Wiser Than Serpents (18 page)

“If this goes south, you have my permission to beat the stuffing out of me.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Roman said. “Yanna, can you hear me?”

“Everyone calm down,” she whispered. Her voice reverberated through the cell-phone speaker. “We’re in, and being seated.” They heard her interact with the reception staff, sit down, heard the waitress hand her menus. David had been inside a teahouse once on this op. He knew they could be upscale places with Oriental music and hundreds of different teas served in individual pots. Personally, his taste buds had been so hardened by gut-rot coffee he didn’t understand the fascination.

He heard Trish and Yanna putting in their orders.

“I hate myself,” David whispered.

“She’ll be fine,” Roman whispered back, his hand over his mic. “You forget that she is a trained agent. She really can handle herself.”

Roman’s words held resonance only in the fact that the gizmos that allowed them to talk to Yanna had been created by Yanna herself from parts she’d found at the market—cell phones, some wax, wire and lots of creativity. Yeah, she’d earned David’s respect.

But respect wasn’t the issue here.

“It only takes one second, the wrong place, the wrong time.”

David shoved his hands through his hair, which thankfully, he’d gone ahead and cut short and dyed back to its natural blond color. At least when he looked in the mirror he wouldn’t hate the face looking back. Well, not if everything went well.

He might still have that urge. “I can’t erase the moment from my mind when I saw her sitting on Kwan’s boat, looking up at me, as if I might let Kwan kill her.” He sucked back the emotion that threatened to enter his voice. “I was…scared.”

He looked at Roman, but his friend didn’t meet his gaze, just stared at the salon.

“It’s no secret how you feel about her, David. We all know that.”

He froze. “She knows that?”

“Not unless you told her.” Roman looked at her. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“You think I want to feel this way? To have her inside my head, inside my heart, right there, reminding me of what we don’t have, what we can’t have? I have tried,
really
tried, to get her out of my system, but it’s like she’s lodged there for all time.”

“You’re still praying for her.”

“Every day.” David couldn’t count how many hours he’d logged on his knees for Yanna, practically begging God to show her how much she needed Him.

“Sometimes, Roma, I’m so close to giving up.” He looked at him. “I have to tell you something, but you cannot say anything. Not one comment. On pain of death.”

Roman looked over at him. “Now you’re scaring me.”

“I mean it.”

David’s throat tightened, no, his entire body tightened. “Remember what happened at the beach, all those years ago?”

Roman nodded.

David looked at him. Raised an eyebrow.

“I’m trying to keep my promise. Yes, I remember.” Then Roman’s face darkened. “You guys didn’t…I mean, I know what a little stress can do to a relationship, but David—”

“I know, Roman.” David scrubbed his hand down his face. “Sometimes I love her so much it just hurts, right here in the center of my chest, and I want to scream. I nearly pointed my scooter north last night, and rode away with her. The urge inside me was so powerful, it scared me. And then in the boat—”

“What happened in the boat,” Roman said softy, the slightest edge of warning in his voice.

“Yeah, the boat. There she was, shivering, and the wind was cold, and she was crying a little.”

“What happened in the boat?”

David looked at him. “It would help if you’d stop jumping to conclusions. Nothing happened. I promise. But not because I didn’t think about it. And that’s the problem. I’m sitting here telling you that, yes, I have issues. I thought this would have been out of my system by now.”

“Because you’re a…man of steel? I mean, I know you’re a superhero and all—”

“Knock it off. I’m as red-blooded as you. But I’m not twenty-one anymore. And I’m past a lot of the temptations I had then. At least I thought so.” He groaned. “Until I see Yanna, and then I’m right back there holding her, and—”

“Okay, we might be bordering on too much information than is good for me.”

“I’m just saying that seeing her makes me hurt, because…” He took a long breath, “The fact is I’d marry her in a second, but I know in my heart I wouldn’t be enough for her. I’d do something stupid, and let her down, and then, she’d see me the same way she saw every other man in her life. The same way she sees God. And I know that would be it. She’d never ever let God into her life. And we’d be separated for all eternity. And that would be far worse than never having her here, on this side of forever.”

He turned back to the teahouse. “But what if, what if she never ever believes? What if I’m wasting all this time for nothing? What if I could be the man for her, and I refuse to be because I’m holding out for something that will never happen?”

The thought of never having her in his arms again, well, he thought he’d resigned himself to that. Or maybe he’d just been fooling himself; otherwise why would he spend every off-duty hour thinking about her, or chatting with her or writing to her…yes, he definitely had been seriously pulling the wool over his eyes, because he still longed for her with every cell in his body.

“But what if you’re right?” Roman said in a whisper. “What if you’re not supposed to be her husband, but be the man who loves her enough to let her go?”

“I think I hate you. You weren’t supposed to speak.”

“On the other hand, what if you’re supposed to be the one who shows her that God is on her side?”

David stilled. “Now you’re just confusing me. And I’m really tired and probably cranky. Are you saying that I should tell her how I feel?”

“Not necessarily. But I am saying that maybe, someday, you should and you will, so don’t give up. And by the way, it’s never a waste of time to pray for someone’s salvation.” Roman looked at him, finally. “Who do you have in heaven to fight your battles?”

David frowned at him. “God.”

“And who on earth?”

“Obviously, God.”

“So, the point is, God is on your side, in heaven, and here. And He knows your heart for Yanna.”

Roman looked back at the building, lowered his voice. “And as for the other thing, you’re not going to fall, David. Because you’re a man of integrity. Of honor. And in your moment, God is not going to forsake you. And He’s not going to forsake Yanna, either.”

Oh, I hope not. Because, God, I long for her even more to know You. To know Your peace. Your healing.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” Yanna said to Trish and the two men in the van, from inside the teahouse.

David watched the building, listening to Yanna as she gave them a play-by-play so softly he had to lean close to hear it. But his own words hung in his mind.

Yanna equated God with men. And she’d never get past what the men in her life had done to her.

Sometimes, it made David want to put his fist through the wall, remembering the stories she’d told him, her knees drawn to her chest, her voice tiny. College had been gentle, he realized, because the real truths, however guarded, came later. Over e-mail. And online chats.

In a way, the Internet had given her a way to share herself without risk.

Now, suddenly, they were face-to-face with that risk. How David wanted to fix it, make her past better, help her see hope. Be the man who didn’t let her down.

But until this moment, he’d forgotten the real danger they faced. Over the Internet he was a name, a friend.

Face-to-face, he was just another man.

Another
disappointing
man.

And although he really wanted to believe Roman’s words about himself, about his integrity, lately, he’d felt himself slipping.

His heart was going first. And after that, well, he didn’t trust himself. Not at all.

“We’re going to find Elena if I have to track Kwan down and pry the information out of him with my bare hands,” David said to no one but himself. And then maybe she’d see that—
please, God—
all men weren’t the same.

In fact, maybe she’d wonder if perhaps she had it all very, very wrong.

A
nd He’s not going to forsake Yanna, either.

Yanna heard Roman’s words, spoken into the cell phone a second before she decided to get up and meander to the back of the teahouse, in so-called search of the restroom.

She wasn’t sure she agreed with him—after all, she had little, if any, proof that God even knew she existed, but somehow those words ignited the dying embers of courage inside her.

Because if God hadn’t forsaken her, in all her doubt and disbelief, then maybe He wouldn’t forsake Elena. She certainly deserved Him. After all, it was Elena who had faith in people.

Then again, look what trouble that sort of naiveté had landed her in.

See, it was a good thing to be a steely-hearted, man-wary,
just-friends
kind of gal.

Yanna rose, smoothed the crop pants that Trish had given her. Although Trish stood a good three inches shorter than Yanna, the pants fit her well, as did Trish’s silky black sleeveless shirt. Yanna felt nearly normal, as if she belonged in this posh teahouse, in this surreal world where women sipped herbal teas while Taiwanese music played and woman talked in Mandarin, probably about their children, their husbands, their homes. Orange sprays of bird-of-paradise flowers and white orchids stood on tall marble pedestals around the room, decorated with busts of Buddha. Their waitress, a woman who looked about a size one, with chopsticks in her hair and a high-cut sleeveless metallic dress, approached, holding a tray. Atop it sat two teapots, each capped with an inverted teacup. She smiled and raised a thin eyebrow as Yanna approached her.

“Restroom?” Yanna asked in Mandarin. The waitress inclined her head and motioned toward the back.

Yanna smiled at her, looked at Trish, who barely raised her eyes to meet hers. But Trish did check her watch. If Yanna didn’t return in five minutes, then she was to simply leave.

Yanna resisted the urge to glance outside, but Roman’s voice in her ear felt strangely reassuring.

“Be careful,” Roman whispered. “No fancy stuff—oy!” From the muffled sounds, some sort of struggle for the mic was happening and she fought to keep her face from betraying the chaos in her ear as she headed back to the bathrooms.

“You see any sign of Kwan and I want you out of there, no hero stuff, you hear me, Yanna?” David had obviously won the battle.

What did he want from her, a
Yes, sir!
right here, in front of all these patrons? “Mmm,” she said.

“I’m serious, I want Kwan as badly as you do—probably worse—and I know you want to find your sister, but I’m not going to lose you.”

She smiled at another waitress. But oh, how she wished those words might be real, and not about her getting in the way of his mission. Because they both knew that as soon as she found Elena, it was back to separate sides of the world and the occasional Friday-night chat—if he was still talking to her.

Another set of rooms angled off through an arched doorway. She glanced back at Trish, and noticed the waitress had left their teapot and vanished. Instead of entering the restrooms, Yanna slid into the adjacent hallway.

A doorway at the end of the hall beckoned, and she opened it.

A closet, filled with table linens and silverware, a broken black wooden chair. She bit back her disappointment, closed it, then returned to the hallway. Another hallway, sectioned off by dangling black beads, hinted at more doors. Passing through the beaded doorway, she continued through the narrow hallway to the end, where she opened another door.

Another closet. Supplies lined the walls, from towels to silverware and dishes. Frustration shot through her as she turned to leave.

Voices entering the hallway stopped her and she shut the door, leaving it ajar only a crack.

Two attendants came down the hall, waitresses carrying tea to the private rooms. They knocked on the doors before they entered. Yanna didn’t want to guess at the activities in those rooms.

“What’s going on, Yanna?”

David’s voice in her head shot a tremor right down to her toes. “Nothing. I’m coming out—wait.”

As she’d turned to open the door, she saw that the closet shelves didn’t extend to the edge of the wall. She closed the door behind her, flicking on the light. Yes, the shelves had stopped, leaving room for a small door. “I found something. A door.”

“Be careful.”

She moved to the door and found that it locked from her side. She unlocked it and, checking to make sure it wouldn’t lock behind her, she opened it.

It led to a cement hallway, a loading zone, really, but cement stairs ran up the back, to another landing.

“I’m going upstairs.”

“Be careful.”

“Will you stop saying that? I’m being careful.”

“I can’t help it. I don’t like this, and I don’t want you—”

“Shh!”

She knew in her brain somewhere that no one could hear him—in fact, she’d tested that fact in Trish’s house, with the earpiece in Trish’s ear and Roman nearly shouting. However, it felt exposing and she didn’t need any distractions as she crept up the back stairs and into another cement hallway. It contained a door, parallel with the one below. She tried the knob, but it was locked.

“I need to pick this,” she said, wishing David, for once, could see her. This was why she’d had field training, for moments like this. And for when she was handcuffed in the middle of the ocean on a rubber dinghy. As she pulled out the lock-pick kit she’d taken from Roman, that old adrenaline, that idealism she’d had when she first joined the FSB, rushed through her. Too many years with buzzing florescence in the dungeons of FSB HQ had made her forget that she had other skills than just how to write computer programs and create surveillance devices.

She worked the lock and opened it easily. “Going in.”

“Be careful.”