To seal her suspicions, Vadeem stepped over, peeled off his leather jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. He squatted before her, his hand on her knee. “Ryslan is going to put out a search for the thief. We’ll find your key.” He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, all the time drawing her in with those compelling blue eyes that played havoc with her focus. “I’m sorry this happened.”
So was she. But more than that, she wanted to know why. What was God up to? Had He completely forgotten that she existed? Forsaken her to tromp about Russia on her own?
No, not on her own. With the Russian KGB. There was a particular irony in that. She let a small smile tug at her mouth. “Vadeem, I have to believe God was watching out for us. I’m okay. But, I think you should get you head looked at.”
He ran a finger lightly over her bruise. “I’m sorry you got hurt.” His voice was tender, his touch gentle. And that guilty look speared right to her heart and made her want to weep.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.
She saw it again, the flicker of longing in his eyes. In a terrifying, wonderful, exhilarating instant, she remembered herself in his arms, felt his hands in her hair. She again smelled leather, strength, and masculinity, a byproduct of having her nose buried in his chest. Then her mouth turned dry, recalling the horrified look in his eyes when he ran his gaze over her, wondering how terribly she’d been hurt.
She chewed her bottom lip, struggling for words, anything to run from that incredibly delicious memory before he, too, saw longing in her expression. “When you say we’ll find my key… does that mean I’m staying in Russia?”
His gaze clouded, and he looked away from her. She felt as if he’d ripped out her heart.
“No?” Her voice quivered.
“I have to do my job. I can’t do that and protect you at the same time.” He glanced at Ryslan the comic book villain, obviously his partner in crime, who was seated at a black metal desk shoved up against the wall. Ryslan turned away, as if not wanting to be a part of this conversation.
Something ugly, along the lines of sarcasm, or argument, pushed into her throat, tasting bitter. He sounded just like Matthew. Don’t get in over your head, Honey. Make sure you’re home early, Sweetheart. You don’t want to go to Russia, you’ll just get into trouble, Darling. Protective… no, bossy. Dictatorial. Bullying.
Ignoring a whisper of reason inside, she pounced to her feet. The jacket fell to the floor. “Someone’s already taken the one thing that will give me any answers. What could you possibly have to protect me from now?”
Vadeem’s eyes turned dark.
“Just let me go,” she ground out, fury gathering steam. “I’ll walk out of here and you’ll never see me again.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’ll see you again. You seem to have a knack for ending up in police custody.”
She just barely restrained the urge to slap him. So, he thought she went hunting for trouble. Did she put out an ad, requesting Russia’s most wanted to track her down? Her eyes filled. She balled her fists at her sides, furious that he made her feel so helpless, as he controlled all her options. She made a hideous whimpering sound and wanted to die on the spot.
His anger dropped from his face like glacial ice. “Please, don’t cry.” His voice was low, but wretched enough for her to know he meant it. She clenched her jaw, furious that tears crested and coursed down her checks, furious that he’d won. He reached for her, as if to comfort her, but she jerked away, trying to exorcise every tender feeling she’d cultivated toward him.
He’d protected her from bullets, and she had his blood smeared all over her hands. She’d told him everything… he knew what this little jaunt to Russia meant to her. Didn’t that bond them into some sort of uncanny relationship?
Kat swiped the tears and, conjuring up bravery, lifted her chin. It would help if he would wipe that guilty, concerned expression off his face, the one that told her yes, he remembered every second of their relationship. It did nothing but fertilize all her budding emotions. “Don’t make me leave. Not yet. I need to know more.” Her voice betrayed her, and made her want to wince.
He moved closer, his gaze holding hers, his hand moving up to trace the scrape on her chin. He flicked a glance at his partner, then back. He was so close she could smell the day’s lingering cologne. “And what will you do, Kat? The key’s gone. Timofea is dead. You’ve run out of leads.”
“I still have you.” Where did that idiotic statement come from? She cringed, shocked that it escaped from her mouth. But she was thinking it. The minute she saw herself in his eyes, she’d begun to wonder. Vadeem could help her. Didn’t the KGB keep a file on every citizen in the country? Yes, Captain Vadeem Spasonov of the FSB could help her. He could dig around for her, find out who Timofea was, maybe even find her grandmother, Magda’s, history. She had family in Russia. She knew it deep in her bones. And Vadeem held the key to unlock that past. “God sent me you,” she repeated, and tightened her gaze on him. She didn’t want to think about the way she’d just opened up her chest for him to rip out her heart, along with her dreams. Please, Vadeem, don’t betray me! “You can help me.”
His eyes widened and something desperate filled his eyes. She’d hit a soft spot and, as she watched, his past roared up and consumed him whole. In his gaze, she saw fear, a painful, vulnerable, childlike fear that made her lips part and her mouth go dry. Then he blinked, and it was gone. In its place, the cold glitter of resolve. She felt as if a door had slammed on her face.
“No,” he said quietly. “I can’t.”
Vadeem paced the hotel corridor, feeling dead on his feet. But he’d seen Kat’s intentions in her eyes, and he couldn’t let her run.
She’d slammed the door in his face when he told her he’d be watching her. All night. Camped outside in the hallway. He didn’t like what that information did to her beautiful face, how it crumbled as her hopes shattered.
He steeled his heart to it. He had to. He had a job to do and right now Grazovich could be lurking down the hall, waiting to finish her off.
Of course, the thief would have to be a phantom to do it, because, according to Vadeem’s last phone call, Grazovich had spent the day exploring Pskov like a tourist, and was, at this moment, passed out in his bed, cradling a liter of Absolut in one arm and a café waitress in the other.
So, who had mugged them?
Vadeem rubbed his head. He probably needed a stitch or two, but head wounds always bled worse than they were. He’d sucked down the two aspirins Kat had fished out of that backpack of hers, which seemed to contain everything.
Everything but answers.
She’d nearly wrung him out with her heart-wrenching plea. “I have you.” Oh, did he wish that. Over the past twelve hours, Kat’s smile had awakened a part of him he’d thought dead. Or, perhaps, he’d only wished dead. Why did she have to cradle him in her arms, drown him with a look of authentic concern? It resurrected all the dangerous emotions he thought he’d successfully executed so long ago.
He’d do well to veer a wide course around the enticing Kat Moore package. Twenty-four hours in her presence had him contemplating a career change. Personal Bodyguard. Escorting her through Russia like a tour guide and helping her dig up answers didn’t sound like such a terrible job choice. It didn’t help that she’d struck truth with her plea. He did have the resources to unlock her past. A few keystrokes and he could access files that still rang fear in the hearts of the general population.