Sands of Time (10 page)

“She was only trying to help.”

“She knew about Khanda. Do you think that American doctor won’t figure out how Sasha got sick?” He shook his head. “You’re so stupid.”

She lifted her head, stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. Oy, she looked rough, with greasy hair, no makeup. And she smelled like a garbage Dumpster. “She took care of Sasha since he was a baby. She was like family.”

“She was a liability.”

He saw Julia’s eyes harden, saw coherency for the first time in two days. “I know why Sasha died, Alexei. And I’ll make sure you pay for it.”

He hit her. She screamed, fell out of her chair onto the floor. He didn’t need this. Not now. He’d worked too long, too hard for this time. His time. He left her there, crying, and went in search of Fyodor. He’d personally chosen Fyodor from the Spetsnaz. The former soldier would know how to track down the American.

And kill her before she discovered a link back to Bednov.

He’d do it for Russia.

And, if he planned it right, it wouldn’t even be a crime.

“He’s gone completely over the top, Anya,” Sarai said as she peeled a potato. “By the way, that’s American slang for ‘lost it.’ He thinks I’m going to be some sort of international fugitive or something.”

Anya smiled at her as she picked up another potato. Her blond hair stuck out from under a white beret, and she still wore her sweater, despite the fact the fire had driven the chill to the far corners of the cabin. Across the room, Roman slouched in a fraying armchair, brooding as he read the paper in the firelight. Maybe he’d find a diabolical plot to kill the president somewhere in those pages.

“I think he’s acting like a man in love.” Anya smirked as she dropped another peeled potato in the water.

“You’re being particularly nice considering the fact that he nearly jumped you and Genye.”

Paralyzed by shock, Sarai could only listen as Roman crept out into the main room, waiting for her “attackers.” She’d cracked the door enough to watch him pounce as Genye opened the front door.

They seemed pretty evenly matched for too long a moment as they rolled out onto the stoop and into the snow.

Her pulse jerked every time she remembered Roman stopping mid-punch, jarred by her scream as he pinned Genye, his armed cocked to drive his fist into Genye’s jaw.

Roman had looked at her, and she’d seen something that
still rattled her. Fear. Cold, straight out, fear. As if she might be hurt.

Obviously he had no problem pouncing to protect her, even if it might be from her dearest friends. Although, was it protecting her, or completing his mission to kick her out of Russia? At the least, he proved he’d become nothing but the shoot-first-ask-later cowboy she’d feared.

She dropped the potato she was peeling into the pot. “He’s not in love with me, Anya,” she whispered, casting a look at Roman. Even now he seemed like tightly coiled danger sitting there, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his arms thick in his thermal shirt. The glow from the stove turned the highlights in his golden brown hair to fire, softened the hard planes of his face. He’d always been cute, but over the years he’d turned hard-edged handsome, with a fierceness to him that both scared her and drew her.

Much like how she’d felt when he’d scooped her up into his arms. And, for the briefest of insane moments, she’d wanted to just stay there.

“He’s just an old friend. My brother sent him here to find me.” Sarai raised her voice. “To kidnap me and yank me out of the country.”

“Not kidnap. As long as you come willingly,” said a voice from across the room. He didn’t look up from the paper.

“See. He’s out to wreck my life.” She picked up another potato. Behind her, she heard the paper snap closed, perhaps with even a little tearing. She couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m going out to help Genye hook up the electricity or
something.” Roman swept by, grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him.

Anya raised her eyebrows as she watched him leave. “I think his pride might be a bit bruised.”

“Or his ego. He’s the most frustrating, determined, aggravating man I’ve ever—”

“Oh, so you’re in love with him, too.”

Sarai looked up, threw her potato into the water. “I’m not. Maybe I once was.”

Fearing for Sarai after contacting Dr. Valya in Khanda, Anya and Genye had set out to find her. When the storm worsened, they’d headed north, to Anya’s dacha, praying that Sarai had thought along the same lines. They’d brought with them warm clothes for Sarai and the key to their root cellar.

Anya rose, stood over the pot of borscht and cut her potato into it. “
Maybe
you were in love?”

Sarai gathered the potato shavings and dumped them into the compost basket. “Okay. Yes,
probably
I was. I mean, it felt like that at the time.”

Anya stayed silent, picked up another potato. But her blue eyes lingered on Sarai’s.

Sarai sighed, sat back down and wiped her hands on a towel. “We met the summer before medical school. I came over to visit David. He was going to Moscow University. The first time I saw Roman, he was playing street hockey with David. He had on a sleeveless shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and when he smiled at me I thought I felt the earth move. I should have sensed the warning then, but I fell for his
charm like a teenager. He was right out of the military, going to school to learn English before he went off to their version of FBI school. But, you see, he was a brand-new Christian, so I thought, well, maybe he could use all that energy for something else.”

Sarai twisted the towel in her hands. A candle flickered on the table, dim luminance in the darkness. Outside, night pushed against the windowpanes and hid the wind that rattled the door. “I guess I fooled myself into thinking that he wanted to do what I wanted to do—spread the gospel by helping people. I remember once, as we were riding the Ferris wheel at Gorky Park, he told me he wanted to do what it took to save lives and souls.” She glanced at him outside, in the pale light of a lantern, cutting wood. He had strong arms and a stance that made swinging the ax a sort of mesmerizing dance. “I guess he was just trying to get me to kiss him.”

She blinked away the memory of his success, of being wrapped in his embrace under a full moon while it waxed the Volga River. Yeah, at the time, she’d done a great job of lying to herself.

“The thing that hurt the most was that he seemed so perfect. Safe. I could see us together, wherever, working to save lives. He was such a great guy—compassionate, brave, sure about his faith. I got involved in the Bible League while I was in town, and we staged some outreach events, including one at an orphanage. Roman went along—I suspect to make sure I didn’t get into any trouble—but he rounded up the kids and started a game of tag. I watched him, Anya.
He laughed and goofed around with them, and you should have seen their faces. A real live Russian hero, a soldier, playing with them.”

Sarai’s eyes burned. “He was tender, sweet and kind and I probably fell in love with him right then.”

“And never stopped loving him.” Anya set down her knife, sat across from Sarai. “What happened?”

Sarai pressed her fingertips along the corners of her eyes. And here she thought she’d finished crying over Roman Novik. “The Moscow coup. It was near the end of my visit, and somehow I knew that things were going to be over. I kept hinting that maybe he shouldn’t be a soldier, that maybe he could join the Bible League. But he dodged the subject, with the skill of, well, a soldier. The day of the coup really drove reality home.”

She closed her eyes, back in Red Square, hearing the explosions, the screams. “I was handing out Bibles near Lenin’s Tomb on Red Square, and suddenly I heard tanks rumbling down the street. Then gunfire. I didn’t know what was happening. I took off toward GYM—that department store on the other side of the square—and nearly made it to the entrance when suddenly someone jumped me. Right there on the cobblestones. Wow, that hurt, but not as much as it would have if I’d kept running. A Molotov cocktail—one of those bottle bombs—went off right next to me. All I remember is screaming, and then a soothing, calm voice in my ear, telling me not to be afraid.”

“Roman’s.”

“Of course. He’d been looking for me, and I think he
might have saved my life.” Sarai sighed, aware now that it was useless to try to stop crying. “Only, he’d been hit and was bleeding.”

She’d sat up, dazed, hurt, and very afraid. And then she’d taken a look at Roman and her world dimmed. Right then she saw the future. Saw him beaten, bloody and then dead—in the line of duty. And knew that her heart would shatter into a bazillion pieces if she stayed with him.

“He’s a soldier, Anya. And I can’t change that. He’s not interested in being a missionary. He doesn’t give a second thought to risking his life.”

Anya smiled, covered Sarai’s hand with hers. “A lot like someone else I know.”

Sarai opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, “It’s not the same thing. I’d die for a good cause. Besides, I’m not in any danger.”

Anya nodded slowly. “What exactly does Roman do?”

“I guess he catches bad guys. Risks his life, just like David, to save the world.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Because maybe that’s what he’s good at—”

Anya raised one eyebrow. “So, would you say he’s called to be a cop? That God intended him for that?”

Sarai narrowed her eyes. “Stop, Anya.”

“No, you stop. Just because you’re supposed to be a doctor and missionary, doesn’t mean everyone is.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t believe it.”

“I do.”

“Just not for Roman.”

“I asked him once if he considered being a missionary. He told me that not everyone is cut out to do that. But he
is
cut out for it. I know it. What’s worse, he’s going to die, and it’ll be for no good reason.”

Anya leaned back, arms akimbo. “Like, ah, saving the world?”

Sarai looked away, at the crackling flames in the stove.

“I think this has more to do with your fear of him getting killed than your disappointment in him. I think you fell in love with him because he was charming, but also brave. He embodied the kind of person you respect. Then, seeing him bloody really hit home exactly who he was, and scared you all the way to America and out of his life. And I think you carry your self-righteousness as a barricade to losing your heart to him.”

Sarai opened her mouth. Ouch. When did Anya develop X-ray vision to see all the way to her heart? “That’s not true.

If he were here, helping me, we’d be risking our lives together. He just has so much potential to be more. And he’s blown it.”

“I’m thrilled you think so highly of me,” said a low voice.

Sarai looked up. Roman stood in the doorway, wearing a dark expression.

“Y
ou know, some women might be
pleased
that they had a guy around to protect them.” Roman stalked across the room and dropped the armload of wood into the bin. He turned, brushing off his jeans, his black parka.

“I don’t need a—”

“Hero. I know.” He shook his head. “Believe me, I know.” He advanced toward her just as she bounced to her feet. “Sadly, you’d better get used to it, because like it or not, you’ve got one.”

He left her standing there as he strode out into the cold for another load of wood.

“You okay?” Genye asked as he passed him.

Roman said nothing, letting the snow wash over him and cool the fine layer of sweat on his brow. He gathered the
logs he’d spent the past ten minutes chopping and turned back to the dacha.

Sarai stood on the porch, wearing her parka, hunched against the wind. The wind caught her hair, ran it into her eyes. “Can I help?”

Nyet.
“Yeah. Try to remember that I’m on your side.”

She leaned against the railing as he tromped in past her. Only, she didn’t follow him inside.

Women. He dumped the load, then cast a look at Genye, loading the fire, and stalked back outside.

The snow continued to fall, burying them in its frozen grasp. But under the gleam of the outside light the drifting of gentle flakes seemed wondrous in their softness. Sarai stood against the railing, staring out into the darkness, her hands in her sleeves. She was shivering slightly, but would she put on a hat, or even go back inside?

Nyet.
Because she didn’t think about herself, or her needs. Didn’t realize that hurting herself hurt him, too. And hurt the people who loved and cared for her. She thought only about her precious career.

You could have been so much more.
Sarai’s words dug a hole through his chest. Again, not good enough. He should be scabbed over by now.

“Roman?” Her voice sounded sad, even resigned.

“What?”

She stiffened and he felt instantly sorry. Well, a little sorry. He came over beside her, turned and leaned back against the rail. She didn’t look at him.

“Is it true that you were shattered when I left?” she asked.

He sighed, folding up his collar. “It’s cold out, Sarai. Let’s go inside.”

She glanced at him, and the wind skimmed her blond hair back from her face. Red paths down her cheeks betrayed the tracks of tears and he felt something chew at his stomach.

“Is it?”

He clenched his jaw. “I was hurt, yes. But I got over you.”
Liar, liar.

She nodded. “Me, too.” She looked back out into the cold. “The thing is, I saw our future, Roman, and I knew you weren’t going to give up being a hero…and, well, I just think you could have been so much more.”

You said that already, thanks.
He shook his head, leaned up from the rail and stalked two paces from her. “I know you think I’m just after parades and medals, but the truth is, I’m good at my job. I’m not cut out to be the guy you want…a pastor?” He gave a scoffing noise. “Right. I can’t string two words together on my reports. But I’m pretty good at untangling the right from the wrong and I usually get my man.”

Not my woman.

“I know. David tells me.” She looked down at the accumulating snow. “If I were to tell the truth, I know that what you do is good. I’m…afraid you’ll end up bloodied in my arms.”

“As could you. There are no guarantees in this life, Sar. You and I could get killed tomorrow, crossing the street.”
He moved closer to her, smelled lilac on her hair as the wind turned in his direction.

She turned, stared up at him. Oh, she was so close he could trace the shades of green in her beautiful eyes, and if he leaned, just a little—

“I know that. But if you were doing it saving souls—”

“It would matter more?”

“I guess.”

Roman lowered his voice. “Do you think David’s death was any less noble than Paul’s?”

She blinked at him. “Paul was a martyr. David died of old age.”

“David was a warrior. But he fought the battles God wanted him to fight. He cleared out the promised land for the Israelites. And, if he’d died, he’d have been hailed as a hero. Paul fought battles also—spiritual ones. But the key here is that both did what God asked them to do. They were the men God wanted them to be.”

Her eyes were on him, and he noticed she still had the habit of chewing her lower lip. He stared at it for a moment.

“Not everyone is supposed to be a missionary.”

“But maybe you were.” She grabbed his jacket. “You could have been.”

“There are missionaries killed around the world all the time, Sarai. Being a missionary isn’t going to keep me alive.”

“I know. It’s just…” she said softly.

And just like that, in a moment that should have had an accompanying lightning bolt, he figured it out. “You think that if I was out here, working with you, you could keep
an eye on me.
Keep me safe.
Oh, Sarai. Please trust
me.
Not the man you want me to be, but the guy I am. I know what I’m doing.” Her beautiful eyes clouded and he reached out to her, cupped her face with his hand. “And you have to trust that God knows what He’s doing for us. Whatever you do, both in word or deed, do it to the glory of God. I believe God wants me to do what I’m doing. You have to trust me, and God, on that.”

She stared at him with a frown.

He watched her weigh his words, and the truth felt hot and heavy on his chest. “Sarai, you don’t trust God.”

“What?” But her face betrayed the truth. “Of course I do.”

“That’s it.” He wanted to do a head slap to accompany the explosion of understanding in his mind. “You might trust God for yourself, but you’re not willing to trust Him with my life. Or even this ministry.” He gave a harsh laugh. “How could I have been so stupid? You don’t stick around the hot spots in the world because you’re brave—I mean, you are—but it’s because you’re afraid that if you leave it’ll all fall apart.”

She made no effort, it seemed, to curb her glare.

He glared back. “Anya and Genye are more than capable of opening this clinic. Genye is a pastor as well as being a former soldier, and Anya trained for her medical degree in Germany. Please don’t tell me that you can take care of the people in this area better than they can.”

Her eyes smoldered but she said nothing.

“You’re wrong, Sarai. You do need a hero. You just don’t
want one. Even God. You won’t drop the reins long enough for Him to have his way—”

“That’s not true. Of course I trust God—”

“Prove it. Leave with me, leave this all behind and let God be in charge here—not Sarai Curtiss.”

She winced. “That’s not fair. You’re just baiting me to get me to cave. Of course I trust God, Roman.”

“No, you don’t. Not with the things that really matter.” He braced his hand on the railing, leaning toward her, his voice dagger sharp. “Not with your heart, you don’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

But, as she ducked under his arm and fled back into the cabin, he read her expression.

Bull’s-eye.

Roman stood at the kitchen window, staring at the wind-swept whiteness. Beyond him, the forest seemed colorless, the sunlight unable to cut through the torrent of flakes that seemed to come from all directions. Sarai paused for only a second on the ladder, fighting the urge to run back to the loft and bury herself under the comforter in the safety of the guest bed. Thanks to him—and his caustic accusations—she’d spent the better part of the night fighting her doubts.

Of course she trusted God. She was a missionary, for crying out loud.

Her brain felt sleep-addled, and her body craved coffee. She’d have to just ignore Mr. Smug.

That might be easier if Roman didn’t have a physique
carved from a daily routine in the gym. The way he filled out his black sweater and a pair of Tommy jeans only upped his stun power. With her fuzzy brain, she knew she might be a goner.

Especially if he turned and looked into her soul again with those probing hazel eyes. He was downright dangerous when his voice turned soft and he leaned close, smelling of wood smoke and cologne.

You’re over him, Sarai.

Yeah right. Tell that to her pulse.

She padded across the room to the kitchen, wincing when a floorboard creaked.

He didn’t turn. “I know you’re there, Sar. I heard you upstairs, pacing.” He sighed, stared down at the cup he held in his hands. Tea. Probably green…the guy made eating healthy seem as easy as taking a breath.

Not her—she’d choose a bag of tortilla chips, some cheese dip and can of Diet Coke for breakfast any day of the week.

But this day, it would be coffee, and, thankfully, Anya had instant in her cupboard. Sarai lit the flame under the stove, then wrapped her arms around herself. She felt oh-so-lovely with her rumpled jeans, her frowsy hair and nonexistent makeup.

“Did you sleep well?”

A wry chuckle escaped before she could stop it. He turned, raised one eyebrow.

She didn’t respond. Roman had stoked the fire in the potbelly stove. It blazed warm and inviting and she knelt be
fore it, toasting her hands. It seemed so safe, so otherworldly to be warm inside this tiny cabin while outside the world turned white.
Thank you, Lord, for this place. And for Genye and Anya.
If they hadn’t shown up, she might have had to sleep in her frozen ambulance. Her practical inner missionary knew she shouldn’t be alone with Roman in the cabin overnight.

Genye and Anya’s door remained closed. She heard the water come to a boil. Roman had turned back to the window, still surveying the weather. Sarai rose and filled her cup with water then added coffee, making sure it looked black. Very, very black.

She sat at the table, cupped both hands around the mug and blew. “So, I guess we’re snowed in?”

Not that she particularly hankered to go anywhere, thank you. His little tirade last night didn’t change her mind in the least.

In fact, if he so desperately wanted to risk his thick neck, she wouldn’t judge him. Would no longer dwell on what could never be. He could return to his life of danger and bad guys and she’d wish him well.

Because she did trust God. She just like to help Him along a bit, that’s all.

Roman pulled out a chair and sat. “Yes. We’re snowed in for at least right now. I went out to check on the vehicles—they’re dead. The engines won’t even turn over. And it’ll take a truck to get them out of the ditch.” He rolled his eyes, but gave her the barest of smiles. “You really know how to plant it.”

“I nearly hit a deer,” she retorted a second before she realized the tease in his voice.

“Right.” He took another sip of tea. “I’m going to wait until the snow stops, then we’ll assess our situation.” He cringed. “I know this doesn’t matter to you, but you have only thirty-six hours left before you turn illegal.”

“And you arrest me?” She let the question linger between them, giving him a hard look.

He didn’t match it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

Ouch. He wouldn’t seriously arrest her, would he? She felt emotion build in her throat. He didn’t dislike her that much, did he?

I was shattered when you left.

Okay, maybe.

“I have an idea,” she said.

He raised one eyebrow in silent curiosity.

“I challenge you to a chess game. If you win, I’ll go back to Smolsk with you, and if the law still stands, then I’ll consider leaving.”

His eyes narrowed, probably remembering their cutthroat games—and how often he lost.

“No. You will leave. Because by then the deadline will be passed and you’ll be arrested by the first able-bodied FSB agent you encounter.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to let his words move her. “And if I win, you go home—alone. And leave me be.”

They stared at each other a long moment, then finally he
let the faintest smile curve his lips. But she saw it touch his eyes. And it made something hot curl in her stomach. “
Ladna.
You’re on,
Sarichka.
”

They pulled the game out onto the table and Sarai set up her pieces, well aware that she just might be giving into her worst fears. Not heading out of Smolsk, because from her recollection, Roman had never beaten her in chess. No, her greatest fear was spending time with the man, letting the charm that embodied him seep into the cracks of her heart and find a foothold.

He came out strong on the first move with his white, king-side knight. Seemed fitting probably. Mr. White Knight charging out to save her.

She countered with a pawn, a classic, safe move.
Don’t need you, pal.
And she hadn’t lived in Russia for three years without honing her chess skills on and
off
the board. She wouldn’t be leaving Russia anytime soon.

He met her pawn. Leaned back, smiled.

Okay, smarty.
Her bishop charged out, face to face with his knight.

Roman leaned forward, studying the board.

He brought out his queen. Of course. He was trying to weaken her defenses, to intimate her, to decimate her confidence. Typical FSB move.

She wasn’t going to let him have the upper hand. Moving another pawn, she set his queen up for capture. “Got ya.”

“Ha!” He took out her first pawn. “Check.”

“Where?”

“I can take your king, or your rook. You decide.”

“Casualties are a part of the game.” She sacrificed her rook and tried not to wince. Especially when he leaned back, two hands behind his head. “You still want to keep that bet?”

She leaned forward, her chin on her hands, then smiled as she pulled out another pawn.

Roman moved to capture it, and then possibly her knight.

Uh-oh. Roman had improved since she’d last played him. Coffee. She needed more coffee. Because she was
not
going to let him win. Not only couldn’t she bear the gloat on his face, but going back to Smolsk with him would only prolong their time together.

And talk about losing the game…her heart might not ever be the same.