Sands of Time (18 page)

Maybe
she
needed a sedative….

“Thank you, Lord, for bringing us safely home.” She said the words aloud, but quietly, suddenly aware of all she’d been through the past few days.

She felt alive and…not forgotten. God had sent her Roman to rescue her, even if she’d ended up rescuing him. For the first time in more than a decade, she didn’t feel alone.

As if she might be able to take a full breath.

Unexpected tears filmed her eyes.

Roman did that to her. He made her feel safe, even though her world crumbled around her and she was captured by terrorists. Yes, he pushed her to her last nerve, but he also believed in her and respected her.

And protected her. Like earlier tonight, when he’d leaped to her rescue, putting his wounded body between her and her attacker. In fact, he’d put her safety before his own career—by going AWOL and following her to Khanda. Finally, he’d protected her with his honor.

Probably, it was time to trust him. He’d certainly earned it. Especially after she’d offered to hop a plane. She couldn’t believe he’d actually turned her down, knowing how important it was to get her affairs in order. In fact, she had a sneaky feeling he wanted to stay.

She hoped it was because of her.

Why had she pushed him away for so many years?

Fear. And the fact that with him, she felt forced to trust in Someone bigger than herself.

Forced her to trust that God would be there when Roman wasn’t. That, through everything, even the horrible moments, God still loved her.

He did, didn’t He? Because, the Almighty had sent her Roman. The man who promised to always find her.

When he looked at her with his hazel eyes, she felt something inside her shiver with delight, and when he took her in his arms, she felt safe, right down to her cold toes. She let her imagination conjure up the expression he’d wear when she showed up tomorrow with a packed bag. The smile, the warmth in his eyes—it curled something hot and sweet in her stomach.

She’d just have to leave a list of explicit instructions for Anya and Genye. They could call her if they needed anything essential.

You don’t trust God, Sarai.

Roman’s accusation rung in her ears. Just because she wanted to make sure everything was done right didn’t mean that she didn’t let God be in charge. He’d given her this mission and it was her responsibility.

She could let go. She could.

Tomorrow she would. She’d start with telling Roman that she loved him. And then she’d leave town with him before Bednov’s thugs could track them down.

Sarai woke early, despite a dreamless sleep that told her that she’d been exhausted through to her core. She hoped Roman had found a warm bed in the clinic and suffered the slightest twinge of guilt that she hadn’t helped him.

Okay, he could take care of himself. That much she should believe.

He’d been right about her not following him to the clinic. She realized this when she couldn’t wipe the schoolgirl smile off her face.

She showered, and triple layered in silk long johns, a turtleneck and a wool sweater. Just in case she found herself racing across the Siberian steppe.

She did a mental eye-roll. Three days with Roman and she’d turned into a pile of runny oatmeal. Evidently, nothing had changed in that department over the past thirteen years.

She gathered up her essentials—her Bible, visa, passport, a couple extra changes of clothing, toiletries and her picture of Roman. Then, shoving them into a carry-on, she hitched it over her shoulder and left for the clinic.

In the aftermath of the blizzard, the sun shone down and lit the snow-covered roads into a field of fiery diamonds. She drove slowly, praying for people she knew in town on the way to the clinic.
Please, Lord, don’t let there be any disasters while I’m gone.

She pulled into the clinic and noticed Roman’s snowmobile, as well as the absence of Anya’s and Genye’s car. They were probably still snowed in at their dacha. And, worried sick. Hadn’t they expected she and Roman back last night?

She’d leave them a note. And instructions. Maybe a few pages of instructions.

The clinic door was locked, and she said a silent thank you to Roman as she unlocked it and let herself inside.

The corridor felt gloomy and lifeless. She flicked on a light and went to her office. Probably, Roman still slept.

He deserved it, poor tired soldier.

She stopped to listen only a moment before she unlocked her office door. Her skin prickled in silent alarm and she attributed it to reflex, the residual jumpiness of being taken hostage.

She opened the door.

Screamed.

Whoever was hunched over in her office chair scrambled out of the blanket and to his feet.

Tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes, he had his gun leveled at her before she could blink.

Sarai screamed again, dropped her bag and reached for the ceiling.

R
oman heard Sarai’s scream and launched himself off the cot, toward Vicktor, whose eyes were probably still adjusting. Roman took down his friend with a grunt that had them both seeing stars. Vicktor kicked at him, scrambling out from underneath his grasp. “Roma, I wasn’t going to shoot her.”

He didn’t answer, just found his feet, turned and pulled Sarai into his arms.

She shook and he buried his face in her hair. “Don’t you think she’s had enough scares for the week?” he snapped at Vicktor.

Roman felt Sarai’s hands on his chest, but refused to give into her push to free herself. Behind him, he heard Vicktor sigh. “Sorry, Sarai. But after Roman’s story, I didn’t know who to expect.”

“What, do you think I’m going to jump you? This is a medical clinic, for crying out loud!”

Probably, Roman had been right to hold on to her, because the anger in Sarai’s voice—or maybe half fear, half indignation—told him she just might have taken a swing at Vicktor.

And Roman wanted Vicktor on
his
side when they sprung the news on Sarai that she’d be leaving with Vicktor today.
Only
Vicktor. Trouble was, after last night Vicktor still had trouble swallowing, due to Roman’s line drive to his Adam’s apple…something he hadn’t forgiven Roman for. Yet.

Roman held Sarai away from him, but kept his grip on her arms. Her eyes were wide, tracking between Roman and Vicktor. She’d gone ominously silent.

Then, “What are you doing here?”

Roman swallowed, cut a glance at Vicktor. “He’s going to take you out of here.”

Sarai’s eyes widened. “Wait a sec—You… I thought you were—”

Roman shook his head and stepped away from her, wondering if that swing now might be meant for him. “I must stay and investigate what we found yesterday. Bednov’s connected to all this, and we need to find out how.”

Sarai continued to stare at him, mouth half open.

“You need to leave, Sarai,” Vicktor said quietly. But he used his firm, detective’s voice. No pleading. No softness. Probably the tone Roman should have used with her from hour one.

She looked at him, then back at Roman. “You—no wonder you didn’t want to fly me out last night. You
knew
he’d be here! You weren’t worried about me, or my clinic. You were worried about getting the bad guy.”

Roman’s face twitched.

“I can’t believe you.” Sarai’s eyes had filmed and she wiped them, apparently not giving quarter to her hurt feelings. “And here I thought you’d come to Irkutsk because you were worried for me.”

“I am—”

“You make me sick. I knew you were only after making a name for yourself. I don’t know why, but I have this nauseating feeling that you were just using me to further your career.” She looked him in the eyes, and he saw the depths of her hurt a second before she blinked it away. Her voice turned cold, calm. “Shame on me for not figuring that out.” She shook her head. “You wanted to know why I left, Roman. Well, here it is—because you only think of yourself. In the end, it’s all about you.” Her voice dropped. “I sure hope it was worth it.” She stalked past them, to her desk. “Get out, both of you.”

“Sar—” Vicktor started.

“Get out! I need to make some notes for Genye and Anya.”

She braced her hands on her desk and Roman saw her tremble. He felt sick, and his stomach writhed. “C’mon, Vicktor.”

Vicktor stood unmoving, a frown on his face as he watched Sarai. “Roman’s on your side, Sarai,” he said quietly. “You can trust him.”

“Get out,” she said, her tone softer. Roman barely overcame the urge to pull her back into his embrace.

“We’ll be outside when you’re ready to go,” he said and motioned to Vicktor. His friend followed him out.

Roman heard the door lock behind them.

Vicktor leaned against the wall, his hands on his knees, and blew out a breath. “That didn’t go well.”

“She’s mad, but she’ll get over it.”

Vicktor looked at Roman. Vicktor had hard, dark blue eyes, and an angular face that hid emotions well. Now, however, it showed a hint of sadness. “No, she won’t. She might forgive me, but I read the look on her face, and well, I’m sorry, Roma. I know you well enough to guess you were hoping for more.”

Roman said nothing, just slid down into a squat, his face in his hands. He hadn’t expected more, but yes, after last night, he’d hoped.

Hoped that she would, indeed, trust him. Trust that he was trying to do things God’s way, even if it didn’t look like her way. Although, at the moment, even he wondered.
What, exactly, am I supposed to do here, Lord? Give me wisdom!

He tried not to think of her in his arms, that fragile moment when she’d believed in him.

It didn’t help his confusion that Vicktor hadn’t completely bought into Roman’s idea and harbored his own notions of how to take down Bednov. But Vicktor didn’t know Bednov like Roman did.

He had a gut feeling the newly elected governor was about to abuse his power in new and lucrative ways.

You used me to further your career.
The words stung, and he winced.

No.

I hope it was worth the cost.

Roman swallowed back the sick taste of failure in his throat. The cost. In this case, Sarai. No, in all cases, Sarai. When he’d lost her years ago, he’d never healed from the regret. It drove him, irked him.

Forced him to prove himself, over and over, that the job was worth it. That the sacrifices of home, and family—and her respect—were worth it.

Maybe this hadn’t been about filling his father’s shoes after all. In fact maybe it had more to do with Sarai. What if he flung himself head first into danger—with the hope that he went down in glory, instead of dying a cold, quiet death—so she’d see just how wrong she’d been about him? That her accusations were false and that he wanted to follow God’s call, just as much as she did…only differently? That he’d die for what he believed in, just like she would?

But, whatever the case, it all boiled down to him following his own pride. And, especially of late, said pride had led him into humiliation.

Apparently Sarai wasn’t the only one who wanted to be a martyr. At least she had her focus right. He thought of the verse he and Sarai had debated over, the one that seemed to define so much of his life. Matthew 16:24 “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it. For
what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”

Roman’s father had given his soul to the Communists, and found it hollow. Roman glanced at Vicktor. Vicktor had given his to revenge and had only recently found salvation—after seeing the woman he loved nearly killed by a disillusioned KGB agent.

Roman had to wonder, perhaps, in this case, if he didn’t fit the description of disillusioned agent.

No. He had gifts and talents, the ability to think on his feet that made him the top of his Cobra unit. God had given him those gifts, and until recently, favor with the powers that be. He hadn’t given his soul away. It belonged to God. So then why did he always feel like he just couldn’t quite get it right?

Maybe the verse about picking up his cross and following Christ wasn’t so much about accepting the mission God called him to, that seemed suited to him…as it was…following Christ. Wherever he led. Regardless of the cost.

Costs, like…his pride.

Costs like not apprehending the man who’d destroyed his father’s life. He had made a promise to David…and Sarai. To keep her safe.

What do I do here, Lord?

He heard sniffling in the room behind him. Roman looked at Vicktor, who gave him a sorry look.

So much for him being a hero. Sadly, a hero was all he’d ever wanted to be. A hero to the motherland, a hero to his father. A hero to Sarai.

I don’t want a hero. I just want a man who loves God.

He loved God, didn’t he? Not everyone was supposed to be a missionary.

But maybe you were.

Roman closed his eyes. Sighed. And for the first time, he let that thought settle into the crannies of his heart.

Sarai had been right about one thing—he’d never seriously considered being a missionary. Just gone with his gut. And God had blessed him anyway. But what would happen if he let God lead?

Pick up your cross and follow…

He did want to follow Christ. Because, unlike his father, he knew that the cause he believed in wouldn’t crumble. On the contrary, it was the one sure thing in his life.

Roman smelled his own sweat as the truth sank deep. He hadn’t been following Christ when he’d come after Sarai—he’d been following his heart.

He sunk his hands into his hair.
Lord, help me to follow you, whatever the cost. Because I do want to be the man you want me to be. Please, help me know what you want me to do here. I surrender my future into your hands.

He sighed again, and in the wake of his thoughts, inside his knotted chest, he heard a familiar verse.
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you. And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.

He didn’t know if it might be memory, or the breath of
the Holy Spirit weaving truth into his heart, but for the first time since hopping a plane for Irkutsk, he felt real peace take root.

Like the peace he’d felt with Sarai, as he’d held her in his arms, only warmer, more solid.

Peace that pierced the ever-increasing static around him.

Maybe if he’d stop hanging on so tightly to what he thought he wanted—being a hero—he might find God knew more about his deepest longings than he—

The wind banged the door in. Roman jumped to his feet, peeked around the corner, feeling Vicktor’s breath on his neck.

Nope, not the wind.

“Oy.” Roman pushed Vicktor back, against the wall. “We’re in trouble.”

Vicktor arched one brow, drew back and palmed his pistol. “You know these guys?”

Roman braced himself to spring.

Why had she trusted him? Or believed that he’d changed? Sarai felt sick as she thrust the last of her open case files into an accordion folder. Angrily, she wiped the tears from her eyes, furious that she’d let Roman inside her heart, again.

What did she expect from a full-time, sold-out FSB agent? He probably had his heart surgically removed years ago.

Why had she kissed him? Three times, if her memory served her correctly.

She shouldn’t read honor into his holy “Man of God” act last night. That had been part of his game.

He probably had plenty of ladies back home to take his mind off the frontier doctor with too many freckles.

She felt a tinge of guilt over that last thought. David kept her abreast of Roman’s love life—nil—but then again, Roman might only be feeding David a line.

He seemed to be especially good at that.

Sarah scribbled out a note to Anya and Genye, not quite sure if she’d made up her mind to leave, after all. Vicktor wasn’t as easily swayed as Roman. Although Roman willingly made personal sacrifices to get the job done, Vicktor had a quiet resolve to him that made him dangerous. Frankly, she was slightly afraid of him.

Roman knew that. Yet, he wanted to dump her off into Vicktor’s arms. While he stayed behind and took on the bad guys like some kind of Clint Eastwood.

She clenched her jaw against fresh tears. Jerk.

And who knew when she’d be back again? Just like that, he would uproot two years of her life. Couldn’t Roman just leave her alone to fight her own battles?

A crack sounded, sharp and parting. Sarai jumped, heart in her throat.

A gunshot?

She held her breath and listened. More shots, and crashing. Cursing, in Russian, and a shout.

She ran to her door, opened it.

Her blood turned cold in her veins. Roman and Vicktor. Rolling around on the floor with the men who looked pain
fully like the thugs they’d left behind at Bednov’s place. How had they found her?

Or, were they after Roman? Of
course.
His crimes were finally going to destroy her dreams. Once the authorities linked her with the break-in, they’d revoke her visa in a New York minute.

So much for coming back to Irkutsk to finish her work. Putin would have her name on an embassy automatic denial list before lunch. She’d never set foot in Russia again.

She slammed the door and locked it, leaning against it and breathing hard. Okay, think. This couldn’t be that hard. She hadn’t lived and moved and finagled supplies into Russia to surrender at the first sign of trouble.

First sign? No, that had been when Roman showed up on her doorstep. Sarai rubbed her temples.
Think!

Governor Bednov. He knew her. Owed her. No, she hadn’t saved his son, but she’d come to their aid. Helped his wife through her grief.

He’d at least listen to her. She’d explain that she’d had nothing to do with Roman’s illegal activities, remind him of the good she was doing. He’d sway to her thinking… Especially if she—she grimaced at the thought—offered him a piece of her organization. Medical supplies siphoned off, sold…

But, for the good of the ministry, of spreading the gospel, surely…?

Sarai closed her eyes, shutting out indictments. Tracking across the room, she picked up the telephone and dialed Irkutsk.

Julia Bednov answered the telephone. And, by the sound of her slurred voice, she’d drunken a vodka breakfast. Sarai imagined her diet would change little in the near future.

“Julia? It’s Sarai Curtiss, the American doctor.”

Julia’s tone improved, and Sarai heard interest. “Sarai.
Dobrayi Vecher.
”

Good evening? So maybe Julia hadn’t stopped after dinner, kept right on until morning. Sarai wound the telephone cord around her finger, trying to shut out the sounds of scuffling in the hallway.