Tell Me No Lies (29 page)

Despite the anger and the fear that simmered beneath it, Hank's annoyance began to crumble. What would it be like to blurt out his own truth, to tell her he was terrified of failing her? Relief, indeed. A liberation.

He joined her at the doorway, and she tossed him a mischievous grin. "Dare I risk a walk? The lake is so beautiful."

She looked eager, but he shook his head. "It's not a good idea to be seen. By anyone. You never know who's hanging around asking questions."

"You're right. Of course." But she looked so disappointed he felt like a son of a bitch.

She sighed, backed away from the door, paced the kitchen.

With every move her scent wafted toward him, spicy and sharp. He didn't imagine she'd brought perfume along. How did she make soap and shampoo smell so tantalizing?

He tore his gaze away from her. Poured himself another cup of coffee. Stared out the window.

But he felt her there. A heat source and him the missile that wanted to seek it out.

He escaped onto the porch. How was he going to get through the day?

Alex gazed wistfully out the door. The sun was bright. Such a welcome counter to the darkness lying in wait beyond it.

She had so much left to do. Figure out how to turn this mess of a fishing cabin into something inviting and seductive. Prepare herself to contact Miki. Convince him to come up here.

Embrace him, kiss him, let him touch her.

She swallowed her aversion.

All that was ahead of her.

Right now the sun shone on the lake, turning it silver. She was free, nearly all her secrets told. And she wanted one hour to enjoy it. One hour to throw her arms in the air and explore every crevice of this new world.

She grabbed a hat and an old jacket from a hook near the door and slipped out.

Hank frowned. "Where do you think you're going?'

Striding off, she thrust her arms into the jacket and ' jammed the hat on her head, quickly shoving her hair inside. "For a walk."

"Dammit, hold on!"

She made it to the end of the dock that linked the cabin to the water before he caught up with her. A thick ring of lily pads encircled the lake. The wide band of broad green leaves gave the lake an exotic feel, like something out of a storybook. Far in the distance, an island floated in the center, partially blocking the view. Two boats sat in deep water, men with rods silhouetted against the morning light. What would it be like to forget revenge, shrug off the burden of the past, and sail away?

Hank shattered that thought. He grabbed her arm. "Get back in the cabin."

"I just need some air."

"Get back "

"Hank. Please." She said it quietly, looking at him from under the brim of Edward's silly hat. "I know how dangerous Miki Petrov is. But this is important to me." She pulled the hat lower on her forehead and yanked the oversized jacket away from her body. "Besides, no one's going to know who's under all this."

Hank looked from her to the lake and back again. She was probably right, but she appeared so outlandish everyone was bound to notice her. On the other hand, he was more comfortable out here than stuffed in the cramped cabin with her. At least here there were other things to watch. But he kept his hand on the butt of the gun shoved in his waistband underneath his shirt.

"All right. But stay close."

They sauntered in silence for a few minutes. Alex gazed, out at the lake, as though she'd never seen the sun rising over water or men in fishing boats. As though the girl she'd lost so many years ago had been reborn overnight.

Swooping down, he picked up a pebble and threw it into the water. It landed beyond the lilies, sinking without a splash.

"Why does Mason call you Sasha?"

She turned from the water, her face dreamy as her eyes met his. "It's a diminutive for Aleksandra. Like Billy for William. My father sometimes called me Sashka. Sonya used Sashenka." She colored, and he knew she was remembering the night Sonya died.

In an instant he remembered it, too. Carrying Alex in his arms, the dip of her robe, which revealed a wide ribbon of satin skin. The same skin now revealed in the smooth curve of her neck beneath Mason's hat.

"I'm afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself over that," she said. "Sashenka was a childhood nickname, and she knew me as a child."

"In Russia?" He concentrated on the lake, seizing on something else to think about besides that patch of skin.

"Yes. She was our housekeeper. After my mother died, she practically raised me. We took her everywhere until my fate's death."

"Everywhere?"

"My father was in the diplomatic corps before working for the CPSU."

"CPSU?"

"Communist Party of the Soviet Union."

"Ah."

The names and the world they conjured were so alien, her experience so foreign from his. Yet he could easily imagine her as the privileged child of a privileged class. What had it been like to lose that? She'd run to another country, merged into another culture, a new language, new customs. A child with no family and few friends. No wonder she seemed so isolated. As alone as the island in the middle of the lake.

"We lived in England and America. I went to elite schools. Diplomats and party bosses always had special perks. I learned English very early, which was why Luka took me to an English-speaking country."

"That explains the accent."

"What accent?"

"Exactly. Your accent is almost nonexistent. Here and there, a slight something, but otherwise ..."

"Yes. I worked very hard at that."

Once again, she stopped to admire the view of water glistening under the rising sun. To their right a grassy area held a copse of trees. Tulip and locust from the looks of them. It was a pretty setting, perfect for a lakeside picnic. He had a flash of himself and Alex lying on a blanket beneath the boughs. She was smiling that open smile he'd seen on her face that morning, and he was holding her, kissing her, touching ... His body tightened, blood pulsing wildly, and he coughed, cursing silently. To distract himself, he asked another question.

"What happened to Sonya after your father died?"

"Petrov and his KGB thugs arrested and interrogated her." Her voice caught. "They were very cruel."

He wanted to put an arm around her shoulder and squeeze her close, but didn't dare. The image of the two of them on that blanket was still too fresh.

"I'm sorry."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she smiled through them. "She was very dear to me."

And then he couldn't help himself. His arm went around her, and he pulled her into a tight, brief hug. He would have left it at that, but she slid her fingers into the hand he'd draped over her shoulder, and he was stuck. Right where he wanted to be.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For being here."

Alex turned in his embrace and gazed up at him. She didn't know why she'd done that. Why she'd put her hand in his. She should be thinking about Miki, plotting her next move.

But Miki was far away, and Hank so very close. All of a sudden, a giddy, foolish feeling struck her. The same feeling she'd had right before she discovered the broken glass in her house. Hopeful, excited. Not knowing what was: coming next but eager for it to happen.

What had happened next was gunshots. Reality strafed her, a reminder as quick and brutal as the bullets had been.

And then the sun glided through a cloud and glinted off the lake. Edward was gone; Miki in Manhattan. She had tine. A little while before she had to act. She gazed up at Hank, breathless.

He stared down at her, mesmerized. "Alex," he murmured. "Sasha."

The name came out unexpectedly, but it felt right. Close and ultimate. Something to call the woman he kissed. The secret, hidden woman he wanted to take into the trees, whose remaining core of ice he wanted to melt.

He caressed her face, her forehead under Mason's hat, her strong jaw. She trembled beneath his fingers, and that quiver sent a sudden wave of hot fear through him.

What was he doing?

He was a decoy, a death trap. A prank the universe played on the people he cared about. He couldn't let her fall for it. He had to maintain distance. A cool, detached perimeter.

He cleared his throat, but as if she'd read his mind, she led him to the copse of trees.

She scanned the area, gauging its potential. "This would be a good spot."

Hank's pulse quickened. "Good spot for what?"

"For my date with Miki Petrov."

His stomach dropped to his knees, his detachment shattered. He shot her a hard look. "I wouldn't call it a date. More like a disaster."

"You say tomato, I say tomahto."

The joke went flat. His whole mood had gone flat. "The trees aren't wired for sound, Countess." He grabbed her hand, tugged her out of the grove, and started the march back to the cabin. "Just for grins, let's say your whole crazy scheme works. You do... whatever the hell you do" his mind shied away from picturing it "Petrov is arrested, discredited, your father's reputation restored and you're still alive."

"It could happen." She said it calmly, too calmly for his taste.

"In your dreams. But let's say by some small miracle, it does. What happens with Renaissance Oil? Sokanan is counting on that deal going through. Everyone in the whole damn county is counting on it."

She had the grace to flush. "I can't promise anyone will have the wherewithal or the will to replace Miki. But if there's a chance to save it, I will."

"Well, that's encouraging."

"It's the best I can do right now."

"Terrific. I'm not only helping you commit suicide, I'm doing the same for my hometown."

She touched his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

He pulled her into the cabin and dropped her hand, leaving her in the doorway. He would have liked a nice shot of whiskey or some of that Stoli she was so fond of, but he poured himself a cup of coffee instead. The liquid hit his stomach like battery acid.

The hell of it was, he couldn't stop thinking about those trees. And her beneath them.

With him.

With Miki.

With him.

Shit.

A hand on his back. He flinched and turned to find her behind him, close enough to take in his arms, to kiss. He stepped away, and a pleading expression crossed her face.

"I've spent my whole adult life working to bring Miki Petrov down. Please try to understand."

He sighed. "I understand fine. I just don't like it."

He left her in the kitchen. Keeping his distance. Keeping his head clear, or trying to. It wasn't easy, filled as it was with things he rarely thought about: Russians, communists, KGB. All swirled with thoughts that often occupied him: opportunity, means, and motive. If he could just put all the pieces together in one clear picture that didn't include her and Miki Petrov in that grove of trees.

He eased into the recliner, using the chair as another barrier. He had to keep away from her. Had to find neutral ground, something dry and unemotional to talk about.

"What do you think happened to the missing party money? Have you tried tracing it?"

Alex sat on a cooler, desperate to forget their argument. She couldn't stand fighting with him. Not now. Not when she felt so... so weird and wonderful. Not when they had so little time. Miki was out there. She only had to call him, and the end would begin. But not yet. Not yet.

'The missing money, Alex. Have you tried tracing it?"

She forced herself back to the cabin. Away from the future and back to the past she'd been living with all these years. "Better heads than mine tried and failed. Yeltsin hired an international private investigation firm to find it. They ran up a huge bill and came up empty. They needed the cooperation of the KGB and their underground sources, and couldn't get it."

"Why not?"

She drifted away again, remembering the look in his eyes, the buzz in her body. His hand on her face.

"Alex, Sasha." The sharpness in his voice snapped her back. "Why not?"

"If Petrov and his KGB buddies were behind the theft, it wouldn't be in their interest to help, would it?"

"So you think there were others who benefited not just Petrov?"

"Probably."

"Any idea who?"

Oh, she didn't want to talk about this. She wanted to talk about that moment outside. When he touched her face and the world stood still.

"Who, Alex?"

She sighed. He was right, of course. She needed to concentrate. Focus. "Antonin Dashevsky for one."

"Who's that?"

"The prime minister."

He stared at her, and his shocked expression almost made her laugh. "You've got to be kidding."

"Why not? He wasn't always prime minister." She left the cooler and perched on the arm of the chair, feeling the heat he generated.

But he tensed, rose, and walked away. "Christ, this gets worse and worse."

"Look, Dashevsky is a banking genius who began to gather wealth at the very onset of perestroika, when he was still in university. He was probably the only one who not only knew enough about moving large sums of money, but had the contacts to do it."

"You're butting heads with the likes of the KGB and the prime minister of Russia?"

"I'm butting heads with murderers and thieves. Their pedigree is irrelevant."

"You're crazy, you know that? Stark raving insane."

Forget Miki Petrov, Hank would kill her himself. But before he could, the phone rang. Alex crossed to pick it up. She listened briefly, ran down the half of the list she had retained, listened, murmured something approvingly, then hung up.

"That was Letty. My secretary. She said the clothes should be here in the morning."

The morning. Who knew what else the morning would bring? "What a shame." His voice dripped sarcasm. "I'm going to miss the bag lady look."

"Miki Petrov won't." Alex was sorry the minute she said it. She wanted to forget Miki. Not forever, but for a moment. For now. While Hank was here, and they were alone.

"I don't give a damn about Miki Petrov." He knelt in front of the chair, shaking it. "What you're doing is crazy. It's dangerous and reckless and "