And when the months passed, and her feeling about the man who had rescued her, totally on top of his game even though he’d been drunk at the time, had never diminished. She waited, sure every time she got home that he’d be on her doorstep.
He was hers. Her heart had never accepted even a sliver of doubt, though he hadn’t even kissed her. Two kisses on the freaking forehead were all he’d given her. Maybe if she wore heels she’d be at the right height to get a kiss where she wanted one. But he’d done nothing except hold her close at the airport a year ago. Why had she been celibate just waiting on the off chance that he’d make good on his promise? And why was washing herself in the shower making her want him with every part of her? Every drop of water felt like a touch. His touch. But now he was really here, yet different. More careful, more considered. Still intense, still dangerous. Still wildly attractive.
She shook it off by peeling the wet bandages from her back. And shampooing her hair. Hard. As she was getting out of the shower, there was a knock at the door. Her stomach fluttered. David? Who else could it be?
Excited, she wrapped a large towel around herself and ran to open the door. She checked the peephole with her hand already on the handle. Two unsmiling men stood there. Not David. She took a step back and tightened the towel around her.
The two men discussed something outside, and she leaned in so she could hear. “Open the damned door,” one man with an accent said.
“No, I can’t…” The second man was interrupted with an audible scuffle, and to Molly’s horror, she heard the key card slide into the lock.
Instinctively she looked for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere. Not even large enough furniture to crouch behind. Even the bed was too low to the ground.
The door opened.
She tried to close it again, but the larger of the two men stuck his foot in so she couldn’t. “Excuse me. I’m not dressed.” She tried to convey annoyance rather than the abject fear she had that two strangers were in her hotel room uninvited.
She slammed the door several times on his foot but he didn’t show any expression. The smaller man looked apologetic. “Ms. Solent. I am so sorry for this inconvenience. I am Mr. Stelio, the hotel duty-manager. This is an investigator from the Russian embassy. It seems—”
“You were the last person to speak to Dr. Doubrov before his criminal assassination.” The larger man interrupted in a deep voice with a thick accent, dragging out the word “criminal” like he was in a James Bond movie. “So. We need to talk, you and I. Correct?”
Fear spiked through her. The man pushed his way into the room and stood by the window, looking out over the city. The hotel manager hovered in front of the bathroom nervously wringing his hands.
Molly hitched her towel up as far as she could. She shoved her chin up. “If you wish to talk to me, you can make an appointment, and I will be dressed for it. You can’t just barge—”
“I can do whatever I want to do, Ms. Solent. I am sure you wouldn’t want to impede the investigation into the murder of a member of the Russian government, would you? Especially as you seemed to be so well acquainted?”
Oh my God. What did he know? “I have only met him at conferences. That is the extent of our acquaintance.” Her cadence started to reflect the Russian’s proper sentence construction. Funny thing was, if he hadn’t pissed her off, she would probably have stuttered and stammered through an excuse, but anger superseded her nervousness.
He spun around to face her. “And yet I’ve heard from his security team that you held his hands for so very long before he was shot. Was it a signal? What did you say to him?”
A signal? “I said how nice it was to see him. I really didn’t…” have anything to do with his death…did I?
“I think we should let Ms. Solent get dressed. Maybe you can make an appointment to speak to her further.” Mr. Stelio shifted from one foot to another, obviously uncomfortable.
“Thank you—” Molly began.
“Absolutely out of the question,” the Russian interrupted forcefully. “Time is everything in a murder investigation.” He stepped much closer to Molly than was comfortable.
Her legs pressed against the bed but she had nowhere to go. She wasn’t going to sit on the bed and allow him even greater physical power over her.
“I’m not sure you—either of you—understand the position you, and the whole of this country, are in. A member of the Russian Federation’s government was brutally gunned down at a G20 meeting. In your country.” He raised his eyes to the hotel manager.
“And with you”—looking back at Molly—“an American, being the last person to talk to him.” He slowly put his hands on his hips revealing a gun on his waist. “It really is in your best interests to cooperate with the investigation.”
Molly’s heart jumped a beat at the sight of his gun. She thought Europe had mostly banned guns. What had she gotten into? What were the messages about? What if he took her to the Russian embassy? No one would ever know where she was.
He stroked a thumb up and down the butt of the gun, as if he was contemplating taking it out and blowing a kneecap. “We saw you passing information. That is what his protection thinks. A thumb drive perhaps? Are you an agent for the United States of America? With your dark hair, you could easily be Chechen too. Let me tell you, our administration sees Chechen conspiracies faster than you sell antiquities. And the gulags are pleasant this time of year I hear. If…you survive the journey.”
“Wait a minute. I did not sell antiquities—” but she kind of had. Or at least had unknowingly worked for a company that had sold antiquities that she and her boss had found. He must have really done his homework about her. While she was sleeping, he must have been digging up her past. The thought chilled her more. She tried to gather her thoughts. “I’m here to speak out against such practices. And while we are on the subject of dubious practices, I highly doubt my embassy would look kindly on you barging into my room, not even allowing me to dress, and interrogating me.
A movement in the door caught her eye. David muscled in behind the hotel manager, holding his cell phone up to video what was going on in the room. The Russian didn’t see him. Thank God he’d found her. Her shoulders slumped in relief.
The Russian hissed at her in anger. “Your embassy, you foolish girl, will cooperate with my investigation lest our inquiries point at them. And if they don’t, we will all know that the United States of America assassinated a member of Putin’s government. Trust me when I say they won’t want to go to war over this. They will give you up to us, regardless of what you did, or didn’t do.”
“And will your government give you up when this little movie I’m making hits YouTube? Of you storming a hotel room with a gun and victimizing an American woman who is only here to talk to the G20 countries about archaeology? With no authority?” David said, as if he was having a conversation about grabbing coffee.
That is until the Russian drew his gun.
“Give that phone to me immediately!” the Russian said, flicking a lever on the gun. Was that the safety? Was he really going to shoot David?
Molly’s knees started to wobble, and the hotel manager disappeared into the corridor. She couldn’t really blame him.
“This phone? This one? Okay. Oh, whoops. Look at that. Already uploaded. Right next to the video about a cat that loves water. Look. Aw. It’s taking a bath in a kitchen sink.” David showed the phone’s screen to him and then laughed. “It really is so cute. Look, it has over a million views. Oh, do you think your video will beat that? It might go viral.” His voice hardened. “That would be fun wouldn’t it? Your career would be over. You are KGB right? Or SVR? A rose by any other name is as sweet though, don’t you think? KGB, SVR it’s all the same. Tell me, what are their disciplinary measures like? Same as they used to be? Shot by recruits?” He looked at the phone again and grinned. “Guess you’ll find out soon.”