Sands of Time (9 page)

I
f Roman read her correctly, Sarai wasn’t that displeased to see him.

Mostly displeased, perhaps, but he saw definite relief around the outside of her eyes as he shone his flashlight on her and closed the door.

For his part, relief took over his body and wrung him out, nearly buckling his knees.
Thank you, Lord.
He’d seen her car in the ditch, found her tracks and had pictured head wounds or even broken bones.

But no, here she sat, Miss “I’m fine on my own” making herself a cozy little fire. “Found you,” he said as he came into the room, disguising well his unhinged emotions. She said nothing, just narrowed her eyes, watching him as he knelt next to her.

Or, maybe relief wasn’t the right word for what he saw
in her eyes. Try, resignation. Good. She should get used to his following her. Like a lovesick puppy.

Oy.

“I wish you’d stop trying to ditch me.” He picked up a log, looked it over, pulled out a compact pocketknife and peeled off a layer, cutting it into tiny strips. He tucked the bark around the paper and the logs she’d layered in the stove. “Matches.”

She slapped them into his hand, still, silent. Uh-oh, not good.

He took off his gloves and lit the match, then the paper in several places. He blew on it gently to catch the kindling he’d cut. In a moment, the flames settled on a thick piece of pine and began to crackle.

He closed the door halfway. She sat back, tucked her hands around her updrawn knees, watching him. “Thanks.”

He rubbed his hair. Snow flaked off it, but his scalp felt like ice.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble on account of me.” Her voice sounded muffled, and he realized she had rested her head into her arms.

She looked cold. Snow encrusted hair curled out of her cap. He reached over and wrapped his hand around the end, warming it with his hand.

“It might be too late for that.”

“Fine. Then, sorry. But you made your choice. No one asked you to come and get me.”

Well…that wasn’t
quite
true. If he was honest, even if
David hadn’t asked, as soon as Roman had discovered Bednov’s deadline, he would have been on a plane and headed her direction.

As much as he hated to admit it.

“Please, Sarai, help me help you. They’ve already started to post your picture on the news.” He reached into his jacket. “If you hadn’t taken off, I would have shown this to you.” He pulled out a newspaper. Inside, thumbnail pictures of foreigners in the Irkutia province filled the page A-4. “See?”

Sarai stared at it, a horrified look on her face. What was it about him that repelled her, but only made
him
want to pull her into his arms?

It had felt too good the first time, back at her clinic, despite its brevity. And the second, when he’d comforted her over her sick patient—she’d lingered just a little. Like she needed him, cultivating all his stifled protective urges. If he got too close to her again, he just might do something foolish, like kiss her.

No, that would be so much more than foolish because, while he might still love Sarai, painfully more than he had thirteen years ago, she couldn’t stand him. And wouldn’t that be fun, laying out his heart for her so she could leave it cold and alone when she left him—again. And again.

She’s not the same girl you fell in love with in Moscow.
And a man who ferreted out criminals for a living, reading hints and relying on his gut should face the Dear John truth.

“Don’t you see?” he asked softly. “We need to get you out of here.”

She folded up the paper and smiled sweetly. “I’ve been in countries before when my visa’s expired or been revoked. The right people, the right strings pulled and I’ll be reinstated in no time.” She handed him back the paper, looked at the flickering flames. “Besides, why do you think I came here? I fully plan on laying low for a few days, so don’t worry. You can be on your merry way.”

He barely choked back his disbelief. “Your picture is in the paper.
Zdrastvootya?
What more do you need, a ‘Wanted’ label under it?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you leave now, you can make it back to Smolsk before the storm gets really bad.”

Roman rested his forehead on his palms, fighting frustration. Well, at least she knew she should keep her head down. For now. One step forward… And, they still had forty-eight hours, right?

Hopefully, tomorrow he could talk her into more. “I’m not going anywhere. My car’s in the ditch beside yours.”

She shook her head, but he saw the smallest of smirks lift one side of her mouth. Such a pretty mouth…

“Stop. What do you expect? It wasn’t like you left your flashers on. I nearly went through the windshield,” Roman said.

“Forgive me, O Bloodhound. If I had known you were following me, I would have put out semaphores, of course.”

He gave her a mock glare. “Where are we, anyway? I hope we haven’t committed yet another crime.”

She looked disgusted. “Anya and Genye’s dacha.”

He made a silent O with his mouth as he got up. “Got
anything to eat here?” He strolled over to the tiny kitchen composed of a two-burner gas stove, an electric oven and fridge and a small two door cupboard. Inside, he found cans of salmon, a bag of sugar, tea, crackers and a jar of raspberry preserves.

He took out the salmon and began fishing for an opener. He heard Sarai rise. The floor creaked as she moved into the kitchen.

“David tells me you’re a captain now. Of your own Cobra team. That’s pretty impressive.” Sarai took off her hat and hung it on the rack by the door. She stood there, her hands woven into her jacket sleeves, and when he glanced at her, he couldn’t help notice that she appeared tired.

“You okay, Sar?”

She looked at him, gave a half smile. “I always knew you’d go far.”

He let those words settle into his chest. “Thanks. I’m amazed at what you’ve done, also. You’ve always…taken my breath away.”

Oops. He hadn’t quite meant that as it sounded. Or maybe he did. She swallowed, and he turned his attention to the can opener. For a moment, all he heard was the slush of his pulse in his ears.

When she said nothing, he sighed and dredged up words from the clog of emotions in his chest. He could keep this nonchalant, without giving too much away, couldn’t he?

“I meant your aspirations were always so noble, I just couldn’t keep up.”

She pulled out a chair, sat. “It’s not like you to just sit
around and do nothing. David told me about the Epcot thing.” She paused, smiled. He watched it out of his peripheral vision and tried not to wince. “The thing is, it still took courage, and I know you’re only trying to save the world, in your own way.”

Well, maybe not the world. Just Sarai at the moment. The world would come later.

“I’ll bet your dad is proud of you.” She said it so softly, he barely caught it.

“Hardly.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. “He died, Sarai. Drank himself into a stupor and froze to death.” He put the open can of salmon on the table.

“Oh, Roma. I’m so sorry.” She reached out to his arm, and he tried not to let it undo him. “Did you two…reconcile before—”

“No. I never went to see him.”

She said nothing.

He clenched his jaw, fighting a sudden rush of emotions. “How about I make some tea?”

“You’re not him, Roma. I know you think you are, but you’ll never be him. And I’ll tell you why.”

He didn’t look at her as he found the teakettle. Snow would melt, make water.

“Because you’re a Christian. And no matter what happens, your life matters. Maybe not the way I want it to, but you’re a man of principle and salt and light in your world. I know because David tells me everything, and you’re like a brother to him.”

He glanced at her, dangerously aware of how much that
meant to him. “Thanks.” Carrying the kettle, he moved to step past her, outside, but she caught his sleeve.

“I worry about you, too.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing emerged.

“And, deep in my heart, I know someday you’re going to die. And I won’t be there to stop it.”

He set the kettle on the table. She wanted to have this conversation
now?
What about ten plus years ago? “I’m not going to get killed, Sarai.”

“You will. And then…. I don’t want to be there when it happens.” She let his sleeve go, looked away, as if that might be the end of the conversation.

Not quite. He pulled out a chair, straddled it backward. “And what about you? It’s not like you don’t go around risking your life. I think you have this knack for picking the hot spots in the world. Have you any idea how your brother—all of us—worry about you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “At least I’m doing it for the right reasons.”

“I knew it! You still think I’m out to make a name for myself, don’t you?”

Even in the shadows of the dacha, he could see her eyes flash. “Yes. Okay, I do. I think you’re trying to prove you’re not your father. That you’re not going to end up like him.”

“Thanks, Sarai, for that sensitivity, as well as your vote of confidence. Did it ever occur to you that I am just trying to be the guy God created me to be? Not everyone can save lives—and souls. Some of us are cut from a different
cloth. Besides, don’t tell me you don’t get a little high when you save a life. Don’t tell me that there isn’t a piece of you that sees herself as a savior to these people.”

“I don’t.” She sat back, folded her arms across her chest. “I’m here for eternal purposes. I share the gospel, I tell people that Jesus loves them as I heal them.”

“You heal them.”

“
God
heals them. For crying out loud.” She shook her head. “At least, when I die, it’ll be for a good reason.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’re a martyr.” He rose, turned the chair around.

She looked away, out the window. But, when he glanced at her he saw that her chin trembled.

“I’m not a martyr, Roma.” Her voice dropped and he heard tears on the far edge. “Don’t you think that I get lonely. Discouraged? That I want to give up and just go home. And get married and…have kids…”

Oh. Wow. He froze, pretty sure that if he didn’t, he might do something stupid, like pull her into his arms. Because her words felt raw and vulnerable, and the look on her face, as if she’d surprised herself, made his chest hurt.

Look what we could have had.

“Do you have anyone you want to get married to?” he asked softly. Was he now a glutton for pain?

She gave a huff of what he’d label exasperation, or maybe quick cover. All the same, it felt like a stake through his heart. “No. Of course not. I’m just saying that I’m not the girl that you and David and my parents label me—”

“No one is labeling you.”

“You are. You think I’m just some sort of renegade doctor, risking my life—”

“Okay, that’s true, I concede—”

“But I’m just trying to be the girl God made me to be. All my life I wanted to be a doctor. I saw it as my way to fulfill the Great Commission.” She glanced at him, and he saw hurt in her eyes. “As if you’d know anything about that. The only reason you ever liked me, if at all, was because I was David’s little sister and you thought I was easy prey. Guess you were wrong, huh?”

He opened his mouth, feeling gut punched. “That is not true. You know it. I loved you. And you shattered me when you left.”

Oh, no, why did he have to say
that?
But she always knew how to ignite his emotions. Like a match to tinder.

She looked at him, her beautiful green eyes wide.

Yes, that’s right, Sarai, I’m still in love with you. I never stopped and just being near you dredges up the feelings I’ve been trying to ignore…or dodge for way too long.
The words formed in his thoughts, but stuck like gum in his chest. Please, let him not be so stupid as to let them out.

He grabbed the teakettle. “I’m fine now. It’s over. I got it after you spent three months not returning my calls, and about thirteen years not talking to me. But in case you’re wondering, I
did
love you. That was real. And so is my concern for you when I tell you that you’re going to be in big trouble if you stay in Irkutsk.” His voice sounded as if he were talking through a grate. Rough edged. Broken.

She looked up at him as he stood there—why wasn’t he
moving?—and in her eyes he saw question. Doubt. And just a little anger.

Then, just like that she blinked it away.

Just like she’d blinked him away so long ago.

He should have expected as much. He stalked outside, into the snow and filled the teakettle.

She was so over him that it made him wonder if she’d
ever
loved him.

But before that thought could wound him, he stilled. Listened. Yes, voices. And the dart of a light.

He dropped the kettle, dashed back into the cabin. Sarai stood at the sink, opening the jar of preserves. She jumped as he slammed the door open.

“We have company. I want you to get into the other room and stay low.” Oh, no, the fire had already betrayed them. How could he have been so—

“What on earth are you talking about?” She turned, opener in hand. “No one is out to get me.”

“We don’t know that, do we?”

She just stood there. He took two strides and scooped her up. The can opener fell with a clatter into the sink. “Roman!”

“Tiha!”
He ignored the way she pushed against his chest and strode into the back bedroom. “Will you just trust me for once?”

“Put me down,” she gritted, but her voice stayed low. Good girl.

He set her down in the tiny bedroom. “Stay here. Close the door.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re scaring me.”

“Finally,” he snapped. Then he closed the door behind him.

“Stop it, Julia.” Bednov stood over her as she slumped across the kitchen table. The kitchen that he’d spent thousands of his hard earned rubles to remodel. Did she think that it wouldn’t come without a price?

He barely stopped himself from grabbing her hair, yanking her to her feet. “You knew Katya had to be dealt with.” He reached for the vodka bottle, took a swig before he wiped his mouth and capped it.