Shadow Touch (20 page)

A young woman sat at the hotel’s front desk. She looked like something out of a fifties beach movie: perky, blond, with a cute button nose and bright red lipstick. She stopped filing her nails when they entered the lobby, her mouth forming a perfect crimson O.

“We are here to see Mikhail Petrovich,” Artur said. “Please tell him an old friend has come to town.”

The girl hesitated, her gaze flickering sideways, past Artur. Past all of them.

Stricken by premonition, Elena turned. A portly man with a bald, pasty head descended a narrow staircase off the lobby. He held a gun in his hand. He aimed it at Artur’s back. The safety clicked off. Elena watched, horrified.

“Artur Loginov,” he said, in badly accented English. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

Artur knew who was behind him even before he heard the safety click. The girl’s eyes gave it away. The gun did not surprise him, either. He expected the threat of bullets. It was why he had wanted so badly to come into this place alone. Mikhail might not actually shoot him, but where there was a gun, there was the possibility and Mikhail was a very good shot.

What Artur was
not
prepared for, however, was Elena’s voice whispering, “No,” and the feel of her body sliding against his own, standing in front of him, shielding him, protecting him with her arms outstretched, like she could catch a bullet, deflect that charm of death.

“Elena!” he snapped, so full of shock—fear—that he forgot to be gentle, forgot that Mikhail was first and foremost a gentleman, and that gentlemen never fired guns at ladies. Because all that mattered to Artur was that there was a bullet aimed at Elena’s heart—
his
heart, through her body—and that was utterly intolerable. Artur grabbed Elena around the waist, picking her off the ground and spinning her so that she leaned up hard against the lobby counter. Artur surrounded her with his body—close, tight—until all he could see were her eyes, large and startled.

“I should never have let you come in here,” he said, voice rough, hoarse. “
Elena
.”

Elena, why? Elena, how could you? Elena, if you died it would break my heart. Elena, Elena, Elena. I am not worth it. I am not worth even the gesture of your life.

He felt Amiri and Rik close ranks around them, and he turned, grabbing Rik’s arm. He pulled the shape-shifter in front of Elena. He did not have to force Amiri; the man glided into Artur’s place and stepped forward to meet Mikhail, who stared at him with the most curious expression on his sagging face. The gun never wavered.

“Put that away,” Artur said. “Look at me, Mikhail. I am unarmed.”

“A man like you is never unarmed,” Mikhail said. “A man like you is the weapon.”

Artur thought he heard Elena say his name. Rik was trying to soothe her. Little chance of that—Artur knew how stubborn she was. He did not dare turn to see if she was actually struggling against the shape-shifters. He was not sure what such a sight would do to his heart. He moved even closer to Mikhail, until he stood at the foot of the stairs with that gun still aimed at his chest. Artur never looked at the weapon; his eyes remained locked on Mikhail’s face.

“For God’s sake,” he whispered in Russian. “Shoot me if you like, but not here. Not in front of her.”

Mikhail’s gaze flickered past Artur. “Did you beat her?”

“Of course not,” Artur snapped.

“I had to ask.” Mikhail lowered the gun. “I was not going to shoot you, anyway. I just had the floors cleaned.”

“Really.” Tension still sang through his body. “Then I suppose the bloodstains near my feet are just a figment of my imagination?”

Mikhail shrugged. “You always were creative.” He descended the stairs with slow ease.

Artur wanted to see if Elena was all right, but he did not dare turn his back on Mikhail. He no longer thought the man would shoot him, but it would be stupid, and Mikhail would respect him less for it.

Mikhail reluctantly gave up the last two stairs—he never liked being the shortest man in a room—and said, “Bastard. Why couldn’t you leave me alone?”

“I need help.”

“If you are back in Russia after all these years, then that is certainly the case.” Mikhail walked to the front of the lobby. Artur remained at his side.

Amiri and Rik watched with apprehension. Artur did not blame them. They were putting their lives in his hands—a complete stranger—and had done so on nothing more than brief assurances of good intentions. Artur, if their positions were reversed, would never tolerate that. Not that he completely trusted the shape-shifters, either. Words were not enough. Actions honorable actions—repeated again and again, were the only truths that mattered.

Elena, on the other hand, was already too much a part of him. No doubts, no reservations. He trusted her like he trusted himself, which was remarkable, insane. Artur had never felt that way about anyone. It had taken him years to build that same trust with his friends at the agency; with Elena, it had happened over a matter of a day.

Despite her earlier words in his head, he still remained unconvinced she felt the same about him. Unsettling to be so exposed in his heart, without any promise of reciprocation.

Although her stepping in front of you when there is a gun pointed at your chest is a good indication.

Irritation bloomed. How could he possibly spend so much energy trying to divine her feelings? Right now, with so much looming over their heads, could it make any difference in his life whether or not she liked him on some deeper level?

Yes. It did make a difference.

Elena leaned against the lobby counter. Her face was ashen, her eyes far too dark. She looked upset and angry—a bad combination.

“I think you might be in a lot of trouble,” Mikhail said softly. “If you like, I can put you out of your misery.”

“You would like that,” Artur said.

“Yes, though I might enjoy seeing you humbled before a woman even better.”

Artur said nothing. For Elena, he would get down on his knees and crawl.

Fortunately she did not make him do that. She did not say a word. Just gave him a hard look and then turned to face Mikhail.

“I think I hate your guts,” she said to him, which surprised a giant whoop of laughter out of the short Russian. Rik made a strangled noise in his throat, while Amiri simply shook his head. Artur closed his eyes.

“Wonderful!” Mikhail crowed, still smiling. “Your accent is American, yes? What a perfect woman. I like you.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Elena said. “I don’t appreciate it when people threaten my friends.”

“Elena,” Artur began, but she held up her hand.

“Don’t,” she said. “I have had it up to here with people trying to hurt us. This is not a game. This is not fun. And you”—she looked at Mikhail—”should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I am not ashamed,” Mikhail said, “but I do apologize.”

“Good enough,” Elena said. “Artur, you have some business to conduct, don’t you?”

“I do,” he said, somewhat stunned.

“Then do it, and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

Mikhail sighed, long and gusty. “If my wife had not already branded her name upon my balls, I swear I would do all in my power to woo you. I love your fire.”

“I really didn’t need that imagery, but thank you for the compliment,” Elena said.

Mikhail looked at the girl behind the desk and snapped his fingers. “Anna,” he said in Russian. “Get Artur’s friends a room they can relax in. And for the woman, some new clothes and makeup.”

The girl leaped to her feet and began rummaging around the desk drawer for keys.

“If you go with Anna,” Mikhail said, returning to English, “she will make you comfortable.”

Elena, Rik, and Amiri stared at Artur. He nodded. “Mikhail is a man of his word. You will be safe here while he and I talk.”

“If you say so,” Amiri said. “But I do not like it.”

“Neither do I,” Elena said. Mikhail surprised Artur by holding out his gun—a spontaneous gesture, utterly out of character. Elena stared at the weapon, and then him.

“Take it,” Mikhail said. “Truly. If I hurt Artur, you may use it on me.”

“I don’t trust you,” Elena said.

“No one trusts me,” Mikhail replied. “Here, take the gun.”

Elena glanced at Artur. He could say nothing to her, and after a moment she took the gun, held it gingerly in her hands.

“The safety is still off,” Artur warned. He did not like this at all, but even though leaving them alone while he spoke with Mikhail was not his only option, he could not bring himself to voice the other. It entailed too much risk of an entirely different nature. Elena might have accepted one part of his past, but there was more—much more—and Mikhail could not be trusted not to speak of it.

“Elena,” Artur said, holding out his hands. She gave him the gun, and he clicked the safety on for her. Breathed a little easier. He gave back the firearm before she could tell him to keep it. Mikhail would never let Artur in the same room with him if he were armed. Survival instincts. Artur could still kill Mikhail in hand-to-hand combat, but a gun was too blatant. It destroyed the illusion. Still, seeing Elena hold the weapon was utterly frightening. It was not something to be handled by the inexperienced.

“We’ll be all right,” Elena said to him, as though she could read the conflict in his face and wished to soothe him—a far cry from only moments before, when she had been quite open with her doubts. But that was Elena: when she committed to something, she stuck with it. And right now she was committed to trusting Artur’s judgment. He could see it in her eyes; she trusted him.

Dear God
, he prayed.
Please do not let me do anything to abuse that trust
.

Rik and Amiri seemed far less convinced, but said nothing. Artur thought he could trust Amiri to watch out for her, if only because it was in the shapeshifter’s best interests. He did not feel the same about Rik, whose spirit still seemed weak, his head planted just a little less firmly on his shoulders. Rik might not be a bad person, but he seemed more boy than man.

As Anna walked around the front desk with a key in her hands, the hotel’s front door opened. A man and woman entered the lobby. Tourists, cameras hanging from their necks, fanny packs sagging down their waists. Sunglasses, tour books, brand-new clothes.

“Honey,” cooed the woman, gazing up at the chipped mosaic of a naked sea goddess languidly sprawled on the ceiling. “Isn’t this fantastic?”

It would have been more fantastic had they entered only two minutes previously.

“If you may follow me,” Anna said, glancing nervously at the tourists. “I show you room.”

“
Da
,” Elena said, giving Artur a hard look. “We follow.”

Artur watched Elena disappear up the stairs with Amiri and Rik close behind. He wished he could go with her. He wished he did not have to be here, calling in old debts with a man he’d thought he would never again have to see. As far as former Mafia bosses went, Mikhail Petrovich was not a bad person. But he was a reminder of harder days, which Artur could have done without.

He took off his gloves and tucked them into the back of his pants. Stretched his fingers, savoring the touch of air on his skin.

Mikhail gave him a sly look, ignoring the American couple who wandered to the other side of the lobby. “Interesting company you keep. Far more exotic than I would give you credit for.”

“If you harm them—”

“I give you my word I will not. I have no interest in hurting you, Artur. Not really.”

The Americans began to amble closer, talking loudly about the run-down “atmosphere” of the hotel. Mikhail frowned. “Come. We should continue this in my office.”

The two men left the lobby. Shoulder-to-shoulder, of course. Mikhail was not stupid enough to expose his back either. The corridor was long and narrow. Pictures hung on the walls. Moscow in winter. Moscow in summer. Moscow at night.

Artur said, “You like to punish yourself with memories.”

“It is not a punishment. Just a reminder of different days. Besides, it is not such a bad thing to remember the places you love.”

“Even if you can never return to them?”

“Even so. Love hurts worse when you disparage it, when you try to drown it. If I did that to Moscow, I would be giving her no respect. I would be giving
myself
no respect. And as you know, Artur, I like myself far too much for that.”

Artur almost smiled. Almost, until Mikhail said, “You do not trust the people you travel with.”

Artur gave him a hard look. “Untrue.”

“Really?” Mikhail gave him a knowing smile. “You could have invited them in with us. Ah, but no. You were afraid of what I might say, the things they could learn about you. Or maybe you just care what the woman thinks. I can see why. She is fine. High morals, that one.”

“I could have been protecting you,” Artur suggested. “Your past is far more checkered than mine.”

“Ack.” Mikhail held out his arms. “I am totally legitimate now. What do I have to hide? That is the secret, you know. The truth does set you free, Artur. When you tell the truth, there is no person on earth who has power over you. There is nothing that can cripple the momentum of your life when you are honest to yourself and others.”