Crossing the Line (2 page)

How easy it is to fall.
Ethan watched Katya sleeping next to him and wondered how a bad mistake could feel so right. He could hardly claim he’d fucked her in the line of duty. She’d already told him everything before they fell into bed. He was satisfied her plan was nothing more than a fresh start. She was open and innocent, still mourning her family and didn’t always manage to hide that wounded look in her eyes. Her position at UM had been earned on merit. Her head of department had encouraged her to apply.

But the reason Ethan sat next to her on the plane was because she’d been observed on multiple occasions visiting the MVD, the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and the FSB, the Federal Security Service. When those photographs had been linked to her application for a visa, bells had rung. His contact in the Russian secret service told him she’d been pressing for information about the murder of her sister and then about the car accident and had offered to work for them. So had one of the organizations agreed and arranged this trip? Or was it nothing more than a young woman wanting a break after a year of tragedy?

Ethan’s final job for his former boss, Gerry, was to check her out. He’d taken that a little too literally. She stirred in her sleep and her eyes fluttered under the lids. His gut told him she wasn’t involved in anything clandestine. His gut also told him there was something different about her, something that appealed to him in an unexpected way.

Before he made a bad situation worse, Ethan slipped out of bed, dressed and went to his own room. Better she thought him a bastard than expect more than he could give. A phone call procured him a seat in business class on an earlier flight. He’d have nine hours in the air to reflect on how he should have kept his dick in his pants.

* * * * *

When Katya stepped off the plane at Miami airport, Ethan sat in front of a bank of screens in the security office. He hadn’t intended to hang around but after he’d emailed his report, Gerry asked him to confirm who picked her up. Ethan watched her through every stage of her arrival, as she waited for her luggage and passed through immigration and customs. No one came up to her in the terminal. She waited for twenty minutes by an exit and only looked once at her watch. Moscow training, he thought with a grim smile. No one expected anyone to be on time.

The guy who finally approached was six feet four of solid muscle with dark curly hair and a crooked nose. He wore a dirty t-shirt and jeans, and needed a shave. He planted kisses on Katya’s cheeks and held her out in front of him. He looked like a grizzly bear not a guy with a big house and pool, and Ethan’s stomach clenched in unease.

He turned to the man watching with him. “Okay?”

“Got him.”

A few minutes later, he had the license number of Vasily Novikov’s Chevy pickup and confirmation he was Katya’s uncle. He wished he could blame the long flight or his inappropriate behavior in Paris for his anxiety, but he couldn’t. This guy looked like trouble and even worse, Katya appeared worried.

Still, his job was done. He emailed Gerry and pushed his phone in his pocket. He had ten days of vacation before he started work and if he hadn’t been an FBI agent, he’d have spent it with Katya, but if he wanted to keep his job, he couldn’t ever see her again.

Katya glanced at her uncle as he drove away from the airport and forced herself to suppress her disappointment. Her mama and Vasily’s wife, Irina, were sisters—how could they marry such different men? Her uncle smelled of beer and grease. No one could replace her father, but she’d hoped for someone like him. Vasily cursed the traffic and forced his way into a lane to be greeted with a prolonged horn blast.

She flinched and gripped the seat. “How long to the house?”

“Fuck knows in this traffic.”

Irina had emigrated from the Soviet Union before Katya was born. Her husband had since died and she’d married Vasily five years ago. Neither marriage produced children. Irina’s letters had been read over dinner. They loved to hear about the house with a pool and the vacations in the Caribbean. Vasily scratched his armpit and sniffed his fingers. Uneasy, Katya turned her head to the window and closed her eyes.

When she’d slid her fingers across an empty bed this morning, she was disappointed but not angry. She knew deep down it had been better to wake and find Ethan gone, not even a note saying sorry because that would have cheapened what they’d done. She’d noticed he’d avoided talking about anything personal. She hoped he wasn’t married but suspected he was. Maybe they’d used each other. He’d made Katya happy when she thought she’d forgotten how that felt. Now she could remember one perfect day, one perfect night to sustain her through what lay ahead. Forget the imperfect morning.

Her sister, Galya, had been married for three months when her policeman husband had been shot dead in Moscow by drug dealers. She’d told Katya that thinking of Oskar kept her going when she was scared or wanted to give up. Katya had to do the same. If she died, at least a handsome man had brought her pleasure. She’d think of his broad shoulders, tidy dark hair, movie star looks and it would make her smile. She’d met him too soon, but perhaps this was all the happiness she’d get. The thought made her heart clench, but he’d be the good memory to keep her warm when the bad memories kept her going.

Until her sister died, Katya had existed in selfish oblivion where she lived, breathed and dreamed music. Galya’s murder dragged her back to reality and Katya’s life had spiraled into hell. She’d been infected by Galya’s resolve to put the world right, damaged by her father’s obsession with finding his daughter’s killer and broken-hearted by the way the family had disintegrated. When she’d lost the rest of her family in the accident-that-wasn’t, hate moved into her heart, pushing out love.

Hate kept her alive, but stopped her from moving on. Hate fueled hate and inactivity fed the fire. She couldn’t rest until those who’d killed her family paid for what they’d done. The desire for vengeance burned like phosphorous inside her. Anger gave her the strength to continue. Until she’d done all she could to punish those who were responsible, she had no life.

Her friends thought she was hoping to get away from it all, but it was a lie. She was flying into trouble.

She started when Vasily shook her awake. The truck had stopped. It was dark but she could see they were in a dirt-covered yard next to a single story dwelling surrounded by trees. There were no other houses. As Vasily stepped from the truck two large dogs bounded up and she tensed. Her aunt had never mentioned dogs.

“Down, Lucifer. Down, Satan.” He turned to Katya. “They bite, so careful.”

“Tell them not to,” she said, a lump in her throat.

He laughed and came around to open the door on her side. One of the dogs jumped up and she reeled back. The animal’s breath stank.

“Get down, Satan.”

Vasily beckoned for Katya to step out. She reluctantly stayed close to him as the dogs sniffed her. He put his arm over her shoulder.

“She’s friend, not foe. Get out of here, boys.”

The dogs slunk away and she shrugged off her uncle’s arm to gather her violin and backpack before following him and her suitcase to the dilapidated house. The heat and humidity stole her breath, made her clothes feel clammy.

Vasily pulled back the screen and opened the door. “Mouse, we’re here.”

Katya’s heart beat faster. A door opened and a frail woman in a dirty pink housecoat appeared, her face drawn and pale, but so like her mother that Katya’s lungs locked.

“Privyet,
Yekaterina Petrovna,” her aunt said.

Katya put down her things, rushed to hug her and felt bones beneath the material.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Katya. I was so disappointed when your plane was delayed.” Irina pulled back to look at her. “You’re nothing like your mother.”

“Galya looked like Mama. Papa said I looked like the man at the post office.”

Her aunt laughed. “Always a joker, your Papa.”

Not after Galya died
.

Irina swayed and clutched Katya’s arm. “I’m sorry, I’m not well.”

Vasily scooped her up. “First time in ten days she’s been on her feet.”

Katya followed them into the dark bedroom. The smell of decay hit her and she breathed through her mouth.

“You should have told me you were ill,” she said.

“Then you wouldn’t have come.”

Vasily plumped up the pillows under Irina’s head.

“Sorry, Katechka,” Irina mumbled and closed her eyes.

Out of the bedroom, Katya took in what she’d ignored in the excitement of meeting her aunt. One large room served as living space, dining room and kitchen. Filthy plates and pans were stacked in the sink and on the stove. Flies buzzed and she could smell only stale food. No meal to welcome her.

Vasily took a can of beer from the fridge. “Want a drink?”

“Water?”

“Help yourself.”

She washed a glass before she filled it.

“Ready for the tour?” Vasily put his arm over her shoulder and pointed with his can. “Bathroom. Other room is yours. Things are a mess. I’ve been busy looking after Irina.”

“What’s wrong with her?” She filled her glass again to escape him.

“Cancer.”

Her heart sank. “I could have stayed somewhere else.”

“Mouse wanted to see you before…” He looked away.

“I’m so sorry, Uncle Vasily. I’ll help you look after her.”

Tears spilled over her lashes and they weren’t all for her aunt. Duty made her offer while her heart told her to run. As he approached, Katya moved back. “I’m very tired.”

The bedroom was full of junk; piled up cardboard boxes, bulging plastic bags, stacks of DVDs and—
oh God—
porn magazines. She looked up at the naked light bulb, wires exposed at the ceiling, then at the stained mattress, gray sheets and thin towel tossed on top. Her aunt’s letters about the booming car business, big house, pool, exotic vacations, parties—lies. Disappointment clawed at her heart.

She made the bed and drew the drapes across the window. She didn’t unpack, only removed her nightwear and toiletries. Her spirits sank further in the bathroom. Months of grime lined the faucets, mold bloomed on the walls and the tiles were filthy. She washed quickly, scooped water onto her face, cleaned her teeth and shut herself back in the stifling room.

Even with the window open, the air was still and oppressive. She lay on her back feeling lost, alone and increasingly sad. She’d hoped to feel she’d in some way come home and instead she could have been on another planet. All she’d needed was love and a little sympathy. Her aunt was too sick to give it and her uncle wasn’t the man she wanted him to be.

She closed her eyes and took herself back to Paris, remembering the way Ethan had held her.
Has he reached his home on Sanibel? Is he in his hammock thinking of me?

The moment Katya drew in a conscious breath and inhaled the sour odor, she knew Vasily had been in her room. Her heart thumped. She should have blocked the door.
Not another night here.
She rolled out of bed and looked through the window. No truck, but the dogs roamed the yard. When she checked on her aunt, she found her still sleeping, a bony shape under the sheet, medicines piled beside her. Dying. Katya bit her lip.
All that remains of my family.

She opened every window and the door, the dogs watching her through the screen. Filled bags with trash and put them just outside, cleaned the fridge, scrubbed the stove, washed the floor, and began to see the home it might have been, though never what Irina described.

When her aunt woke, Katya brought her a glass of tea and helped her drink.

“Ah, I haven’t had tea in a glass for a long time,” said her aunt.

“How do you feel?”

“Your mother always told me not to smoke. She looked after me.”

“She said you fought anyone who was mean to her.”

Irina’s tired face creased in a smile. “She was too easy going, forgave everyone.”

“Mama said I’m stubborn…like you.”

“Being stubborn kept me from my family.” Irina sighed. “I know this isn’t what you expected.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Though it did. She wanted to be lounging by a pool in her new bikini, but felt guilty for thinking it.

“I needed her to believe I’d done the right thing in coming here.”

“We loved your letters.”

“I didn’t want her to think I’d failed.”

“It’s not important.” No point in upsetting her aunt now. “I’ve cleaned the house. I can clean in here if you like.”

“You’re a kind girl, but you can’t make things right. Forget cleaning. Talk to me. Tell me about the snow. How I miss it. So hot here.”

Katya sat on the bed. “I like the snow too, the way it melts in your hand yet has the power to stop traffic and empty streets.”

A smile flittered across her aunt’s face.

Snow hid ugliness, but it could cover a drunk where he lay and maybe propel a car into a river. Beautiful and deadly.

“You’re thinking of them,” Irina whispered.

She nodded.

“Did they suffer? Did Galya?”

Pain seared her heart and it was all she could do not to cry out. “No.”

The day they found Galya, the phone had been answered by her father. His legs had suddenly gone from under him. Katya had rushed to his side, helped him sit, then taken the receiver and listened.

A man said Galya had been shot, a quick and painless death. Her mother had walked into the room, seen their stunned faces and known without them saying a word. Katya trembled remembering the terrible noise her mother had made. The sound of a heart shattering, a sound that had pulled them all into the vortex.

Papa had driven Katya to the mortuary and demanded to see the body, convinced they’d made a mistake. But the mistake was letting them see her. The image of her sister’s body was forever etched on Katya’s brain. She remembered feeling distress for what was once a person lying in front of them, her face viciously mangled, relief that it wasn’t Galya, then numbing horror because it was.

Their eyes fixed on the gory figure with unnaturally bulging ripped cheeks, she and her father had clutched each other, unable to speak or move. As Katya identified the flesh in the middle of her sister’s cheeks as nipples, she turned her face into her father’s chest and pushed him out. He’d collapsed in the corridor and people came running. The man who’d shown them the body protested they’d insisted. Another man called him a fool. If it was a mistake, no one would take responsibility, but later Katya decided she wasn’t sorry about what she’d seen. They’d been lied to because Galya hadn’t been shot, hadn’t died quickly and painlessly.

She helped her father to the car. On the way home, his grief transformed to fury and he raged at the monster who’d mutilated his daughter, at the FSB for lying, and at himself for letting his child do such a dangerous job.
You couldn’t have stopped her, Papa.
Katya drove in circles until he’d calmed. When she finally pulled up outside their building, he was quiet again and made her swear not to tell anyone what they’d seen.

Her mother was still sobbing, Babushka and Dedushka sat white-faced at her side. When neighbors and friends visited, her father disappeared. Katya held the day together, made cups of strong black tea sweetened with jam, comforted her mother and her grandparents while she ached inside for someone to hold her. She couldn’t imagine life without her older sister.

When everyone had finally gone, her father returned a changed man. Her mild-mannered, gentle Papa swore to her he would find and kill the person who’d tortured his child. Everything had to be kept from Mama and her elderly parents so he confided in Katya, told her every detail he uncovered, every conversation he had, weighed her down with horror until she felt she’d suffocate.

Her mother stayed in bed. Katya did the shopping, the cleaning and cooking. She’d been so overwhelmed by the needs of others she put her own pain on hold. She’d been unable to sleep, unable to practice the violin. Part of her felt if she’d died, they wouldn’t have missed her as much.

As her aunt slept, Katya stroked her hand. Another member of her family in pain. At least those dear to Katya had been together at the end and a part of her wished she’d been with them.

By the time Vasily returned Katya had made
zharkoye
, a traditional beef stew. After she’d put him in a good mood with food, she’d persuade him to take her to a hotel.

He helped himself to a beer and lifted the lid on the pan. “Smells good. Maybe Irina will eat some.”

“She couldn’t.”

“All the more for me.”

Katya winced. “Perhaps…she should see the doctor?”

“Why pay to hear what we already know? She’ll die soon.” Vasily started eating before she sat down, tearing off bread, and shoveling meat into his mouth.

“She’d be more comfortable in the hospital.”

“She wants to stay here.”

Katya took a deep breath. “Would you take me to a hotel, please? Or call me a cab?”

He put down his fork and frowned. “That’s going to really disappoint her. She’s looked forward to you coming to stay. Another day or two won’t hurt.”

“One more day.”
Idiot.

Vasily clicked on the TV and turned up the volume.

“Are we near the sea?” she asked.

“Why?”

“I wanted to walk on a beach.”

“Too far. Any more of this?”

Katya ladled out the rest. He pulled off another chunk of bread.

“Could I walk in the woods?”

“Not if the dogs are out.”

“I thought you told them not to bite me.”

“Want to take the chance they’ll remember? And there’s snakes.”

A lump erupted in her throat. She felt trapped. She
was
trapped.

Vasily stared at her. “How come you’re not married? Left a boy in Moscow?”

She said nothing.

“You must have had plenty of boyfriends, a pretty girl like you.”

After Galya died, she’d had no time for boyfriends. After her family was killed while she danced at a party, she didn’t think she deserved one. “I’ll sit with Aunt Irina for a while.”

“She won’t notice.”

Even so, Irina was better company.

* * * * *

Ethan paid the toll to cross the causeway and drove his new Corvette over to Sanibel. Brown pelicans perched on the fishing pier posts watching old men and boys cast their lines. He drove down Periwinkle, picked up his keys from the rental office and stopped for basic supplies, including cold beer. Turning down familiar streets, he eventually pulled onto his driveway. Instead of his spirits rising, they were sinking.

This home had been waiting for him and Sarah, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hang onto his half of the dream. He unlocked the door to see furniture they’d picked out together, paintings they’d chosen together. The beer beckoned and he took it onto the deck. The view was still great, but he wished he had someone with him to admire it, someone to lie next to him in the hammock. Not just someone.
Katya
.

Despite efforts not to, he’d thought about her as he’d driven across the state. If she were here, he’d wrap his hands around her waist, turn her beautiful face to his and kiss her. He ought to forget her and he couldn’t.