She harrumphed, raising the attention of two ladies dressed to kill in thigh-high black leather skirts and sequin blouses, smoking cigarettes near the restaurant entrance on the far end of the ancient Intourist lobby.
Vadeem took a step toward her. Kat stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “What you are doing here?”
“I told you, I’m here to help you.” Oh, he’d forgotten how good she smelled. “C’mon, let’s go have cup of coffee.” He tried a smile.
She eyed him up and down, as if she could judge his intentions by his rumpled gray shirt, his black jeans, or the way he burrowed his hands into his jacket pockets. He gave her the courtesy of not moving until trust edged into her eyes. It earned him a smile. “Okay. But I don’t drink—”
“Coffee. I know.” He pulled out two packets of hot cocoa. “I picked them up in Moscow.”
The next smile was genuine and went right to a soft place in his heart. So maybe he’d done the right thing by following his gut instincts instead of his brain.
“Okay,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve piqued my interest. Why are you here?”
He shot a glance at the decked-out duo near the restaurant, still eavesdropping, then at the desk clerk, who was trying unsuccessfully to bury her attention in a day-old newspaper. “There’s an all-night café down the street.” —Where he’d spent much of the evening waiting for her to return to the hotel.— He was dying to know why she’d sent the Watsons to the hotel alone, and where she’d spent the last six-some hours. He shrugged away the questions and offered her his arm.
She looked at him a long moment. Then, quietly, “I need to go upstairs and change clothes.” She said it with enough smile to make every emotion he’d successfully buried over the past fifteen hours rise to life with a shout.
“I’ll wait.” He would have no problem enjoying her company in whatever attire she picked. However, he had to admit, when she changed into a lavender shirt and jeans, it did magical things to her face. Softened it. She’d added a touch of makeup while he paced in the hall, confirming in his heart that jumping on a plane that afternoon and racing to Yfa had been, yes indeed, the right thing to do.
Even Ryslan had agreed, once Vadeem tracked him down, that they would need Kat’s help if they were going to untangle Grazovich’s little scheme. So maybe his brains hadn’t taken a vacation.
She trotted through the lobby hauling her backpack over her shoulder. “I can’t believe you found me. How did you know where I was?”
He gave her a look that made her screw up her face in shame. “Kat, the FSB knows your every move.” He laughed when she turned ashen. “It’s okay. I really wouldn’t have followed you if it wasn’t important.”
Like keeping you alive. He didn’t voice the thought, knowing she’d laugh at him, but the truth of it made his chest tighten.
They walked out into the street, under a canopy of stars. The night breeze tangled in Kat’s hair, laughing at her efforts to comb it back, away from her face. He noticed she shivered slightly. He peeled off his coat. “Here.”
She shook her head, but he ignored her protest and slid it over her shoulders. Hopefully her scent would rub off on it like last time.
“Did you really miss me?”
Her question hit a soft spot. He debated, feeling as if he was about to cut out his heart and lay it before her. “Yes.”
Was that a giggle?
It bolstered his courage. “In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Her sudden silence made his heart stall in his chest. Oh no, he’d gone too far, too fast, again. He turned.
Yep, her face was pale. Eyes wide, luminous, fear haunting her expression.
“Sorry,” he rasped. “But it’s the truth. There’s something about you that I can’t shake.”
She ducked her head, started walking faster. He winced, scrambling for recovery. “So that’s why I looked into your background.”
That stopped her. It wasn’t quite the place he’d wanted to go with this conversation a second ago, but at least she’d stopped.
“Yes, Kat. I looked up your past. I couldn’t find anything on your mother, or your grandfather. In fact, I couldn’t find anything on you at all.”
Her face fell.
“But I did find something about Pskov.” He had her. Big amber brown eyes alive and simmering with hope. “During the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution, Russia was fighting World War I against Germany. Czar Nikolai, despite the fact that his country was falling to pieces, was at the front, directing his armies. In Russia, up until Peter the Great’s time, the czar was also the head of the Church. He was considered God’s envoy on Earth.”
Kat nodded, moved closer. The breeze caught her perfume and sent it at him, playing havoc with his concentration.
“Even though Nikolai wasn’t officially the patriarch of the Church, there were rumors that the position might be reinstated, and Nikolai, as commander of the army, blessed the troops as their spiritual father. A part of his religious garb was, among other things, a necklace. A diamond, ruby, and sapphire necklace set in gold, called the Crest of St. Basil the Blessed.”
“Like the Cathedral in Red Square?”
He nodded. “It’s worth millions. Even then, it was priceless. Dated to A.D. 1500. He had it with him when his train was stopped in Pskov.”
She chewed her lower lip. “I don’t understand.”
He took her arm, began to walk slowly. Her big-eyed stare had his focus disintegrating with the effectiveness of a hot blast. She obviously wasn’t ready for his feelings—probably never would be, and he’d better start working overtime to put some distance between his emotions and reality.
Why did she say she missed him? It only opened all sorts of old wounds, sparked hopes he’d never considered entertaining. He fought for a steady, professional voice. “Rebel forces had seized St. Petersburg, and the royal family was under house arrest. Czar Nikolai was returning from the front to be with his family, but the Bolsheviks turned his train back and sent it Pskov. A couple of Duma representatives met it there and demanded his immediate abdication. He stalled them as long as he could, hoping for aid from his White Army and from his family of royals scattered around Europe.”
“No one came.”
“No. You see, Russia was fighting a war. The White Army, his army, was at the front. By the time they pulled out, it was all over. The family was dethroned and civil war had started.”
“And the crest?”
He stopped in a pool of lamplight, then turned to look at her. “It vanished. Although he’d been guarded, when Czar Nikolai finally surrendered the throne, and they stripped him of everything he owned, the crest had disappeared.”
“How?” The wind was teasing her hair. He wanted to catch it, tuck it behind her ear, or better yet, entwine his fingers in it, imagining it would feel like silk in his grip.
He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well, that’s where you come in.”
Her puzzled look made him smile, wide. Oh, she had a nice smile. Worth calling in a few favors from a certain clingy redhead at the embassy, who, after extracting a promise to hook her up with his partner—who wouldn’t mind anyway—called in a favor of her own… at the bureau of Social Security in America.
“You know, Kat. Ancestors are a funny breed. You just never know when they are going to pop up.” He smiled.
She glowered. “Vadeem, you’re being a little too cryptic for me.” She grabbed his shirt, burying her fist into it. “Spit it out!”
She was so close he could just lean down and kiss her. Gently, as soft as a whisper, but finally he’d touch those lips that could pout and smile and tremble with devastating effectiveness. He swallowed hard, his gaze in hers.