Sands of Time (17 page)

“Must be out of gas.” He had to have seen her shivering. “You’re cold.”

She said nothing.

“C’mere.” He reached out, grabbed hold of her jacket and nearly pulled her off her snowmobile into his lap.

Up close, she could see that frost whitened his eyelashes, coated the ends of his hair.

“I’m worried about you,” he said. He pulled her tight to him, circled his arms around her. “Maybe I need to find us a place to hole up, get warm.”

Right here, right now, she felt warm. How she wanted to close her eyes and stay. Right. Here.

He’d nearly drowned, been pummeled by a couple of goons and was probably frozen to the core, and he was worried about her?

It surged a wave of longing, and regret, inside her.

“Roman, didn’t you say there was an airfield around here?”

He put her away from him slightly and nodded. She searched his eyes and saw in them confusion. She summoned her courage.

“Maybe I should leave.”

She wondered if he heard her. He said nothing. Stared at her. Frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He cut his engine.

In the silence that flooded into the wake, she heard only her heartbeat, and the mourning of her dreams. But for Roman, and all he’d gone through for her today…

“We could go there. Didn’t you say we could requisition a plane? We’ll leave Irkutia.”

He stared at her, but the smile, the ooo-rah, even the hug she half hoped for was strangely absent.

“What about your clinic?”

Huh?

“I mean, well, don’t you want to go back and check on it before you leave?”

He had to have been under that ice longer than she thought. “I, ah…”

He touched his forehead to hers. “Sar, I know how much the clinic means to you. We’ll leave tomorrow. After you’ve checked on things and we’ve warmed up.”

Warmed up? She felt something hot start in her throat and zing the back of her eyes. Now this was the Roman she’d hoped for. Someone who put her dreams ahead of his own. Someone who cared enough about her life goals to make sure they would be taken care of in her absence.

Finally.

“What if you’re right and Bednov or someone sends militia after me?”

Roman’s gaze was searching her face. “My number-one priority here is keeping you safe. That’s all I care about. I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He cared about her. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but right now it could be enough.

She closed her eyes, leaned against him. She was cold. But only on the outside. Inside she felt warm.

And not lonely in the least.

“Climb on behind me.”

Sarai shifted to sit behind him, locking her arms around his waist. She leaned her head against his coat.

Roman pulled the cord, then, when the snowmobile hummed, he glanced back with a reassuring smile. “Didn’t I tell you once that I’d always make sure you were safe?”

Oh, too late. Because her hero FSB agent hadn’t the slightest inkling that around him, she, and her heart, felt anything but safe.

“W
hat do you mean they got away?” Alexei Bednov didn’t care if his tone woke Julia. She needed to wake up, maybe attend to some of his needs. Bednov rolled out of his bed and paced the floor in his bare feet. Outside, night seeped into the room, fractured only by the display on his digital clock and the occasional blocks of light from flats across the street.

Julia lay sprawled beside him, her dark hair in mats on her pillow. He’d flipped her onto his shoulder and tossed her in bed a few hours ago. She still reeked of vodka and cigarette smoke, but he hadn’t cared. He needed her only for what she could give him, however little.

Probably, he’d have to think past this moment, to what she could give him tomorrow, and the day after. Losing Sasha had changed her.

If she’d been sober, she’d have had nothing to do with
him. He’d seen the fury in her eyes during her rare coherent moments. She meant what she said.
“I’ll make sure you pay….”

He tightened a fist and turned away from her. She should learn from others the consequences of leveling threats against Governor Alexander Evgeyovich Bednov.

“How did they escape?” he asked.

He could hardly believe Fyodor’s reply. “She drugged them.”

Bednov ran his hand over his thinning hair, feeling physically ill, and sank onto the side of the bed. “You can find them, right? Get rid of them? I don’t care how.”

Fyodor sounded tired. “I’ll find them, Governor. I might need some backup, however.”

Bednov rubbed his hand across his forehead, trying to ease the knot from his frontal lobe. “Okay. I’ll send some men. The FSB shouldn’t be any trouble. I’ve put out a warrant for Novik’s arrest. He’ll end up like former Governor Kazlov.”

“And the American girl?”

Bednov glanced at his soused wife. “With agent Novik out the way, who knows what will happen to her?”

Roman felt like an ice cube when he pulled up to Sarai’s apartment. The wind had died to a rustle, the snow lay like frosting on the dirty roads, the rutted yards. The stars punctured the night canopy here and there, casting silvery brilliance along the icy roads.

He stopped and turned off the snowmobile, feeling like
he might still be moving. Behind him, Sarai shivered, blowing into her cupped hands, trying to warm her nose.

The door to the apartment building banged and Roman nearly jumped from the sled, ready to pounce on a late night drunk. The man wobbled out into the night and staggered down the road, dredging up one too many memories for Roman.

He needed to get Sarai inside, make sure Bednov’s men weren’t on her trail, then get someplace warm and clear his head.

Maybe he could also try to forget that he’d manipulated Sarai. She’d been willing to leave, and he’d turned her down. Which made him more of a heel than she realized.

He’d keep his promise to David…just not the way David hoped.

Roman got off the sled, tucked his arm under Sarai’s. She leaned into his assistance, betraying her fatigue and he felt another stab of guilt. She wouldn’t be bone-weary and cold if he hadn’t dragged her out on his investigative hunches.

A real hero would have her on the first plane out of Irkutia, like she’d suggested.

“Roman, you can sleep at the clinic,” Sarai said as they made their way up the stairs to her flat. Roman said nothing but took the key out of her stiff hand and opened the steel door. He closed it quietly behind him and locked it before he opened the next set of doors.

Sarai moved to step inside, but he blocked her. “Just…wait.”

He moved in quietly, without the lights and listened.

Nothing but the thud of his own heart against his chest. He let a sigh of relief trickle out. “Okay, I think it’s safe.”

She came in, turned on the light. “Ah, heat.” She pulled off her
valenki
and coat, but kept on her
shapka.
“I think I’ll sleep with it on,” she said with a soft smile.

With her hair still frozen around her face, her eyes framed by snow crystals, that slight smile found the still-functioning places inside him, and despite the guilt he felt, he reached out and pulled her to him.

He realized he was trembling.

She wrapped her arms around him. “We’re okay, Roman.”

He closed his eyes. For now. But what about tomorrow?
Please, Vicktor be here, take her away.

She molded to him and hung on longer than he’d anticipated.

Longer, probably, than was healthy for him. Because, although he’d felt frozen a moment ago, he was thawing quickly.

He put her away from him. “I’m going to make you some tea while you change out of those clothes.” He went into the kitchen before she could protest, and he heard her close her bedroom door.

Lock it, Sar.
Because while he was a Christian, he was also a man, and right now he felt weary, cold and just a little overwhelmed. He didn’t know how much self-control he could muster if she so much as smiled at him too broadly.

Especially since he had a dark feeling that after tomorrow he wouldn’t be seeing too many of her smiles. Not
once she realized he’d turned down her grand gesture for the personal glory of hunting down Bednov, international smuggler.

No, not glory. Justice.

Whatever. Roman went into the kitchen, put on the water and warmed his hands by the flame of the gas stove while it heated. He searched her cupboard and found a box of English Breakfast Tea next to the phony sugar bowl. The tea was steeping by the time she returned wearing sweatpants, a turtleneck, a University of Moscow sweatshirt and two pairs of socks. She’d pulled her hair back, into a ponytail, and without a hint of makeup, she looked like she might be twenty-one, and right out of college.

She leaned against the door and smiled at him. Sweetly.

Oh, no.

Roman backed up, folded his arms across his chest.
Lord, help me here to be the guy I’m supposed to be.
“I made you tea.”

“Yes, you did.” Only, she made no move for it. Instead, she advanced toward him. She had a small galley kitchen, with room for a tiny two-chair table, a small stove and a single sink.

He had nowhere to run. She came up to him, put her hands on his chest and looked into his eyes.

She had incredible eyes. And he saw right through them to the past, to the time when she’d told him she loved him.

He should have asked her to marry him. Instead, he’d held her face in his hands and kissed her.

Now, he only swallowed, unable to face the depth of
those feelings, and how much he’d longed for them. But someone needed to snap his fingers and wake them both up. They had the relationship of a cluster bomb—a blinding flash and lots of pain. Because, she wasn’t going to give up her missionary life.

And he wasn’t going to give up law enforcement.

Sarai leaned into him, raised her chin. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Drink it, and then go to bed. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

She wasn’t listening. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re cold. You need to change out of those clothes, get into something warm and get some rest.” She opened yet another sugar bowl on the table and picked out a set of keys. “Help yourself to a room at the clinic. I’ll bring you in some breakfast.”

He held out his hand for the keys, noticed that his hand slightly trembled, and quickly closed his fist when she dropped the keys in.

She cupped both hands around his grip. “Roman, I have to tell you something.” She looked up, her beautiful eyes glistening, and it tugged further at the knot of resolve in his chest. With everything in him, he wanted to wrap his arms around her, kiss her until they forgot Bednov and his thugs, children dying from nuclear waste and an icy three-hour ride through Siberia. He wanted to run his hands through her hair and pull her into the dreams he’d nurtured for the past decade.

No, more than that, he wanted to pick her up and disappear into the horizon with the woman he couldn’t seem to forget. Who, even when he had risked her life, still poured all her energy into caring about him, tending his wounds and crystallizing all the whirring energy around him into calm. She alone was the one good reason he had for doing what he did. How he wanted to come home every day to her smile.

“Roman, I apologize to you for…blaming you for being who you are.”

He frowned, trying to get a fix on her words.

She looked down and he resisted the urge to lift her face to his. “For years I said that you were only after glory. But after today, I know I was wrong. Yes, you risk your life, but I know it’s because you’re trying to be the man God wants you to be, and I can’t stand in the way.” She lifted her face, smiled at him.

He felt like crying. Finally, she got it. He cupped her cheek, ran his thumb along it. Opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She put her hand over his. “I was wrong to walk away from you.” Her eyes filled with emotion. “It wasn’t your fault. I…was afraid I’d see you die in my arms, and I couldn’t live with that.”

He touched her forehead to his. “We’re all going to die, Sarichka. God will determine the time and the place. The key is in living well, with purpose. That’s all I’m trying to do, Sar. To follow God, and live each day 110 percent, doing what He wants me to do.”

She ran her hand behind his neck, pushed to her tiptoes and kissed him.

He reacted on instinct, from the place of hopes and longings, putting his arms around her, pulling her tight and kissing her back.

Kissing her like a man who’d just remembered what it felt like to be young, and in love, with a hope and future before him. She melded her body to his, softening her mouth so he could kiss her deeper.

Danger, Roman.
A voice inside him, the one he’d cultivated over the years of being a man of God began to speak.
Danger!
With everything he had in him, he pushed her away.

She slid slightly away from him, shock on her own pretty face. She closed her mouth, swallowed and turned the faintest shade of red. “I’m sorry. I guess I just… Probably I’m just emotional… It’s been a long—”

He put his hand to her chin, angled her eyes to meet his and kissed her again, softly, just to stop her words.

“Sarai, I should leave.”

“I’m worried about you. You could be hurt. I should probably go with you to the clinic, make sure you’re okay.” She reached for him, as if attempting to touch his ribs.

He caught her hands. “No.” The light in her eyes dimmed slightly. “Sarai, I, ah, you’re so beautiful. Even with David looking over my shoulder 24/7, I had a hard time keeping my wits about me whenever I was around you. I need to go. If I stay, or take you with me…well, although I’m a Christian, I’m still a man, and the Christian inside me is tell
ing the man that I need to leave. Now. And as much as I’d like to stay, I want to do the right thing here.”

He stared back into her beautiful eyes and summoned the courage to smile. “I’m going now. Be sure to lock the door behind me.”

She nodded, and he let himself enjoy her slight smile, despite the guilt strumming at his heart.

Only, hadn’t she just said she understood his calling, his career? Maybe she’d happily leave Irkutsk with Vicktor, and wait for him in Khabarovsk…

Yeah, and maybe he’d become the hero his father never was, and save the world from terrorists, and even establish world peace. He shook his head as he gave her a final look, then stepped out.

He was praying hard that Bednov’s boys were still sleeping soundly at his dacha. Still, Roman mentally did the math. Probably he could expect them on Sarai’s doorstep by morning.

There went his overactive FSB imagination.

Probably, after today they’d surmise she’d already fled the country.

Please,
please.

Because, of course, she wouldn’t be so stupid as to stay in Smolsk with the mafia on her tail? He wanted to head-slap himself. Where had his brain been an hour ago?

A smart FSB agent would bundle up the cute girl upstairs and secret her out of the country, double time.

Or, he could head to the clinic and see if Vicktor had arrived at the clinic yet, like Yanna had promised.

He mounted the snowmobile and braved the wind to The Savior’s Hands Medical Clinic.

The building seemed cold and forlorn. Dark windows overlooked the yard as he pulled up. No movement. No reinforcements.

Which meant he was on his own. The cold found him—he’d been partially thawed after a few minutes in Sarai’s flat—and he shivered. He needed some tea, maybe soup. And some shut-eye.

Most of all he needed a game plan, preferably one that included saving Sarai’s backside and taking down Bednov.

He parked the snowmobile and found the key to the clinic.

It stuck only a moment in the lock, but long enough for him to catch the movement behind him.

Roman whirled and punched his attacker directly in the windpipe.

Roman Novik loved her. Sarai let that thought sizzle inside her as she downed the last of her tea. He still loved her. In fact, maybe he’d never stopped.

Well, neither had she.

Their love hadn’t died, evident from the way he’d looked at her, kissed her when she’d practically launched herself into his arms. Their romance had just been banked for rekindling.

Sarai put her teacup in the sink, turned off the light and went to her bedroom. Tomorrow she’d pack her things and leave. Not forever. Just long enough for Roman to get her safely
out of the province, and hopefully redeem himself with his boss. Then, she’d pull a few strings—or maybe ask him to—and then…

What?

She’d return, roll up her sleeves and start saving the world again? What about Roman?

She pulled up the covers to her neck and closed her eyes. They needed policemen in this town. After all, didn’t they have their own mafia-gang problem?

She could live with Roman doing his police thing as long as she was around to stitch him up.

Mrs. Roman Novik.

Sarai Novik.

Maybe, little Sasha and Masha Novik.

Sarai smiled under the blanket, feeling tired, even giddy.