Free Ekaterina by Susan May Warren, Susan K. Downs Page A

Nikolai had abdicated the throne—made Ilyitch burn with shame. With her outhouses, central water pumps, and coal smoke spiraling from hovels built in the Lenin era, Pskov embodied the sudden halt of progress. Thankfully, Moscow had marched on. As had Ilyitch. Capitalism wasn’t just for the West. Wasn’t it Gorbachev who said, “Sell anything, sell it all!”?
    He’d taken the old boss at his word.
    The car ground to a halt, snared in traffic. Ilyitch considered hoofing it, but he didn’t need to ignite any suspicions. He sat back in the seat, cracked the window, and flicked out the cigarette. Spasonov would be boarding the train by now. By tonight, Ekaterina Moore would be back in the city. His city.
    A city he’d just as gladly kiss good-bye as decrepit Pskov. No more drizzly Moscow days where the cold dug into his bones. No more traffic, no more press of crowds. No more apartments the size of an American bathroom.
    He’d get the key. Get Grazovich’s hidden treasure. And get out of Russia.
    -
    Kat folded her hands across her chest and tried to figure out where her life had begun to unravel. Twenty-four hours earlier, she teetered on the edge of her past. Today she was drowning in confusion and fury. No thanks to her not-in-this-lifetime, former hero, who had her under virtual arrest on the commuter train. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
    He had tilted his head back, his eyes all but closed, as if he were exhausted. Served him right. She was no lightweight and he didn’t have to carry her halfway back to the hotel or hold her hand like a flighty preschooler all the way to the train. She comprehended his meaning about two-point-three seconds after he picked her up like a sack of grain.
    She was going home. Quest over. Door to the past slammed shut.
    Tears burned her eyes and she gnawed her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She could claw his eyes out for stealing from her the only dream she ever had. A thousand descriptive words rose unbidden and she forced them back, deep inside, fighting instead to accept her future. God, she moaned, don’t send me home without answers.
    Fulfill the promise. What did Timofea mean? The question made her cry aloud.
    She clamped her hand over her mouth, horrified.
    Captain Spasonov roused and looked at her.
    She blinked back her tears and stared down at her new hiking boots, now scuffed and dirty, feeling mortified.
    “I’m sorry, Kat. But you have to trust me.” He spoke quietly, an unwelcome balm on her razed emotions. “I’m only trying to keep you safe.”
    “You can’t possibly know what you’re destroying.” Her own tone made the tears spill in a hot flow down her face.
    To make it worse, he scooted over to face her, his knees bumping hers. He handed her a handkerchief, and when she refused it, he dabbed the tears from her cheeks himself. She flinched and pulled away.
    Hurt flickered across his face, as if her feelings actually meant something to him. She wanted to slap him.
    He sighed. “Tell me what is so important that you’d risk your life.”
    “Is that what I’m doing?” She forced her chin to remain steady, and met his eyes.
    They seemed genuinely concerned for her. “I believe Grazovich wants something from you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have spoken to you, or pressed his luck at customs, much less try to pass off as coincidence your reunion on the train.”
    “I still can’t believe you think that nice professor is a terrorist.” She swallowed hard, seeing Spasonov’s face harden. Anger streaked through his expression. She winced. Then she remembered Taynov’s eyes. Old, battle-weary eyes. Maybe .
    “It doesn’t matter what you believe. What matters is what I know. And I don’t want you hurt.”
    His gentle words hit her in a soft place. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she struggled to speak. “You don’t?” she squeaked.
    He smiled, and an unfamiliar tenderness gathered around his eyes. “Absolutely