Crossing the Line (24 page)

“I want you to live with me,” Aleksei said as they went into his house. “I’ve had all your clothes brought here.”

She took a shaky breath.

He pressed the code into the alarm keypad. “Not going to say anything?”

“I have horrible habits.”

He laughed. “Such as?”

“I’m heavy handed with cyanide.”

Aleksei pulled her into his arms. “I like having you around. You make me laugh, you’re hot in bed and you intrigue me.”

“What happens when you tire of me? I get fed to a shark? You find another leggy blonde?”

He stroked her cheek. “Jealous of women I haven’t even looked at?”

But she was one in a long line and felt as though a heavy weight pressed on her chest while storms clouds collided in her head. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

He clamped his hand over his heart. “Asking me on a date?”

“If you’re not washing your hair.”

“No, I believe that’s the day after.”

“I have an invitation to a departmental drinks party.” She saw the genuine pleasure on his face and wished he wasn’t neck deep in Petrenko’s world.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Black tie.”

He pulled her into his arms and she rested her head against his chest.

“I want to make your world a bright place again,” he whispered. “I just need you to trust me.”

She couldn’t trust anyone. She understood that now.

“Will you cook tonight?” he asked. “I had Park buy groceries.”

He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the counter checking messages on his phone. She opened the refrigerator, guessed what he wanted and prepared
domashni piroshki
; pies stuffed with cabbage, meat, mushrooms and apricots. Aleksei opened a bottle of wine and poured her a glass.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I’m concentrating on chopping, cutting, slicing.”

“I hope you’re only thinking about food.”

“No.”

“That’s your problem. You shouldn’t think. It gets you in trouble.”

“I can’t help it. Every time I try to not think about Petrenko, he jumps back into my mind. I wish you didn’t know him.”

“What if I told you it was Viktor who paid for my ticket over here. Viktor who set me up with a bank account, arranged credit cards, a car, somewhere to live and even a place at Harvard Business School. Eventually, through a friend of his, he found me a wife and a green card.”

Katya turned to look at him, surprised by what he’d revealed. More truths? Another move on the chess board. “So you owe him. What did you have to do in return? Find high yield opportunities for his capital investments?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You learn quickly.”

“Have you known him long?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still alive? He hasn’t sucked you dry?”

His eyes darkened. “I’d rather you did that.”

Katya surprised herself by laughing.

“I bought you a present,” he said. “Not jewelry, before you get angry.”

He left the kitchen and came back with a violin. “Don’t get too excited, it’s not your old violin or a Stradivarius.”

Her laugh turned to a gasp when she opened the case. She knew how good the instrument was before she even took it out. She ran her fingers over the body, the neck, the bridge.

“I bought the bow they suggested too. I hope it’s okay.”

Even before she’d dragged the tightened bow over the strings, she felt the sound vibrate in her heart.

“Do you like it? Is it a good one? The guy said it was, but he could have sold me some cheap Chinese thing and I wouldn’t have known.”

She put it down and flung her arms around him. “It’s fantastic. Thank you.”

“I wanted…to make you happy. You can change it if you like.”

“No, it’s perfect. So long as you didn’t pay more than five hundred dollars.”

His face paled and she laughed. “I’m teasing. Maybe a thousand.”

He groaned. “It was more expensive than a car but I figured you’d like it better.”

He was right.

* * * * *

Ethan checked his watch and grunted. Five in the morning. He’d slept badly, rerunning everything, thinking too much about how good it had felt to have Katya in his arms, pressed against him. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. He might be supposed to put his job before everything but it didn’t mean it was always the right thing to do. Then neither was indecision. She wasn’t yet an informant. By Monday she might be and a large part of him didn’t want her to agree. But then, it wasn’t up to him. It was up to Katya.

At six he went to work. Saturday—but he didn’t have anything else to do.

To stop him thinking about a woman he was letting slip through his fingers, he reviewed Martinez’s work on an extortion racket involving gyms. He’d been at his desk no more than an hour when there was a knock at the door and Luisa walked in.

“Working on a Saturday?” She smiled.

He kept his face neutral. “Are you?”

“No, I came to get my cell. I was in such a rush yesterday I forgot it.”

She brandished it as if she needed to prove it. She did.

“Want to grab some breakfast?” she asked. “Or I could get you a sandwich.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

She perched on his desk. “I hope you don’t have the wrong idea about me. I don’t sleep with every guy I meet. If I came on a little strong, I’m sorry. It’s just you’re so damned attractive, I can’t resist you.” She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh God, I can’t believe I said that.”

Ethan was embarrassed. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“Look, can we start over? Take things slower. Get to know one another.”

“I don’t—”

“You could begin by buying me breakfast.”

“I can’t—”

“It’s only food. I’m not asking you to fuck me,” she snapped.

Ethan bristled. “I don’t want to start something you think will lead to more when I know it won’t.”

“We’ve already started something.”

“No we haven’t.”

She gave him a bleak look. “You’ve met somebody else?”

“Yes.” Ethan hoped that would bring the conversation to an end.

It did. Luisa stormed out. He winced when she slammed the door.

* * * * *

Katya didn’t feel like going anywhere after the music department reception, but Aleksei persuaded her to come with him to a South Beach night club. He’d charmed her colleagues and he’d charmed her by being polite, attentive and kind. A model boyfriend. She wished he was. Yet that violin… She shouldn’t have let that thaw her, but it had. It wasn’t the cost. It was the thought.

As they worked their way through a crowded private room at the club, Katya heard only Russian being spoken. Aleksei nodded to several people, but didn’t stop until he reached Petrenko.

“Alyosha.” Petrenko hugged Aleksei, then her. “Katya.”

She steeled herself not to recoil. He dripped with gold, chains around his neck and wrist, rings on his fingers, and a bejeweled Beth on his arm wearing the most revealing dress Katya had ever seen. No more than two strips of diaphanous material draped over her shoulders that met somewhere below her navel. Her nipples were clearly visible.

“You two are overdressed,” Petrenko said.

“We’ve been to a reception at the university,” Aleksei said.

“Oh yes, I remember. You must let me know when you’re in a concert, Katya. Beth and I will come.”

Aleksei lifted glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and gave her one. Two Albanians who introduced themselves as Rudi and Luka joined them. Rudi spoke Russian, but not Luka. When Petrenko sat down at a table, it was taken as a signal for others to sit too. Katya found herself sandwiched between Petrenko and Aleksei.

In the middle of each table sat an ice sculpture in the shape of a fish with a container of caviar in the curve of the tail and glasses of vodka set in a sea of blue ice. There were dishes of sour cream, gherkins, olives, and plates of smoked salmon, black bread and blinis. A magnum of Cristal champagne appeared at Petrenko’s side. When they all held a glass, Petrenko led the toast and they chinked glasses. “
Za druzhbu myezhdu narodami.”
To friendship between nations.

Katya’s hand shook and she spilt champagne.

“A waste of fifty dollars,” Petrenko snapped.

She stared at him and poured the rest over the cloth. Aleksei sighed, but Petrenko laughed. He scooped a heavy dollop of grey-black caviar onto a blini and took a large bite.

“Eat, Katya,” Petrenko said with his mouth full.

Choke on it, you bastard.
“I don’t like caviar.”

“It’s Beluga. Drink vodka with it. It brings out the taste.”

“It’s the taste I don’t like.”

“Would you rather have Sevruga?”

“No, thank you.”

“Osestra, then? Perhaps that would be more to your liking. Sweet, nutty, pretty. Like you.” He chuckled.

“It’s still fish eggs.”

She picked up a piece of bread and put it on her plate. Aleksei filled her glass. Her hand was unsteady when she reached for it.

“What’s the matter?” Petrenko asked.

“You scare me.”

Rudi translated for Luka and the two men laughed.

Petrenko smiled. “I should hope so.” He turned to Beth. “Do I scare you?”

“No.”

“I should. Katya has the right idea and I think you might be lying.” He winked. “I shall have to teach Beth a lesson later.”

Katya felt his hand squeeze her knee under the table and she moved her chair closer to Aleksei.

“Tell me, do you miss your family?” Petrenko asked in Russian, crumbs falling from his mouth.

“I don’t have any.”

“No brothers, sisters?”

Does he know who I am?
“I had a sister. She died.”

“How?”

Katya swallowed hard. “Murdered.”

“My sister was murdered too,” Rudi said.

She glanced across the table and Rudi met her gaze.

“Poor Katya. That’s very sad.” Petrenko took another scoop of caviar. “Did our wonderful Moscow police find out who did it?”

The piece of bread turned to cardboard in her mouth. He knew. She’d said nothing about where Galya died. Katya wanted to melt away like the ice in front of her. Of course he knew, she was an idiot to think he and Aleksei didn’t know everything about her. Almost everything. Not about Ethan.

“No. Did you find out who murdered your sister?” she asked Rudi.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill them?”

Rudi and Luka smiled. Even Luka had understood that. Rudi nodded and Petrenko laughed.

Oh God. I’m so stupid.
Fear should have silenced her and instead she’d said too much.

Aleksei emptied the rest of the champagne into Katya’s glass, signaled for another bottle and put the old one on the floor. Bad luck to leave an empty bottle on the table, though she didn’t think her luck could be worse.

Luka said something to Rudi who asked, “What happened to your sister?”

She tried to keep her voice calm, but her mind raced. “She set off to work one morning and never arrived. The police told my father she was kidnapped because of her job at Almas-Antei, an anti-missile factory. They suspected Chechens intended to threaten her boss but something went wrong and they killed her.” She took a drink of champagne to wet her mouth.

“How did she die?” Petrenko asked.

You fucking bastard.

Aleksei put his hand on her knee and she fought not to tense.

“My father said she’d been stabbed.” Was that a mistake? Did Petrenko know she’d been to the mortuary and read the autopsy report?

“You must miss her.”

She wanted to scratch his eyes out. “Of course. Though I hadn’t seen much of her over the last couple of years. When Galya got a new job, she moved into her own place.”

She looked straight at Petrenko as she said Galya’s name. Not a flicker on his face.

“What happened to your parents?” he asked.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
Katya’s fingers tightened around her glass and she put it down before she broke it.
He’s telling me he knows without saying a word.

“My parents and grandparents were on their way back from seeing me in a concert when my father had an accident. His car went into the river and they drowned.” Her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

Petrenko piled more food on his plate. “Aleksei told me about your uncle and his friends. Worse than animals.”

And you’re any better?
Giving me to Hastings?

He began discussing a new travel office in Fort Lauderdale. Rudi’s contribution made it clear they were talking about more than arranging vacations. Katya tried not to look as though she was listening. She knew how desperate girls were to come to the States, particularly those from the old Soviet republics. They were easily taken in by lies and blinded by the hope of earning real money. Promised visas, papers, passports and transportation, it seemed too good to be true and it was, because once they arrived they found themselves in debt, forced to repay huge sums by working as prostitutes. You couldn’t escape, you died if you tried.