.

At the bottom of the stairs, he let himself out of the security door, which he’d picked the old-fashioned way to get in, and froze, half in, half out of the doorway.

Nell stood on the step of the nightclub, glancing casually over her shoulder. At least, it probably looked casual to the kids she was with—a bunch of young people in their late teens—but her shoulders were tense, almost rigid as she walked inside the club.

Rodion stepped onto the pavement and let the door fall closed behind him. He leaned against it—largely to avoid the security camera outside the club—got out his mobile phone, and pressed a lot of keys. A few more young people, ebullient and loud, went into the club. A slightly older couple walked in, hand in hand. A taxi spilled out another group. And a solitary man who’d been strolling along the street from the direction of Nell’s backward glance walked in behind them, smiling as if he were part of the crowd.

At the last moment before he disappeared inside, Rodion took his photograph on the phone. It was a side shot, with the man’s face half averted, but he sent it to Ilya anyway. Then he went inside and paid.

Rodion knew he was not an unmemorable man, and he’d learned long ago to use shadows. In a place like this, with dim, flashing lighting, it was easy to move unseen and all-seeing. He located Nell almost at once, sitting in a booth in earnest conversation with one of the younger girls. Family, he guessed, by the subtle similarities in bone structure and the shapes of their mouths. The rest of their group was dancing.

He allowed himself a moment to drink her in, to relearn the contours of her quirky yet beautiful face. If she was wearing makeup, it was so light as to be invisible in this ever-changing lighting. She had her hair tied up in the same elegant, sexy style as when he’d first met her, and she wore a simple, chic black dress that hugged her curves and emphasised the beauty of her neck and clavicles.

Fuck, yes, Nell’s curves under his hands, melded to his body in writhing, eager passion. She did something to him, this girl. A month and a thousand miles or so made no difference to that.

And she was dreaming of his treasure, according to Nikolai. Had she really come all this way just to help him? Killing two birds with one stone, perhaps, renewing family ties at the same time. Perhaps exploring the gifts she’d denied all her life. It made sense. And yet…

Keeping her in sight, he moved toward the bar and scanned the crowds for the man in the leather jacket and blue shirt who’d tried to pretend he wasn’t on his own. He was now, seated on a stool at the far end of the bar, from where he had a direct view of Nell’s booth.

Rodion bought a beer and watched him. He wasn’t just watching Nell. He was scanning the crowds too, as though looking for someone else. Backup? Or him?

Nell and the girl with her stood up and went to join their friends on the dance floor. Although the man in the blue T-shirt shifted his stool and leaned back against the bar for a better view, he came no closer.

Rodion took his beer and toured the shadows of the dance-floor perimeter. He could spot no obvious backup for the watcher and no one from his own past. Not even the drug dealer drifting from group to group, making assignations and passing the odd packet under the table.

Nell’s group of dancers expanded, as was the way of these affairs, to include strangers on interminable quests for partners. Nell danced much as he’d imagined she would, the way she did everything physical—with grace and awareness, more elegance than she knew, and a subtle dollop of inhibition. Nell always held something back. Even when he’d made love to her, he’d been aware there was more passion locked inside. And yet he could swear he’d been closer than anyone. At her most vulnerable moments, there had been a wonder in her caresses, in her joyful responses to his. Remembering made him hard. This was not the place for the sweet distraction of lust. Not even for her.

Rodion set down his beer on an empty table and drifted onto the dance floor, moving with care to keep himself out of the watcher’s line of vision while still observing him. While Rodion circled closer, Nell danced with a few men, never for long. She wasn’t here to find a holiday romance or even a one-night stand. He was fairly sure she didn’t do those. Except with him.

The music changed from manic to slow. Nell gave a dismissive smile to her current partner and touched the girl next to her on the shoulder. She said something in her ear, and Rodion moved closer, keeping his back to the watcher. Nell turned away from the girl straight into his arms.

****

Too stunned to move, she stared up at him. Rodion Kosar in his unique fiery aura, blue jeans, and a long, dark coat, staring right at her. His hands rested lightly on her waist, and his hard blue eyes bored into hers.

Her lips parted, trying to say his name.

“Hello,” he said, before any sound came out of her mouth.

God, she’d almost forgotten what that voice did to her insides, even with one barely audible word. She swallowed. “Hello.”

He leaned closer, speaking into her ear. “You have a tail, and we haven’t got long.”

Every nerve shrieked in awareness. It wasn’t just fear of being followed that caught at her breath. She stood on tiptoe, lifted her lips closer to his ear. “Is he wearing a blue T-shirt and a leather jacket?”

“Friend of yours?” His hands slid around her back, holding her loosely as she drew back, and began to sway.

She shook her head, remembering to dance with him, to match the subtle movement of his body. She laid her hands on his upper arms and tried to think of something clever to say, but all that came out in a whisper was, “You’re not dead.”

“Not yet,” he agreed. Inexorably, he drew her closer. She could feel his body heat through his shirt and jeans, and yet she wasn’t quite touching him. His face, the face that haunted her waking dreams as well as her sleeping ones, was a bare inch away from hers. Her body followed his lead blindly.

He said, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“I dreamed about the ch—your treasure,” she blurted, “and I knew you hadn’t found them. I want to help.”

He didn’t reply, just looked beyond her, searching, while his hips swayed, brushing against hers. His head bent farther, and her stomach lurched and dived as he turned her, dancing. Dancing and observing. Her skin pricked with fear for him, for both of them, and yet even that was mixed with lust. And disappointment because she didn’t have his undivided attention.

“What brought you here?” he murmured. “To this club?”

“Music,” she said, and his eyes came back to her. “There’s always music in the dreams. Why didn’t you say good-bye, you bastard?”

For the first time, a flash of slightly distracted amusement flitted across his face. “Sorry. I was just burning to be gone.” The half-smile lingered on his lips. “You brought Marenko down for me.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Anna killed him.”

“Are they here?” she whispered.

He shook his head, turning her some more. “Our man is moving. And our time is nearly up.”

“Already?” she said, dismayed. She tightened her grip on his arms as if preventing his disappearance. It brought her instinctively closer, and her hips fitted against his body, still swaying. His erection pressed into her stomach, and triumph soared. She might not have his full attention, but he wanted her
that
much.

His eyes returned to hers, and he stepped forward, backing her into a pillar. “There’s time for a kiss,” he murmured. “But not, alas, for a fuck.”

“Bastard,” she whispered, and his mouth smiled as it came down on hers.

The butterflies exploded in her stomach. His mouth and his body caressed her, pinning her to the pillar, and she wanted sex with him so much that if only he’d stayed another minute, she’d have come, just from his kiss and the pressure of his bulging erection stroking between her thighs.

But he didn’t stay. He left her so suddenly her mouth remained open as if she were catching flies. She caught a glimpse of his coat vanishing round a group of dancers, a glimmer of his blond head under the beam of a laser as he melted into the shadows. She shut her mouth and moved shakily back to the table where she knocked back the rest of her vodka. It was the first drink she’d finished all night.

“There you are,” Sonya shouted over the din of the music as she came up to the table. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. But I think I’ll head back now. Are your parents all right about you coming home by yourself?”

Sonya grinned. “I won’t
be
by myself. We’ll all share a taxi home. We do it all the time.”