Tell Me No Lies (32 page)

She swiveled around to face him. He'd gone white. Slowly, he sank into one of the kitchen chairs. She crept closer, a lump of fear forming inside her.

"Are you sure it's him? I just can't believe... there's got to be a mistake. A mix-up... Okay, all right. No, I'll notify her. Yes, I'll take care of it And I appreciate the heads up. Thanks." He disconnected.

"Who was it?"

He sat staring at the phone.

"Hank! What's the matter? You're scaring me."

He looked up at her, his face a portrait of confusion. "Lydia from dispatch."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"It's ... it's Trey. He's in trouble."

The lump grew, a cancer of terror spreading inexorably. "What kind of trouble?"

He rubbed a hand down his face. "He and a couple of cronies, they... they broke into a bike shop. Shattered the storefront, took three bikes, damaged four more. The others got away, but the owner caught Trey red-handed. The story's still a bit garbled, but evidently Trey..." He shook his head as though trying to shake the words loose. "He assaulted the owner with a brick."

My God. She gripped the back of his chair. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"They're bringing him in." He said the words as if he didn't believe them. Couldn't believe them. It broke her heart.

"You'd better go."

"I thought... I thought we'd finished with that. He was coming around."

"I know." She knew what he was thinking. That he should have been there. He should have been with his family instead of baby-sitting her.

A chasm of guilt opened up. "You should go."

He turned his head to look at her, his expression torn. "I can't leave you alone."

"I'm not alone. Edward's here." As if to confirm his presence, Edward's voice drifted in from outside. Hank gazed out the door where he could see Edward's back and the phone at his ear. "Hank, he's a child and I'm a grown-up. He needs you. You have to go."

"He made his choice. He has to handle the consequences."

"He doesn't have to handle them by himself. He has a family. He has you."

In the ensuing silence she took a breath. Ran her tongue over dry lips. "If it makes you feel better, I've... I've changed my mind."

"About what?"

She swallowed hard. "About Petrov." There, she said it out loud.

Hank gaped at her. She felt silly and false, but on the verge of another liberation. "I've been thinking about it all day. Letting Petrov go. Like Edward said. Letting him go and moving on with my life."

He stared at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I don't believe I'm hearing this." He searched her face, his scrutiny as invasive as an X-ray.

"It's true. I... I'm backing off."

He snorted and jerked out of the chair. "Like hell you are." He paced the room, voice hard, finger stabbing the air. "You've been a damn pit bull about Petrov. And now, all of a sudden you get cold feet? Sorry, Countess, but I'm not falling for another lie."

She bristled, though she had no right. Lying was all she'd done from the first, no wonder he didn't believe her. But still, she raised her chin, feeling all prickly and defensive. "I'm not lying."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Maybe I found something more important than revenge."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"You."

The word was out before she knew she was going to say it, but once said she couldn't take it back. She didn't want to.

Their eyes met. Hers filled with sudden, unexpected tears. God, how like a stupid woman to cry.

"I love you. I don't want to risk the chance that you might love me back someday."

His face crumpled, softened. "Oh, Sasha Jane, you bring me to my knees." He eased into the chair with a massive slough of breath. "Come here. Sit." She sat on his lap, and he held her. "You know it's too late. That chance paid off a long time ago. You think I'm doing this for fun? You think I do this for every beautiful woman who gets in my way?"

She leaned against his chest, heard the strong, steady beat of his heart. A great warm contentment filled her veins.

"So go," she said. "Your family needs you. I'll be fine. Edward is here. We'll call Matt and Danny and tell them not to come. I'll let you handle Petrov; like you said, police business."

Hank hesitated, a tiny pause in which his options lay before him like a shell game. Tell the truth or dodge.

But if he told her that he wouldn't be handling the case much longer because he was leaving the force, she might not trust the next guy in charge. She might change her mind again and go through with her original plan for Petrov.

And that could be deadly.

So he kept the truth to himself, a tiny lie of omission. Anything to get her off that road leading to Petrov.

Instead, he took her hand, and his newfound right to touch her, hold her, gave him strength and purpose. Carefully he chose his words. "What if we can't prove anything? What if Petrov walks again?"

He held his breath and waited, watching the play of their fingers. Despite his uneasiness, the feel of her skin sent a current of desire through him.

"I'll learn to grow apples," she said softly. "Fight hailstorms instead."

There was an edge of regret in her eyes, covered by a swell of determination.

"I've made my choice, Hank. I choose you."

His arms tightened around her. This was what he'd been angling for both of them safe. Together. He hardly dared hope. "You mink you'd like that? Apple House is a far cry from Moscow."

"If I don't like it, I can always run an oil company. Someone has to."

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, letting her words settle inside him. She was right, of course. She didn't have to abandon her career. If she called off her vendetta, if the fallout from Renaissance Oil wasn't toxic, if her reputation didn't suffer or her business collapse. If, if, if.

He hated hanging her future on such a slim word.

She kissed his cheek, her lips lingering on his skin and sending a new wave of electricity through him. "We can work everything out," she murmured, voice husky. "You'll see. As long as we're together."

Together. The word seemed to blink like a neon sign between them. Good. Bad. Life. Death.

"But right now, you should go. Trey must be terrified." She jumped off his lap and pulled him to his feet

Trey. The boy's name sent a spasm of emotion through him. "He better be."

"Better be what?" Mason tramped into the kitchen and held out the phone to Alex. "It's Danny DiMarco. Tell him what you need."

She didn't move, and it seemed to Hank as though she were rethinking her decision not to pursue Petrov. In those few seconds worlds hung in the balance. Would her past outweigh their future?

She took the phone. "Danny? Yes, thank you for all your help. Actually, I don't need anything." Her gaze met Hank's. "In fact, I've ... well, I've changed my mind. I've decided not to go through with this."

"What?" Mason looked from her to Hank and back again.

"I'm sorry to have put you to so much trouble." Alex was still talking to DiMarco. "No, absolutely. I'm sure. Look, can I call you back? I'll explain later. Thank you." She handed the phone to Mason. "He wants to talk to you."

"No, she's fine," Mason said. "I don't know. This is the first I've heard of it. Okay. Hang tight. I'll call you back." He disconnected and quirked his brows at Alex.

"I'll explain everything later," Alex said. "Right now, Hank has to leave."

"For a few hours," Hank said. "Family stuff." He checked his pockets for keys, phone, reseated his weapon. The firm shape of it reminded him of the man he should be, the one who knew his place in the world. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow night at the latest."

"Stay as long as you have to. Edward will be here."

She walked him to the door and slipped outside with him for a last private moment.

"You shouldn't be seen," he told her. "Go insi " The last word was muffled by her kiss.

"I'm going," she whispered.

He captured her chin. "See you soon."

"Drive safe."

Alex watched him go, watched the car's headlights come from around the back to the front, turn left and disappear down the road. Their parting words see you soon, drive safe were so trivial. She imagined millions of people all over the world said them every day, casually, perfunctorily, never thinking twice about them. Yet to her they were talismans that resonated deep within. That she had someone to say such banal things to, who would say them back to her was extraordinary. Extraordinary, amazing, and wonderful, and it took her breath away.

She clung to the porch post, rooted to the spot. Tears at the back of her throat, she struggled for composure, crying and laughing at her mawkishness at the same time.

Mopping her eyes with the inside of her wrist, she closed the door and retreated inside, hoping that whatever Trey had done wasn't irreparable and that he and Hank would learn to forgive each other.

Was it possible?

She could never forgive Miki Petrov. But that didn't mean she would make him pay for what he'd done. Not if it meant losing Hank.

"What kind of games are you playing, Sasha?" Edward stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, a suspicious scowl on his face.

"I'm not playing games, Edward. I've changed my mind. I heard what you and Hank said. Using myself as bait is crazy and probably won't work anyway."

"I know you. You're plotting something."

"No. Hank had to leave because his nephew is in trouble. When he comes back we'll regroup. Talk about the next step."

Edward gave her a long, penetrating look. "So you're giving up." Not a question but a summation of the situation. Unemotional and to the point:

She answered in kind. "I am."

"Bonner have anything to do with it?"

She raised her chin. "He does."

Another deep, thoughtful glance. "You care about him that much?"

"I do."

Slowly, Edward nodded. "Good. I like him. And I like the way your eyes soften when you look at him."

She felt her face heat. "They don't."

He grinned. "Oh yes, they do."

She smiled. "They do?" He nodded, and her smile widened. "They do."

He put his arms around her and gave her a hug. "Good for you, Sasha. It's about time. Good choice, good decision." He pulled away. "But more work for me." He pulled out his cell phone. "I'll call Danny back, then let Matt know. Why don't you get some sleep?"

She shook her head. "Too keyed up."

"All right, but don't go anywhere. I'm going to check the cabin perimeter, make sure everything is okay. I could use a few hours sleep myself."

"Are you hungry?" Suddenly she was starved. No wonder. She and Hank had been too busy for lunch or dinner. The thought sent love and a sense of belonging winging through her.

She hugged the feelings to herself, a private treasure.

"No, but you go ahead. There's soup, eggs, whatever you want" He pushed through the screen door and went outside. A few seconds later, she heard him talking to Matt.

Combing through the cabinets, she found a can of chicken soup. While she waited for it to heat, she gathered the weapons from the kitchen table and stowed them under the sink. She wasn't squeamish about them, but since she didn't need them anymore, why look at them?

When the soup was done, she took a cup to the recliner and snuggled in. Closing her eyes, she pictured the future. Apple House would be hers. She'd have a family, roots and branches.

Instinctively, she reached for her necklace, the last link to her old life. She set down her cup, undid the clasp, and removed the necklace. She tried to open the first little sister, but the latch hadn't been released in a long time, and it stuck.

Edward's tackle box still sat next to the chair. She unfastened it and found a long, pointed scaling knife, which she used to open the tiny clasp.

Inside instead of the two other sisters the necklace had been designed to hold lay the top half of a small gold lapel pin. Embossed with the seal of Mother Russia, its raised lines were marred by streaks of rust.

Her father's blood.

Through long years she'd been careful not to handle the pin overmuch; she'd wanted those streaks to remain, a visual reminder of his death and her purpose.

But now she took the pin out and studied it. The images she so often pushed away rose up, hard and strong. The last time she'd seen her father, his body broken, some final vestige of breath still left.

Luka had gotten her out of her father's office building, but as he was unlocking the car, she broke away, running around to the front where she'd thrown herself over her father's twisted body. Weak, barely alive, he'd pressed a hand against hers. That was all, that one feeble gesture. Then the light in his eyes went out, Luka wrapped a brawny arm around her middle, wrenching her away, and she never saw her father again.

But in those few precious seconds he'd given her a last cherished gift, and she was staring at it now. The top half of a lapel pin. Given to a select few by the head of the KGB for extreme meritorious service, each one was engraved with the bearer's initials. This one had two Cyrillic letters M, which looked like its English counterpart, and "peh," which looked like a mathematical hieroglyph.

M.P.

Mikail Petrov.

She had long ago deciphered this mystery. Her father had struggled with Petrov, and in the end he must have clutched at him. Petrov had shoved her father away, and her father had fallen. But he'd taken the pin with him.

For thirteen years she had held it safe, discovered its secrets and kept them. The pin had been her goad and her burden.

And now she would let it go. The one secret she would never tell.

Forgive me, Papa.

She bowed her head, awed by the power of the words. Forgiveness ran like a river through the web of her life. Hank needing forgiveness from Trey, Trey from him, her from her father, Miki from her.

Forgiveness.

Possible for some, but not others.

Not Miki. Never Miki.

She fisted her fingers around the pin. She only hoped her father understood.