Sands of Time Page 10

  He clenched his jaw, fighting a sudden rush of emotions. “How about I make some tea?”

  “You’re not him, Roma. I know you think you are, but you’ll never be him. And I’ll tell you why.”

  He didn’t look at her as he found the teakettle. Snow would melt, make water.

  “Because you’re a Christian. And no matter what happens, your life matters. Maybe not the way I want it to, but you’re a man of principle and salt and light in your world. I know because David tells me everything, and you’re like a brother to him.”

  He glanced at her, dangerously aware of how much that meant to him. “Thanks.” Carrying the kettle, he moved to step past her, outside, but she caught his sleeve.

  “I worry about you, too.”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing emerged.

  “And, deep in my heart, I know someday you’re going to die. And I won’t be there to stop it.”

  He set the kettle on the table. She wanted to have this conversation now? What about ten plus years ago? “I’m not going to get killed, Sarai.”

  “You will. And then…. I don’t want to be there when it happens.” She let his sleeve go, looked away, as if that might be the end of the conversation.

  Not quite. He pulled out a chair, straddled it backward. “And what about you? It’s not like you don’t go around risking your life. I think you have this knack for picking the hot spots in the world. Have you any idea how your brother—all of us—worry about you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “At least I’m doing it for the right reasons.”

  “I knew it! You still think I’m out to make a name for myself, don’t you?”

  Even in the shadows of the dacha, he could see her eyes flash. “Yes. Okay, I do. I think you’re trying to prove you’re not your father. That you’re not going to end up like him.”

  “Thanks, Sarai, for that sensitivity, as well as your vote of confidence. Did it ever occur to you that I am just trying to be the guy God created me to be? Not everyone can save lives—and souls. Some of us are cut from a different cloth. Besides, don’t tell me you don’t get a little high when you save a life. Don’t tell me that there isn’t a piece of you that sees herself as a savior to these people.”

  “I don’t.” She sat back, folded her arms across her chest. “I’m here for eternal purposes. I share the gospel, I tell people that Jesus loves them as I heal them.”

  “You heal them.”

  “God heals them. For crying out loud.” She shook her head. “At least, when I die, it’ll be for a good reason.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’re a martyr.” He rose, turned the chair around.

  She looked away, out the window. But, when he glanced at her he saw that her chin trembled.

  “I’m not a martyr, Roma.” Her voice dropped and he heard tears on the far edge. “Don’t you think that I get lonely. Discouraged? That I want to give up and just go home. And get married and…have kids…”

  Oh. Wow. He froze, pretty sure that if he didn’t, he might do something stupid, like pull her into his arms. Because her words felt raw and vulnerable, and the look on her face, as if she’d surprised herself, made his chest hurt.

  Look what we could have had.

  “Do you have anyone you want to get married to?” he asked softly. Was he now a glutton for pain?

  She gave a huff of what he’d label exasperation, or maybe quick cover. All the same, it felt like a stake through his heart. “No. Of course not. I’m just saying that I’m not the girl that you and David and my parents label me—”

  “No one is labeling you.”

  “You are. You think I’m just some sort of renegade doctor, risking my life—”

  “Okay, that’s true, I concede—”

  “But I’m just trying to be the girl God made me to be. All my life I wanted to be a doctor. I saw it as my way to fulfill the Great Commission.” She glanced at him, and he saw hurt in her eyes. “As if you’d know anything about that. The only reason you ever liked me, if at all, was because I was David’s little sister and you thought I was easy prey. Guess you were wrong, huh?”

  He opened his mouth, feeling gut punched. “That is not true. You know it. I loved you. And you shattered me when you left.”

  Oh, no, why did he have to say that? But she always knew how to ignite his emotions. Like a match to tinder.

  She looked at him, her beautiful green eyes wide.

  Yes, that’s right, Sarai, I’m still in love with you. I never stopped and just being near you dredges up the feelings I’ve been trying to ignore…or dodge for way too long. The words formed in his thoughts, but stuck like gum in his chest. Please, let him not be so stupid as to let them out.

  He grabbed the teakettle. “I’m fine now. It’s over. I got it after you spent three months not returning my calls, and about thirteen years not talking to me. But in case you’re wondering, I did love you. That was real. And so is my concern for you when I tell you that you’re going to be in big trouble if you stay in Irkutsk.” His voice sounded as if he were talking through a grate. Rough edged. Broken.

  She looked up at him as he stood there—why wasn’t he moving?—and in her eyes he saw question. Doubt. And just a little anger.

  Then, just like that she blinked it away.

  Just like she’d blinked him away so long ago.

  He should have expected as much. He stalked outside, into the snow and filled the teakettle.

  She was so over him that it made him wonder if she’d ever loved him.

  But before that thought could wound him, he stilled. Listened. Yes, voices. And the dart of a light.

  He dropped the kettle, dashed back into the cabin. Sarai stood at the sink, opening the jar of preserves. She jumped as he slammed the door open.

  “We have company. I want you to get into the other room and stay low.” Oh, no, the fire had already betrayed them. How could he have been so—

  “What on earth are you talking about?” She turned, opener in hand. “No one is out to get me.”

  “We don’t know that, do we?”

  She just stood there. He took two strides and scooped her up. The can opener fell with a clatter into the sink. “Roman!”

  “Tiha!” He ignored the way she pushed against his chest and strode into the back bedroom. “Will you just trust me for once?”

  “Put me down,” she gritted, but her voice stayed low. Good girl.

  He set her down in the tiny bedroom. “Stay here. Close the door.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Finally,” he snapped. Then he closed the door behind him.

  “Stop it, Julia.” Bednov stood over her as she slumped across the kitchen table. The kitchen that he’d spent thousands of his hard earned rubles to remodel. Did she think that it wouldn’t come without a price?

  He barely stopped himself from grabbing her hair, yanking her to her feet. “You knew Katya had to be dealt with.” He reached for the vodka bottle, took a swig before he wiped his mouth and capped it.

  “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 d
iscovered 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.

  Chapter Nine

  “You 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.