Hot Mercy (Affairs of State Book 2) (31 page)

He stared at her. “I do not understand.”

Mercy rested her fingertips lightly on the man's nearest hand. “The picture I showed you. We think that’s my mother. I believe she came to Pripyat suspecting that radioactive materials were being smuggled out of Ukraine and sold to an unaware public. She meant to warn the world through her photographs.”

His face remained impassive as he listened.

“Her name is Talia O’Brien.” Mercy’s throat burned with the effort to speak over her grief.
Her name is
, she kept telling herself.
Is
, not
was
. All of her hopes now rested on this one man. “Please. Do you know anything at all about where she might be? She’s American, petite, red hair,” she reminded him.

If he didn’t believe her…if he refused to let her and Sebastian continue their search, all was lost. The colonel stared past her at nothing, saying nothing. Hopeless, she thought. The man had just lost his brother. How could she expect him to care about strangers or anything that she said? Her heart ached for him, for herself.

She tried again. “My mother disappeared months ago. No one has seen or heard from her since.” Raw emotion tore the words from her throat. Her eyes stung but she did not weep. When his gaze went vacant again, she leaned in and pressed down on his hand to remind him that she was still there. “She left Kiev with a tour group to Pripyat. We think the Tambovs kidnapped her then somehow lost her. Where she is now, we have no idea.”

Still no response.

“She’s all I have!” Mercy cried out, losing it.

Sebastian’s hand came down on her shoulder:
Enough
.

The Colonel looked from her to Sebastian then stood up. Eyes dry, feet planted firmly, he might as well have been a stone monolith for all the emotion he showed. He turned his back on her before speaking. “I’m sorry. We share grief. Yes?”

“Yes,” she said, miserably. He wasn’t going to help them?

“Vodka!” he shouted. “We drink to our fallen comrades.”

A fresh bottle and extra glasses appeared in the hands of a young woman wearing an embroidered cotton smock over blue jeans. Another woman stepped out of a back room bearing two platters of food.

Mercy shook her head, overcome with grief. Was this the end of their search? A funeral feast?

“I will explain some things to you,” the colonel said. He lowered himself back down onto the bench. “But first, you will call me Stefan. Second, you are guests in my sister’s home. No longer prisoners.”

“You live here? Aren’t we still in the Forbidden Zone?” Sebastian asked.

“The village was evacuated after the explosion, yes. The government says it is not safe, stay out. But we believe that men of power want us to stay away so they can take whatever they want.” Stefan poured drinks then shot back his vodka in one gulp.

Sebastian followed suit, blinked and smiled at the burn. “Good,” he said.

Mercy drank hers. “Yikes!” She thought the top of her head would blow off.

The colonel looked puzzled. “Yikes? An American toast?”

“Sort of,” she said, laughing and coughing at the same time.

Stefan refilled his own glass then Sebastian’s and hers. She eyed the clear liquid warily. It was critical she keep her wits about her. She’d never had a high tolerance for alcohol.

Stefan immediately downed his second shot in one swallow. He looked at her. “You saved my life, and my driver’s.”

“We were defending ourselves too,” she pointed out.

He shook his head. “Without your help, I would not be alive. I would not have been able to avenge my brother’s death." He paused for a breath. "I will help you.”

Mercy blinked at him. Was it possible that he knew where her mother was?

“How?” Sebastian asked, looking skeptical.

Stefan spoke slowly, concentrating on individual words, perhaps the effect of the vodka making a foreign language more challenging. “Weeks ago, we heard the Tambovs were searching for a woman. An American. We thought, well, that’s it for her, if she exists at all. Rumors fly like doves here.”

“She was here in Ukraine, in Pripyat,” Mercy insisted. “We know that much. And we know men forcibly removed her from the tour. The photograph I showed you—”

“
Da, da, da.
” He waved a dismissive hand. “But I can tell you nothing more yet. I will send a man to ask around. By morning we will know more.”

Mercy looked at Sebastian barely daring to hope. He stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders. Knotted muscles slowly yielded to his strong fingers. When she looked up, she saw a gentle warning in his eyes:
Don’t get your hopes up.

That night Mercy slept curled up against Sebastian on a makeshift mattress of sweet-smelling straw on the dacha’s floor. She fitted her shoulder blades up against his broad chest, her bottom tucked into his groin. He pulled her in tight with one muscled arm then closed his other arm over and around her shoulders. His body felt warm and comforting. She relaxed into him, grateful beyond words for his presence. Within seconds she felt the contours of his lower body alter, hardening.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered in her ear.

She gave a little moan of pleasure at the thought. “Ummmm, nice.” The distraction of good sex admittedly would go a long way toward easing her shredded nerves. But… “One tiny problem. It’s a bit crowded, don’t you think? Our new friends?”

Two dozen soldiers sprawled around them in the little dacha. They’d flung themselves down on benches, tabletops, rough floor planks, or nodded off in chairs—always with one hand on their rifle or sidearm. Two more stood watch at the front and rear doors.

Sebastian said, “Just what I was thinking. Unless you’re willing to consider entertaining the troops.”

“No.” She laughed softly, knowing he wasn’t serious. But her eyes widened when she felt his erection grow still firmer against her bottom. “Stop that!” she hissed.

“Can’t help it. You affect me that way.” He nibbled her ear lobe.

Mercy smiled. “Go to sleep, Sebastian.”

She doubted he would. She knew she wouldn’t.

                                          34

Mercy opened her eyes, certain she hadn’t dozed off even once during the night. And yet…she was surprised to see that it was well past dawn, and Stefan and half of his men had gone. Sebastian was also missing.

“Your husband went to relieve himself,” one of the women who had prepared food the night before told her. She was a tall blonde with soulful brown eyes. “Stefan will return soon too.” She held out a cup of brown liquid to her. “I think you like tea more better than
kvas
?” she said with a shy smile.

“Absolutely.” Mercy took a tentative sip of the room-temperature potion. It was strong, sweet, and tasted wonderful.

“I’m sorry, there is nothing hot. We can’t chance lighting a fire.”

“Thank you. It’s lovely,” Mercy said gratefully, sipping even as she wondered if it was safe to drink. How much of the water in the creeks and rivers they’d seen was run-off from soil around the abandoned reactors?

When Stefan returned he seemed energized but did not smile. Mercy could see the shadow of his brother’s death physically weighing him down. Would he live through his next encounter with Tambov agents? He would be frantic to punish them for his family’s loss. Maybe too desperate to use caution and protect himself.

He looked around the room then walked straight toward her. “I have news of your mother,” he said, snapping her out of all other thoughts.

“What?” She searched his face for a clue—was Talia alive or were they too late? Had they found a body instead of a living woman?

“We are not certain of her location, yet. The information is not much more than a rumor,” he admitted. “But I have a theory.”

Mercy swallowed and shot a desperate glance toward Sebastian as he walked through the door. “We’ll be grateful for anything,” she said.

Stefan nodded. “There is a small commune west of here. They are dissidents, squatters, the first people to return to the area after the disaster. They used to live on the far side of the Chernobyl nuclear plant. Directly in the path of wind that carried the radioactive debris. Like us, they came back to reclaim their land. But over there it was, and still is, much more dangerous.”

“The government soldiers don’t chase them off?” Mercy said.

“They have done, but people keep coming back. Military officers who grew up in this region, they don’t like staying in the zone longer than necessary. Who can blame them? They watched fathers, uncles, older brothers and sisters die of radiation poisoning. The army satisfies itself with periodic raids.”

“What about the Tambov syndicate?”

“Until recently, they haven’t given a damn about the squatters. Not worth bothering with.” He spun a finger in the air. “Driven mad, you see, by the radiation—those that lived. At least, that is what people say.”

Her mind leapt with hope. “But you think these people might be holding my mother? Why would they?”

Stefan shrugged. “Maybe they hide her simply to annoy the government or the Tambovs, their sworn enemies.” His gaze darted around the room as if searching for answers in the darkest corners. “Crazy or not, these are a proud people, descendents of the Cossacks. You know of them?”

“Yes, of course. Fierce horsemen of the Russian plains, they once guarded the Czars.” Until the revolution when the entire royal family was murdered and Communism took over.

“They are strong, independent people. But they are—” he shrugged and gave her a weak smile “—extremists.”

Like you aren’t?
Mercy thought.

The young woman who had brought her the tepid tea said in a brittle voice, “Selling a kidnapped foreigner back to her family would be their kind of trick.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Stefan touched her affectionately on the head. “If they stole your mother from the Tambovs, they may actually have saved her life.”

“I can pay them,” Mercy said quickly. “If they’ve protected her, they’ve taken risks and deserve a reward.”

Stefan’s eyes darkened. “Yes, great risks. If the syndicate discovers what they’ve done, their hitmen will be merciless. They will wipe them out—men, women, and children.”

“How do we find these squatters?” Mercy asked.

“Ah,” Stefan said, “that is the question.”

Sebastian stepped forward quickly. “Tell me where to start looking. I’ll find them. If Talia is with them, I’ll bring her back with me. Mercy can wait here where it’s safe.”

She shook her head violently. “Absolutely not. Whatever risk there is, we’ll take it together.”

Sebastian’s face flushed with anger. “I know what people like this are capable of, damn it!”

His father, she thought. He’s thinking of his father’s murder and of the violence in his own country.

“I’m going.” She kept her voice flat, not argumentative but leaving no room for discussion. She didn’t dare look at Sebastian to see his reaction.

Stefan nodded. “One of my men will drive you and act as a guide. Even then I’m afraid there is no guarantee you’ll locate them. These people really don’t want to be found. And even if you do find them, they may not have her.”

                                          35

The Jeep bucked and clanked its way through the rough, wooded terrain. Mercy felt another bruise added to her derriere with each jolt. For all she knew, there might have been traversable major roads through the area; after all, it had been decades since the Chernobyl disaster. Plenty of time for rebuilding and modernization. But their young driver, who introduced himself as Ivan, seemed intent on steering clear of highways. No doubt he was adept at avoiding both government security and Tambov agents.

Sebastian sat beside her on the vehicle’s rear bench seat. He reached for her hand and brought their clasped hands to rest on his thigh. She sensed his anxiety in the fierceness of his grip, knew he was right to fear for their safety. At any moment another contingent of syndicate brutes might jump them. They didn’t speak. She noticed his eyes—midnight blue and nearing black now— relentlessly scanning the forest. Peering into every passing glade, down every dirt trail that crossed the narrow road.

At last the Jeep burst into a field growing wild with golden-tasseled grain and red poppies. Above the brilliant flowers bobbing in the breeze, Mercy glimpsed rooftops, most of them only rafter skeletons smothered under thick green blankets of ivy and moss, their thatching having rotted and fallen in years ago.

“This is where they live?” she asked Ivan.

The young man nodded then brought the Jeep to a stop in front of the remains of the first cottage. “Sometimes,
da
.” He looked around then shouted something in Ukrainian that included Stefan’s name. A kind of password? He loudly announced their presence a second time. “I’ve told them we are not here to harm them. Whether or not they believe me...” He shrugged.