Bargains and Betrayals (20 page)

His voice was thick as he reached down to pull me up. “I hope we don’t regret this,” he muttered. “Grab your things.”

Knocked suddenly to the ground, I barely heard Christian’s snarl above the roar of my pulse as Pietr again pulled him off me and grabbed him by the neck, arm quaking with rage.

Utterly human and utterly brutal, Pietr peered into my attacker’s eyes.

This time I looked away until I’d heard the crunch of bones and the pop of flesh and knew the deed was done. Dropped to the floor like a worthless doll, nothing about Christian gave the impression of life any longer.

My voice wavered in a whisper. “Is that one of the things you learned while you were away … to show no mercy?” Pietr’s image blurred before me as tears streamed down my face.

“
Da
,” he whispered, his eyes changing from red to purple to a blue so cold I trembled beneath the bite and burn of it.

“What else did you learn?”

He pulled me to my feet, his fingers fierce on my arms.

“That everyone breaks promises. Everyone lies. He chose
then
to lie,” he added. “To bargain for his life and then betray it—to try to kill you
again
. Bad idea.” He grabbed my wrist and I flinched back in fear.

This
was not my Pietr.…

He pulled off his pants and thrust them into my hands. There was no modesty or hesitation in his movements. “Your guards will be coming. He should have been back out by now. Stay behind me and be ready.”

The guards burst through the door, leaving it hanging awkwardly off one hinge with the force of their entry.

Pietr flashed into his wolfskin, teeth sharp as knives. He rushed the nearest one, biting into his wrist and tearing the electronic tattoo away so flesh hung in a chunk, suspended by oozing tubes and thin wires that popped, flared, and flickered.

The guard looked as close to startled as he could and crumpled to the floor. His mirror image, staring, moved to cover its matching wrist tattoos somehow—

—moments too late.

In a heartbeat the second guard was reduced to a heap of poorly stitched body parts, too.

The wolf spun to face me and I reached under my pillow for the cell phone and my journal but noticed the phone on the floor. I didn’t have time to wonder before the wolf dodged behind me and slipped his snout between my ankles, bouncing me onto his back.

I snagged hold of his furry back and leaned in as he bolted through the door to the hallway, sliding on the polished floor as he scrabbled toward the main doors leaving nothing in his wake but startled faces and shrieking patients.

His stride lengthened and he quickly carried me out of the building and to the far end of the parking lot nearest the trees and the road. He paused, lifting his head to catch a scent, and I tumbled off him, snapping the cell open to call Dad.

“Jessie?”

“Grab the lawyer and be prepared. I’m out, but … it’s gonna take some damage control, Dad,” I said as Pietr slipped back into his pants. “Pietr stopped the guy from killing me, but…”

Pietr’s gaze flicked to me, cool as steel.

“… the guy wasn’t so lucky. And there are additional bodies. But—they’ve been dead awhile. No. Think zombies.”

Pietr turned away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh,” Dad mumbled.

“I’m calling Max to get us,” I said, as much to Dad as to Pietr. “Can you handle this, Dad?”

“I’ll have to.”

Pietr looked at me. “We’re going. Now.” He swung his head back toward the front doors of Pecan Place.

An alarm blared and nurses and guards, human-seeming guards, flowed out of the building.

Pietr put his arms out for me. To carry me.

Spotlighted by the glowing light of morning something dark stained his outstretched hand.

Blood.

Nearly dry. Nearly just a memory.
Nearly
. I stepped back. Unwilling to let him carry me, I wondered how long I could run on a knee that was still occasionally weak from Derek’s previous assault.

I called Max.

Pietr reached for me and I stepped back, eyes still locked on the blood on his hand.

I shook my head at Pietr.

His gaze dropped away from my face, realizing why I hesitated. Staring at his bloody hand, he crouched, rubbing it clean in the frost that sparkled on the browning blades of grass.

Pietr stood, reaching for me again, and I flinched away. His expression darkened, eyes stormy, lips thin and tight.

I shook my head,
no
.

Pietr slid something from his pocket and held it over his head, glowering at me. He pressed a button.

“
Allo?
”

“Max. I need you to pick us up.”

“In the car,” Max rumbled. “Pecan Place?”

A vein rose by Pietr’s hairline as I opened my mouth to say
yes
to Max. He turned his back to me and watched the milling of the staff back by the building’s opening.

Kicking at the grass lining the parking lot, every muscle in his back and arms went tight. He dropped into a crouch, scrubbing his hands across his face and head.

He wanted to shout—maybe curse—but didn’t dare because it’d draw unwanted attention. So Pietr worked out his aggression silently for our safety—
my
safety—while I watched.

I heard the squeal of tires and a small dark car pulled up beside us, the passenger door flinging open. Pietr rose and in one fluid move threw me in, pushing in beside me and yanking the door shut.

We sped away.

“Jessie?” Max’s growl reverberated in the receiver.

I looked at the driver. Short hair, sharp features, slightly graying around the temples. Strong, tough and sure.

Ex-military?

His posture spoke of authority—leadership material of some sort.

He and Pietr were engaged in a heated conversation. In Russian.

“Jessie!”

“A ride’s already here, Max.” I snapped the cell shut and wondered what I’d fallen into this time.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jessie

Cat and Amy grabbed me the moment Pietr shoved me through the door at the Rusakovas’ house. They murmured and stroked my hair and hugged me again and again, but I couldn’t focus on them at all. No matter where he paced, the older man behind him, railing on in Russian, my eyes focused only on Pietr.

“What’s really going on here, Cat?” I whispered. “Who’s that guy?”

“
Uncle
Dmitri.” Her eyes tugged free of mine to follow him. Her words stiff, she said, “He’s come to help.”

Amy shrugged. “Glad you’re back.”

Cat took my hand and led me to the kitchen. “You need to make a phone call,” she said. “To your father.”

Instantly I knew what she meant. As hard as it was going to be for him to accept, the Rusakovas would be better able to protect me than Dad could. Besides, any attempt he made to protect me would simply place him in the line of fire.

“Give me that first,” Pietr said, his hand out for my cell.

“What?”

“Consider it insurance,” he muttered, heading for the computer. I followed him.

He connected the cell phone to the computer and downloaded a brief video file.

“Hey,” I said, seeing Christian unfurl the makeshift rope in my room back at Pecan Place. The perspective was strange.… I looked at Pietr. He’d shot the clip from under the bed. While I thought I could still handle things, he was handling them in a different way.

Pietr tapped a few keys. “The audio’s not crisp, but it’s understandable.”

I clutched the back of his chair, the memory doubling in intensity as the video rolled.

“Now…” He pulled up the website for Pecan Place and hit the staff button. It took a moment, but he opened an e-mail account I didn’t recognize, typed in Dr. Jones’s address, and attached the file, his message only reading:

You’ve been named in this video. Keep your distance or everyone will see it.

He tapped send and, disconnecting the phone, handed it back to me. “Call your dad.”

Mute, I nodded, watching as Pietr strode from the room, Uncle Dmitri close behind.

Dad picked up on the first ring and I wandered into the kitchen.

“Dad,” I said before he even finished his hello, “I’m not coming home. It’s safer this way. The Rusakovas can protect me. Alexi’s coming over now to draw some of Annabelle Lee’s blood. This’ll all be over soon.”

He was very quiet and I imagined him working it all out in his head. “Okay, Jessie. You be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I will. About everything.”

“Good girl. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.” I set the cell phone down, my hand trembling.

Alexi leaned into the kitchen. “I’m going now.”

Cat nodded and pulled out a pot.

“Er—can I help with anything, Cat?”

She looked at me, lips twitching into a smile. “I have it, Jessie,” she said. “You have been gone quite a while, really. My cooking has improved. Alexi and Max are coping.…” She paused and her eyebrows drew together. She shot a worried look at Amy.

Amy shrugged.

“And Pietr?” I prodded.

Amy glanced over her shoulder toward the window that looked out over the backyard. I pushed past her to see Pietr and Dmitri circling each other. My heart settled back into its normal pace realizing they were sparring, not fighting.
“Rukopashka,”
I realized aloud.

“
Da
,” Cat answered as if I’d asked a question.

“Uncle Dmitri’s wicked fast for an old guy,” Amy commented, watching Dmitri dodge Pietr, block an attack, and land a kick in his gut.

I winced, but Pietr took it in stride, falling back a half pace and watching for an opening, an advantage before he lunged in and connected with Dmitri. A hit that should have knocked Dmitri on his ass only pushed him back a few paces. “Strong, too,” I muttered, turning back to Cat.

She continued mixing and stirring.

I continued wondering just who Dmitri was. Uncle? I doubted the title was accurate.

Watching fearfully as Cat stirred the now bubbling something on the stovetop, I said, “Hey, your clock…”

Cat shook her head.

“What?” I asked, looking at Amy.

“Beats me. Max says it’s bad luck to mention anything about it. Must be a Russian thing.”

“Huh.” It wasn’t a Russian thing last time I’d been here.… I took a moment and looked back into the sitting room. The clock there was wrong, too. “Seriously?” The dining room … No downstairs clock held the actual time, and all were different. I stepped back into the kitchen, confusion clear on my face.

Cat shut me down. “
Nyet
, Jessie. Do not mention it.”

They were all set at least two hours ahead of time. I paused by the calendar. There were no marks, no notes, no dates after the day I’d been forced to enter the hospital. It was like time—the very thing the Rusakovas were most closely attuned to—was being ignored.

There was no timing instrument more accurate than an oborot’s internal clock, so maybe to them the rest meant nothing. But to a simple human like Amy or me or—I glanced out the window and saw Dmitri deliver a startling blow—okay, not Dmitri, then, but to simple humans, it would …

I blinked, thinking back to Pietr’s words. “They have Derek and he’s watching.…” To a remote viewer like Derek, it might be enough to confuse what he was seeing with real time.… Was Derek arrogant enough to think that given his amazing set of abilities he might also occasionally get a glimpse of the future?

Yes
.

His arrogance might even be enough to make him believe there was more time to react to a Rusakova attack on the CIA bunker. Lull him and the agents into a false sense of security so their reaction came too late.

It was a strange idea—a long shot, but who knew? “One of Pietr’s new philosophies?” I finally asked Cat.

“
Da
,” she said softly, realizing I’d caught up.

She set a bowl before me and I ate a delicious concoction I would have never imagined Cat being able to put together. And I realized, glancing out the window again at Pietr and Dmitri circling each other, a lot had changed while I was gone.

Jessie

Amy dragged me down to the street corner to buy a newspaper out of the metal-and-glass dispenser. Sitting together on the curb, the first headline we spotted announced another Teen Train Track Suicide. “So how many is that now?” I asked her. “Five?”

“I think it’s six. Garr. It’s all grim news. Students getting sick. Those visiting professional wrestlers who disappeared right around the time you headed—
away
.”

Fred and Jeremy? They were big. Wrestler big.

“And the moratorium on burials—”

“Moratorium?” I said.

Amy was breaking out some big words.

“Yep. A special environmental police rep put an end to burying people because of some issues with shifting waterways. Can you believe it? Jack Jacobsen was cremated.”

“No.” I thought back to Jack’s body in the refrigerator, in line to be used for zombie parts. “I can’t believe it.” Holy crap. Environmental police covering up disappearing bodies? How deep did this weirdness run? Was everyone in Junction in on this?

I looked at the photo and caption partway down the page. “Hey. Mark Millford?” I tapped it. “Wasn’t he second string on the football team? One of Derek’s cronies?”

She nodded and leaned her head on my shoulder.

Derek.
Feeding
. Murdering to get one last good jolt out of his prey.

“Oh, please, Jessie. Forget all the wacky crap going on around here for a minute or five. Pass me the comics.”

“I don’t think there are—”

“Of course there are comics. They’re the only redeeming feature to the newspaper. Without comics, newspapers would just be crap, crap, and more crap.”

“And sports,” I said.

She rolled her eyes and said, “
See above
. Crap.”

“You’re in a precious mood.”

“Sorry. I missed you gobs. You’re my best friend.”

I wrapped an arm around her. “You’re my best friend, too.”

“They told us you were away at some writers’ camp,” she said. “I didn’t believe it. You would have totally blabbed if you’d been selected for something that cool.”