Wiser Than Serpents (25 page)

“Yes.”

Yes.

“Me too,” she said, so quietly she surprised even herself. And then, she realized, that perhaps, she wasn’t surprised at all.

David would probably never erase the image of Yanna wrapped in his coat, nestled close, falling asleep in his arms.

Nor would he forget the taste of her lips on his. He wasn’t sure why he’d kissed her again. Or why she hadn’t stopped him.

But seeing her tears, even if they had been all about worry for her sister, and probably even some fatigue, had only made him realize everything they couldn’t have.

Wouldn’t have.

Do you think about getting married?
she’d asked. Oh, yes. In fact, to her. But he wasn’t free to say that.

And when she’d replied,
Me, too,
jealousy’s sharp fingers had driven into his heart.

Lately, over the past seventy-two hours, he’d begun to think about being her husband, more and more, until it consumed him. Waking up beside her, teaching his children to hunt and fish, to make pancakes—and he was a firm believer in equipping all children with life skills. But most of all, seeing Yanna become the amazing mother he knew she would be. Behind all those smarts and beauty, Yanna had a gentleness and commitment that would make her the top in yet another field.

But…and there it was, the big, looming, ugly
but
of his life. He was military to the core. It was all he had, all he did. He didn’t know how to do anything else. And he’d take bets that Yanna didn’t, either. Would their countries allow them to be on the same soil—even if they did resign? Cold War over or not, suspicions simmered under the surface of every political conversation, waiting to be stirred.

Of course, that very
but
was also the reason he loved her. Probably why he’d fallen in love with her, even in college. Because she understood him and the way he thought, and how it felt to be driven by something bigger than himself. To want to make a difference on the landscape of the world.

Which brought him to the big, flashing, neon-red reason…Yanna wasn’t a Christian.

He’d kissed her, one last time, because, deep inside, he couldn’t stop himself, and he knew that this was it.

After they found Elena, he would never see her again. It simply hurt too much. Tore huge chunks out of his heart every time he got near her. Every time they had an online conversation. After all these years, and especially the past few days, he was surprised he could still breathe, could still function.

Well, he couldn’t really. Evidenced by the fact that here he was, sitting on a stakeout in a monkey suit with a beautiful woman in his arms rather than focusing on the party now spilling out into the night on the yacht. Kwan might have danced away, right under his nose, while David was caught by the expression in Yanna’s beautiful eyes.

She was a distraction, and would always be one. And that could never be good for either of them. Which made him realize just how much he needed to stay away from her.

But he’d take the mental snapshot of her in his arms with him wherever he went. And he’d hope for happiness for her.
God, please help me let this woman go.

Probably, he should be happy. He’d taken himself out of the picture. Hoo-yah, he was simply doing cartwheels.

“We’ll be safe here.”

Gracie turned the lock on the door to the cabin, tucked into the woods, under the watchful embrace of Mount Rainier. The room smelled fresh, the balsam and pine scent reaped from the forest surrounding the cabins. The shaggy arms of night hovered over the cabin, and Gracie shivered as she turned on the lights, the heat.

It had taken her a few hours to get out of Seattle, hours she had spent cramming her heart back into her chest, of praying that Mae lost herself in the downtown traffic like she promised. Someone had to get to the police.

And someone had to hide Ina.

“I’m scared, Gracie,” Ina had said. “Kosta won’t let me go, he won’t—”

Gracie took her hand off the wheel and touched Ina’s arm. “Shh. You’re going to be safe, I promise.”

“You don’t know him, you don’t know what he does. The only reason I was still at the hotel was because Jorge wouldn’t let him take me. He and Jorge had a terrible fight—I heard it. But Jorge told me that he wasn’t going to let his brother take me. That he was going to find me and we would get marr—”

“Jorge is part of this trafficking operation, Ina.” Gracie had tried to keep her voice from shaking, and really, she didn’t want to snarl, but how could Ina be so stupid? Didn’t she see that Jorge just wanted her for what she could give him? What he could get out of her? “Jorge was using you.”

Ina folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window. “That’s not true. Jorge loves me.”

Oh yes, because every guy who loved his girl handed her over to his creepy Mafia cousin for what—two hundred bucks? She didn’t even want to think where Ina might have ended up had Gracie not followed her gut instincts.

After winding their way around Seattle, making sure they hadn’t been tailed, she really needed her gut to speak up, because she hadn’t the faintest idea what to do next. The brilliant Master Plan B had been to separate and Mae would run back to the hospital to be with the Gromenkos while Gracie disappeared into the hills. They’d call—something that required the
cell
phone, which had been so conveniently left in the slimy hotel room back at the Ryss.

Which meant that Gracie hadn’t the foggiest what might have happened to Mae. Perfect. “I’m hungry,” Ina had said.

Hungry? Gracie wasn’t sure she could ever eat again. “We’ll get supper when we get where we’re going.”

“Which is where? I want to see my father.”

“No. He’s in the hospital, hopefully with my friend Mae, and I don’t want to put them in any more danger.”

“Jorge is innocent.”

Did this girl have brain damage to go along with her other bruises? “Yeah, sure he is. Because it’s normal for every boyfriend to sell off his girlfriend to the highest bidder.”

Ina’s face tightened.

“But assuming that Jorge was somehow forced into betraying you, his cousin—if they’re even related—obviously isn’t going to want you having a Q and A with the cops, let alone the media, so we need to get someplace safe and get a hold of Vicktor somehow.”

“What’s Vicktor going to do? Isn’t he in Russia?”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Gracie released her death grip on the steering wheel, working the blood back into her hands. “He has friends here who will track down Jorge and Sokolov and nail them for what they did to you and hundreds of other girls like you.”

If Vicktor was here, he’d also know what to do next. When she’d been on the lam from a serial killer in Russia, he’d been full of ideas.

Okay, so maybe not. Maybe he did this by the seat of his pants, too. He’d hid her at his father’s house, and her friend’s dacha—

That was it. As if she had a GPS talking to her, Gracie knew exactly where to take them both.

She finally felt her heartbeat begin to slow to a normal rhythm. No way Sokolov would find her here. Not a chance. Because
she’d
barely found it. Had it not been for the fact she’d ordered away for their brochure, and traced the route once or twice on the map, she would have sailed right past Paradise Cove without even tapping her brakes.

Ina, who had deemed Gracie unfit to be spoken to—Gracie had long ago given up trying to understand the mind of a teenager—flopped down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the wooden, made-from-logs table. Gracie closed the door behind her, locked it.

The cabin looked like something out of an old Western, log cabin walls, a rock fireplace, rusty horseshoes on a shelf above the worn leather sofa. On the log coffee table in front of the sofa, a candle sat in a basket surrounded by river rock. Gracie walked into the next room, a bedroom. She stood for a moment, wondering what it would be like to be here with Vicktor—as her husband. She’d even mentioned this place to him once or maybe twice, as someplace she’d like to go for their honeymoon. He probably hadn’t been listening.

She sighed, exhaustion so deep she wanted to climb onto the huge queen-size bed, tuck herself under the red woven Navajo blanket and sleep for two weeks.

Right after she took a bath in that giant Jacuzzi in the corner.

She turned, and saw the other bedroom had twin beds, although no Jacuzzi.

Probably her tired mind had stopped thinking clearly because no one would be taking a Jacuzzi, because neither of them was on vacation.

They were, as the cop shows said, “on the lam.” Not so much from justice, but from Sokolov and his band of thugs.

Gracie crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb, watching as Ina picked up the remote to the television and began to flip channels. She looked so…angry, as if her world had somehow upended. Where was the “thanks for impersonating a housekeeper and saving my life, Gracie?”

Then again, Gracie had talked trash about Jorge, the Saint.

Apparently, Ina was utterly and completely under his spell. Well, she was a teenager.

“Ina, I’m sorry Jorge hurt you.”

Ina’s stoic face crumpled and she turned away. But Gracie saw her shoulders shake.

Gracie ached to reach out to her. “Listen, Ina, you’re going to be okay. Someday you’ll find a guy you can trust, and who will treat you…”
Like Vicktor treats me.
She closed her eyes.

She missed him. The past few days had stirred up the memories of that harrowing week when she’d been running for her life in Russia, and every single one of those memories included Vicktor. She’d been terrified, shaken by the death of her best friends, and Vicktor had been there. He’d questioned her, and even infuriated her, but he’d been gentle. And kind. And compassionate. And finally, he’d risked his life to save hers.

Ina turned to her. “I thought Jorge loved me.” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “What’s Vicktor like?”

Gracie sat on the wooden table, moving aside the stone centerpiece. “Vicktor is the most considerate man I’ve ever met. And a great cook. Tidy—everything has to be perfect, but he’s not tame. In fact, he’s always moving, always thinking. He has an energy about him that makes everything else in the room start to hum. And he has a protective gene that is more developed than most. But most of all, he loves me.”

“Yeah, but how do you know he loves you?”

“Because…he shows it. He…” And suddenly Gracie drew a blank. “Well, he tells me, and he is faithful and honest and he worries about me.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, of course.”

But the answer came out so fast that Ina sat over there with a look of doubt on her face, and Gracie didn’t blame her. Did she love Vicktor?

She loved his earnestness when he went after something. And she loved his desire to know God more. She loved the way he took care of his father, who’d been wounded by Vicktor’s mistakes, and especially how he wanted to know every detail of her life. And not…maybe not because he was trying to drive her crazy and put some sort of tracking device on her. But because he genuinely wanted to know her.

Yes. Yes, she loved Vicktor. “I love him with everything inside me.”

Ina was still staring at her. “So, if you love each other so much, why haven’t you married him yet?”

That, at this moment, seemed to be the million-dollar question. Because she was an idiot? Because she hadn’t been, and still wasn’t entirely, sure that Vicktor wanted her, the real her? Because from her point of view, she seemed like a lot of trouble, personally. Maybe too much trouble. And take that all away and all she had left was her American citizenship.

She stared out the window at the darkness. “I don’t know…maybe because I’m afraid that…that he loves me for what I can give him. Not for who I am.”

Ina stared at her, a strange look in her eyes. “But isn’t that what love is all about? Meeting each other’s needs?”

Hmm. “What did Jorge tell you, Ina? That he needed you? And if you loved him…”

Ina looked away.

Oh no. Anger rushed into her chest. “That is a lie, Ina. A horrible lie. Love doesn’t take…in fact…”

Vicktor didn’t love her because she needed him, or even what she could give him, but because he just loved her. He’d loved her long before she had anything to offer. He loved her for what
he
could give
her.

Her breath left her, as truth poured in, that truth she’d known for so long but never really let find her heart. Real love wasn’t about receiving a response. Real love was about giving. And giving.

Even if it never received.

She looked up at Ina. “Real love says I love you, period. Not because of what you can give me. And not because I need you. Simply…because I am who I am. I learned that once, and sort of forgot it, I guess. But I know Vicktor loves me because…well, because I
haven’t
married him yet and he keeps coming back. He still hangs around. Still hopes. And the next time I talk to him, we’re going to figure that marriage part out.”

Please, Vicktor, don’t give up on us. On me.

Ina drew her legs up to her chest, looking about twelve years old and scared.

“Think about it, Ina. You didn’t ask me for help, but I knew you needed me. So I came. And God is like that. He doesn’t wait around until we call Him although, yes, He’s not going to force you to need Him. Yet we do. The good news is that He’s right there, loving us until we see Him, ready to rescue us. That’s what Romans 5:8 is all about. When we didn’t even know we needed Him, God loved us enough to save us.”

Ina’s expression changed. Tears welled in her eyes and she cupped her hands over her face. “Oh no. I did a terrible thing.”

A thousand possible fill-in-the-blank answers rushed to Gracie’s mind—things she didn’t want to imagine, things that she’d name terrible—

“I called Jorge.”

No, now
that,
she didn’t have on her list. Gracie sat there, and it must have looked like maybe she didn’t hear her because Ina looked up, tears reddening her pretty face, dripping off her chin. “Did you hear me—I called Jorge!”