Touch of Darkness (19 page)

Tasya didn't stir, didn't take her gaze away from the tapestry. Speaking in a voice so low, he almost didn't hear her, she said, "Ruyshvania. The nunnery is in Ruyshvania." She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead. "I have to go back to Ruyshvania."

Chapter 18

Tasya pulled herself together; she didn't think Rurik noticed her small panic attack in front of the tapestry. He didn't say anything, anyway. Instead he briskly arranged their travel schedule.

Rent a car. Drive it to Vienna. Arrive in the late afternoon. Wait four hours for the night train from Vienna to the town of Capraru in Ruyshvania. Shop while they wait.

By the time Tasya settled in the private compartment on the night train, she had a whole new persona. She wore makeup, an expensive pair of jeans, black boots, and a white button-up shirt belted at the waist. The entire studiedly casual ensemble cost more than her camera, and the conductor on the train had bowed and scraped as he saw them to their car.

What did she expect? This was Europe. They wor-shipped fashion.

Although Rurik had also bought a new shirt, he still wore that long leather duster.

He said he liked it because it gave him anonymity.

She thought he liked it because it hid the variety Of weapons she now knew he carried.

As they pulled out of the station, he said, "I'm going to walk the train. Do you want anything?"

"Walk the train. Is that a euphemism for look for trouble?" He didn't answer, nor did he invite her to come along. She'd already figured out he liked to patrol on his own.

"A glass of wine would be nice," she said. "Maybe even a bottle."

He put his hands on either side of her, leaned down close. "The tension gets to you after a while, doesn't it?"

The tension? It wasn't the tension that had got to her. It was their destination. She couldn't believe . . . well, of course, she could. No one knew better that fate was a bitch who always demanded payment.

Rather than answer him, Tasya placed her hand on his cheek and kissed his mouth. "Be careful."

"Always." He kissed her back, his lips lingering, then straightened. "And you lock the door behind me."

She did. She took the opportunity of privacy to shower in their tiny private bathroom and, with a sigh, put her clothes back on sans belt.

Usually she liked to travel, and travel light. But it seemed every leg of this trip involved another disguise—and another revelation. She wanted noth-ing more than to go home
to,
the States, to her spare apartment, and veg out on the couch, television blar- ing, remote control in hand, and try to remember who she was.

Or was that—who she had taught herself to be? When she came out, clean and damp, Rurik was back in the room. Their dinner waited on the miniature drop-down table covered with a white table- cloth, the requested bottle of wine uncorked and breathing.

At the sight of her, his brandy-colored eyes warmed as if heated by a flame.

Oh, yes. The man had plans. Plans to torment her some more? Plans to make her the happiest woman in the world?

How did she feel about that? She didn't know. If he was less intense ... if this train were headed somewhere else . . . Yeah. If.

So a purposely casual Tasya brushed at the wrinkles where the belt had sat, and asked, "No trouble?"

"Not a sign. Let me wash up, and we'll eat."

"Right," she said to the closed bathroom door.

When he came out, his hair was wet and his face was damp. "I didn't see a Varinski on the train."

He was buttoning his new shirt over his broad chest, and she wanted to whimper as she watched. The man must work out all the time, to have sculpted those pecs—she straightened, riveted by a knife wound that ran eight inches across the right side of his chest, ripping through his tattoo, shredding his skin.

He continued. "I think we lost them in—"

"What happened to you?" She stood, pushed his hands away, and parted his shirt. The wound looked red, sore, and fresh. "You've been in a fight."

"It's nothing."

"A Varinski."

He paused, then inclined his head.

She put the pieces of the puzzle together. "On the ferry. You killed him."

"Yes."

"Varinskis are supposed to be indestructible."

"I can kill them."

"I know it's a myth," she said impatiently, "but I figured they were good fighters."

"They are. So far, I'm better."

She lightly touched the skin around the cut. "I'm pretty good with first aid. Do you want me to—"

"It'll heal."

"It's deep. You should have had it stitched."

"I promise it's fine. I have a very fast metabolism."

"At least tell me you're up on your tetanus shots."

He caught her hand and pressed it to his heart.

The steady beat warmed her palm.

But Tasya couldn't ignore the proof, right before her eyes, that Rurik was willing to put himself in danger for her. "First the explosion, then you're al- most killed. 1 shouldn't have dragged you into this."

"Sit down." He ushered her into her seat. "Relax." He poured the glass full of shimmering red wine and handed it to her. "You didn't drag me into it. Have you not thought that the Varinskis want the icon destroyed, and that's why they bombed the excavation?"

"That's true." She took a sip, and the depth and richness of the vintage warmed her. "But that would be mission accomplished. Why are they still chasing us? You should let me go on by myself."

"I'm not leaving you."

Her heart, her stupid heart, made a bound of rapturous pleasure.

"It was my site, and that's my icon," he added,
and pulled the covers off the plates. "The steward said this is spaetzle with cheese, whatever that is. It smells great." He picked up his fork and dug in.

She watched him.

She didn't believe him. She didn't believe any
human being would risk death for what he called
a
Hershey bar.

He was doing it for her. To keep her safe.

She had to tell him the truth.

She owed him the truth.

Chapter 19

Tasya ate. She finished her wine. She waited until he was done.

Then she said, "The Varinskis killed my parents."

Rurik heard the words—and rejected them. It was impossible. The kind of tragedy too hellish to imagine.

But Tasya seemed oblivious to his horror. She recited the events calmly, as if the drug of time insulated her from the pain. "They came in the night. My mother picked me up out of my bed. She handed me to Miss Landau, my governess. She kissed me goodbye. I saw my father getting out his guns. He kissed me, too, as he handed my mother a rifle." Tasya took a long breath. "That was the last time I saw them."

Rurik had so many questions to ask . .. but first he wanted to shake his fist at the sky and howl in fury.

He understood now, understood only too well.

Now he knew why she was so strong, so resilient, and so admirable in all the ways he thought were important.

Now he understood why they could never be logether.

"The Varinskis . , . of course. It would be Varinskis." He laughed shortly and without humor. "Those bastards."

What evil fate had thrown them together? The night he'd made love to her was the first night in five years he'd been happy.

"Bastards, for sure. Bastards for generations." Tasya faced Rurik across the table, and with fierce scorn said, "Men who turn into predators. Oh, please! I visited the Ukraine, and I swear, they've got everyone believing this stuff."

"You went to the
Ukraine?
Are you
crazy?"
He shouldn't shout. He would not shout. "If they had discovered you were alive and had escaped them—"

"I know. I know." She waved a dismissive hand. "But I didn't understand the danger then."

"That wouldn't have saved you." He might never have met her.

"I'm pretty sure they don't know I'm alive, or Miss Landau wouldn't have fled with me in the first place."

"That's right." He leaned back against the seat. "You're right."

"In the Ukraine, it doesn't matter what the Varinskis do—kill, kidnap, torture, rape—no one touches them. They never go to jail. They're never brought to trial. They live in this compound—it's a guy's paradise."

"You went to their compound." He closed his eyes, trying to block out the knowledge of what could have happened.

"I drove by."

"How often?"

"Often enough to get some pictures taken."

"You stopped and took pictures." He could scarcely believe the depths of her foolishness—or the extent of her luck.

"I am a photographer." She acted as if that was the most normal thing in the world. "There are these cars they're working on sitting around with the hoods up, and the ones they've abandoned that are rusting. The grass grows every summer and no one cuts it. The house is unpainted. When they need extra room, they simply tack on some ridiculous-looking addition. And do you know what they have by the gate?"

"A place for the women who were impregnated by a Varinski to leave their infant sons. They ring a bell and run, and the Varinskis take the child in and celebrate the birth of a new demon."

"You know a lot about them."

"Yes. I do."
You have no idea.

"Then tell me this. How have they managed to perpetuate this atmosphere of terror all these years?" "They have a firm grip on the local imagination." He couldn't sit there and look her in the eye any longer. He stood and rang for the porter, then piled the dishes onto the tray.

"They're extortionists. They're murderers. They're kidnappers." She was coldly furious. "They're an affront to civilization, and it's time for it to stop."

"I agree, and I intend to do everything in my power to stop them." For more reasons than she knew. "But I can't do anything right now, and I've got questions." He removed the tablecloth and pushed the table up into the wall. "The Varinskis don't kill for free. Who were your parents? Who wanted them dead?"

"What did I know? 1 was four." She shrugged. "You're a reporter. You've looked into the records. What did the police say about the attack? Who did they blame?"

"The police report blamed my parents. They said it was a murder/suicide, and that my father torched the house before he killed himself."

"That's a good, standard story. The Varinskis are fond of that one. What about your governess? Where is she now?"

"I don't know. Pardon me for being uninterested
in finding Miss Landau." Tasya stood as if she wanted to pace, realized there was no room, then sat' back down again. "She took me away. She put me in foster care. And she disappeared. I find being abandoned makes me bitter."

Someone knocked on the door. Rurik checked the peephole, then let the porter in. He took the tray; Rurik tipped him, shut and locked the door, and turned back to Tasya. "You weren't abandoned. She took you to safety and for whatever reason—fear of the Varinskis, probably, but maybe the fear you'd be easier to trace if she was with you—gave you over to foster care. If she had put you down outside your house and left you for the Varinskis to find and kill, then you'd have cause for a grudge."