Wiser Than Serpents (16 page)

“No,” she said, pulling away. “I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you. That I took off. That I didn’t listen to you.”

He touched her cheek, ran his thumb along her chin. His eyes fixed on hers, and her breath clogged in her chest. She traced his face, and remembered, oh, how she remembered, what it felt like to be in his arms, kissing him with everything she felt inside. Probably she betrayed that memory in her captured breath. And maybe even he was there, too, in the past, because he swallowed and his jaw tightened. “I forgive you, Yanna. After all, what are friends for.”

He let her go. “Get on. I’m going to call Roman.”

She tried not to show her disappointment as she climbed on behind him. For a wild second, she’d hoped that maybe the concern in his eyes was more than simply concern. That he still loved her like he had years ago.

But maybe he hadn’t really loved her then, either. Distracting, he’d called her.

As in, distracting him from what he really should be doing—saving the world.

In fact, it was worse than that. Regardless of what language was spoken, “friends,” meant “just friends.”

“Here’s hoping my new phone has an international calling plan.” He dialed Roman’s number and she wondered at how he had it committed to memory. How many times did he call Roman, really? Because, and she shouldn’t forget, Roman was David’s
friend,
too.

“You’re not going to believe where I am,” David said into the phone. “Or who I have with me.”

Yanna sighed, closed her eyes.

“You’re kidding,” David said with a laugh that Yanna couldn’t interpret. “Then I guess I don’t have to kill you. Now, tell me you have someplace safe for Yanna and me to hide.”

“Apparently, one of us is a righteous man, because our prayers have been heard and answered, my friend,” Roman said, snapping the phone shut. “You’ll never guess who that was.”

Vicktor stood away from where he’d been holding up the wall in the passport-control office, showing Elena and Yanna’s pictures to various control agents. So far, they’d had no hits, but with the traffic that came through in a twenty-four-hour period, no surprise there. They did confirm, however, that both Elena and “Olga” had entered Taiwan.

And vanished, of course.

Until…now? “I’m tired, Roman. Too tired for games.” Vicktor desperately wanted to talk to Gracie. He kept looking at the clock, wanting to wait until at least six in the morning before he woke her. But everything inside screamed to call her now, just to hear her voice.

Just to tell her that he loved her, too. And that he’d back off. But calling at four in the morning certainly would communicate “giving you space” loud and clear, wouldn’t it?

He hated time zones and distance and even, at the moment, his cell phone.

“That was David,” Roman said.

“You’re kidding me.”

Roman stood and turned his attention to the director of passport control, who’d had an eagle eye on them for the past two hours. “We found her,” he said, reaching out his hand. “Thank you.”

“We
found
her?” Vicktor eyed Roman who shot him a smile. He followed Roman out of the office. “We found her?”

Roman headed into the lobby. “I gotta make a few calls.”

Vicktor grabbed him up by the jacket. “You’re going to have to fill in the blanks for me, Roma.”

Roman dialed, held the phone up to his ear. “I don’t know how David got into all of this, but he has Yanna. And needs a safe spot to stay while he—
Zdrasvootya,
it’s Roman. Can I talk to Pastor Yee?”

Vicktor moved away while Roman waited, lifting his own cell out of his pocket. He plugged in Gracie’s speed-dial number, waited. Then, couldn’t stand it and pressed Send.

The phone took an eternity to connect. Vicktor closed his eyes, imagining Gracie turning on her bedside light, groping for the phone. Maybe hitting it and it falling onto the floor. He smiled at the image of the woman he loved all tousle haired and sleepy eyed—he couldn’t wait until they were married and he woke up every day to that. The phone rang once and clicked over to voice mail. Vicktor hung up, then pressed redial. Maybe she was on the other line.

Voice mail, again. Vicktor shot a look at Roman. He was off the phone. No, redialing. Roman looked at him, grinned, as if amused.

Vicktor didn’t see the humor. Roman’s girlfriend lived in Russia, where he could see her every day. It was true that Vicktor did let his everyday life spill out into his worst nightmares. It was hardly likely that Gracie, safe, conservative Gracie was going to get into trouble of the sort he saw every day. Maybe, occasionally, she’d lock her keys in her car, but the girl he knew and loved didn’t go looking for trouble.

Even if she found it more often than most—which gave him enough reason to worry. She didn’t deliberately put herself in danger, however. A girl who had stared death by serial killer in the face and won didn’t take risks with her life.

Which meant that when her phone shifted over to voice mail the third time, he opted not to say any of the crazy things that had plagued him, simply hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Roman motioned him over and, by the time he joined him, Roman was thanking whoever was on the other line. He snapped his phone closed. “Okay, Yanna is headed to a friend’s house, courtesy of my Chinese friends at church. Apparently, they have members who have cousins in Taichung. She can land there and we’ll go pick her up. Meanwhile, that name you gave me earlier has been bugging me, so I called a pal back at HQ who looked it up.” Roman glanced outside. “Did you get a hold of Gracie?”

“No.” Vicktor gave him a smile that said,
So what, yes, I called her.

“Call her back. That guy, Sokolov, that name is familiar. There’s a mob boss out of Seattle who’s on our radar. He makes trips in and out of Russia to see so-called family. He’s been on international watch lists for years—for human trafficking, child pornography, the works. He’s got family everywhere, especially in the big Russian hubs—Florida and New York. Seattle.” Roman shrugged, but his eyes didn’t match the no-big-deal body posture. “Tell her to steer clear.”

Vicktor pulled out his phone, wrapped his hand around it, and that old, painful feeling returned to the center of his chest. The one that said,
You idiot, why aren’t you married already?
He opened the phone and hit Redial, glancing at Roman. “I’m going to find myself the next flight out of Taiwan for America.”

“Viktor, you can’t just get on a plane—”

“I’m going to America, Roman. Today.”

Was it so much to ask that his son obey him? Kwan rose from the pool in the private room of the Ming Shan spa, the room so filled with steam from the natural spring, it seemed to seep into his lungs, his eyes. As he rose, dripping from the square, tile-lined pool, his skin barely recognized the difference between water and the humid air. A towel, slightly damp, lay folded on the floor, next to the bucket he’d used to wash himself. As he sat on the edge, exhaustion wrung him out, the water sapping his strength.

Or perhaps he should blame his fatigue on his son’s failure, again. The fact that yet again, he’d put them all at risk. He couldn’t believe that twice now, Curtiss had gotten away, and this time, with a Russian spy who could only put a snarl into his operations.

Kwan picked up the towel, wiped his face, then his hair. Out of all the Asian customs, this treasure nestled in the Taiwanese mountains, used in secret by people of his position, ministered to him the most.

That, and the masseuse waiting in the next room, hopefully with a tray of sea bass baked in lemon sauce. He stood, wrapping the towel around his waist.

The woman in the next room stood beside the door, her head bowed, waiting.

He smiled, but his attention cut to his cell phone, vibrating in his pants pocket, folded over the chair. Debating a moment, he wrestled it out of the pocket.

“I thought I told you not to call me on your—”

“This isn’t my phone. It’s safe.”

“You’re a fool if you belie—”

“Father—”

He gritted his chin against the Mandarin—why had he spent years teaching the boy English if he planned on never using it?

“I only want to know that our problem has been taken care of. No more mistakes.”

Silence. Then, “He got away from the safe house. But I found a way to find—”

“Finish it. And then I will talk to you.” He hung up, turned his phone off.

Tough love—wasn’t that what they called it in America? Thankfully, his other son, the one stationed on the other side of the ocean, understood the importance of obedience. He was a son a man could count on.

He slid the phone back into his pants pocket, next to his diplomatic pass, and smiled at the woman waiting to ease from him the stress of his position. Obedience, was that so impossible?

D
avid had very few dreams. He had goals—like fix up the 1967 Mustang in his storage unit, or learn to paraglide, but the dreams, the ones he’d sacrificed a decade ago when he signed on the dotted line committing his life to Uncle Sam, he rarely even took out to regret. He liked his life, the challenges, the travel, even the friends. It suited him.

Or had. Until lately. Until his friends had started getting married and he was the guy at the party petting the dog, or seated next to the other single person in the room. Until he preferred to spend his Friday nights at home, with his laptop computer, connected to a chat room with Volleygirl on the other end. And until he walked downstairs into the kitchen of the simple Taiwanese three-story home Roman had directed them to last night and saw Yanna in the kitchen, apron around her waist.

Cooking.

Cooking?

David stopped on the stairs before she could see him, and just watched. He had to admit surprise last night when, after Roman had called him back and sent him to an address in Taichung, his knock at the door had opened to a Chinese man…and an American woman. Cho Yung had married Trish, a student from Taiwan University, and settled down to teach English as a second language to the students in Cho’s church where he was a pastor.

David had a long moment of misgiving when he saw Trish’s slightly rounded belly. He’d stood on the stoop, flicked off the overhead light that Cho had turned on and asked, “Did Roman tell you—”

“You’re safe here, under God’s watch,” Cho had said, and touched his elbow. “Come inside. We’re happy to help a brother.”

Oh. Something full and overwhelming had filled David’s chest at that—he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to be among people who thought like he did. He’d been sniffing around the scum of the world for so long, blending in, watching them prosper, his frustration tightening like a noose around his neck. The feeling of fresh air seemed to almost hurt.

Still, he had drunk it in. Especially as he’d watched Trish welcome Yanna, lead her upstairs to draw her a bath, and give her all those girly things a woman needed.

It surprised him how much Yanna had taken to Trish and her ministrations. As if, perhaps, Yanna wasn’t beyond mothering, or perhaps in this case, sistering. Possibly, he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

Or maybe he only looked at the things he wanted to see. Because if he thought of Yanna as a woman, sweet-smelling, soft and gentle, well, there went another layer of defenses.

Which was why, as he stood in the stairwell, spying on Yanna as she made…pancakes, it shook him right to his core.

She looked good,
really
good. Fresh and clean, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting her regal face, and those pretty dark eyes that could swallow him whole. Like they nearly had last night in the candlelight. He’d come so close, again, to forgetting why they were here….

Until he remembered that she’d nearly been killed. And then it rushed back to him, and all he could think about was keeping her safe. He had to wonder at God’s timing that Roman might be in Taiwan, armed with hints to help him accomplish the keeping-her-safe part. The only reason David let himself step over the threshold into the Yungs’ home was that he felt pretty sure Bruce, and thereby, Kwan, didn’t know the Yungs, or even that David and Yanna might still be alive. Yet.

At least David had found the mole. Because if he did the math, only Bruce had known—twice now—where David would be. Only Bruce had known that he’d be meeting Kwan.

Fool him once, shame on Bruce. Fool him twice, well…somewhere in David’s list of things to do was to have another face-to-face with Bruce and make him
painfully
aware of everything he’d nearly cost them.

Yanna looked at Trish and laughed at something she said, her face lighting up, her eyes twinkling. It made a sort of explosion in his chest, and he had to ease back into the shadows lest he make a fool of himself by breaking into tears.

In every buried dream, every unlikely Norman Rockwell photo, Yanna was always front and center. And for that very reason, David had stopped dreaming.

Why bother trying to find it with someone else, when it would only be a sorry substitute? He was a one-woman man. He’d known it for years, and watching her in the orange apron as she poured batter into a pan only confirmed it. No, he didn’t want a housewife, but seeing her had him conjuring up two little dark-haired boys hanging on her apron strings.

“You okay, pal?”

The voice, coming from above him, made him jerk. David looked up, and yes, he must be dreaming, because there was Roman, sitting on the top steps, giving him a small shake of his head.

Of course, his voice made Yanna look up, but David ducked up the stairs and into the relative safety of the next flight. “Shh. You trying to get me busted?”

Roman grinned, but it wasn’t a grin of triumph. He, better than anyone, knew about unrequited love. Only, his love had finally been returned. While David’s…

He shoved those dreams right back where they belonged, in never-never land.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes. When did you get here?”

“This morning. Early. Took a bus from Taipei. Vicktor’s in the shower.”