Grave Vengeance (21 page)

“Thank you.” Dmitri motioned for Gwen to enter, and he followed her inside the house.

The interior had changed since the last time he visited. That was to be expected. Since then, Jack had moved in his belongings, and the house now contained a blend of both masculine and feminine. His books. Her trinkets. A picture of the two of them on a cruise ship hung on the wall above the fireplace. The black leather couch in the living room was new, as was the massive flat-screen television mounted to the adjoining wall.

Wearing a midnight blue robe and a pale green choker, Ruby appeared from one of the back rooms. With zero makeup and tousled red hair, she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. And judging by her pinched-up expression, she wasn’t happy to see them either. Her Southern accent was thick and pronounced when she said, “Have you lost your freaking mind?”

Nope, definitely not happy.

“Sorry.” Gwen hitched a thumb in Dmitri’s direction. “His idea, not mine.”

“Thanks for having my back,
zaika
.” Dmitri turned his attention back to Ruby. “I’ll explain later. Right now I need my weapons.”

“Weapons?” Jack’s eyes popped wide. “You let him stash weapons
in our house
?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Ruby said.

“We’ll talk about it
now
.”

“You’ll talk about it later,” Dmitri interrupted. Ignoring Jack, he focused on Ruby. “Where are they?”

Ruby’s steely gaze seemed to bore right through him as she folded her arms across her chest. “I put the guns in the attic above the master bathroom, and the bullets are in the refrigerator in the garage.”

Dmitri gave her a blank look. “You put eight hundred rounds of ammo in the fridge?”

“Where else was I supposed to put them? I figured it was the safest place.” She threw her hands in the air in apparent frustration. “Who’s going to look for ammunition in the crisper drawer?”

“She’s got a point,” Gwen said.

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” Exasperation was plain on Dmitri’s face as he stalked through the hallway leading into the garage. Jack followed close behind and slammed the door behind him.

“Don’t mind them,” Ruby said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They’re both suffering from a serious case of testosterone poisoning.”

“Tell me about it.” Gwen blinked twice, her eyes dry and tired from a long day of traveling. “Sorry to wake you. I’m Gwen, by the way.”

Ruby’s gaze sharpened. “You’re Gwen?
The
Gwen?”

Oh boy, that couldn’t be good. “Uh, yeah. Why, what did he say about me?”

“Nothing, really. Dmitri’s not the gossipy type. I’ve just heard things about the two of you over the years.”

She could only imagine. “If it’s good, it’s true.”

“Some of it is. We’ll save the not-so-good stuff for another time.” Ruby smiled as she finger-combed her hair. Even half-awake, she looked incredible. She was tall for a woman—close to six feet, with long red hair and piercing green eyes. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll fix us something to drink. What would you like?”

“Something without sugar or caffeine, if you have it.” She planned on sleeping during the drive to Miami, and a buzz would make that impossible.

“That whittles it down to water and orange juice. Oh, and wine, if you want something with a little kick.”

Tempting, but given their situation, getting sloshed on the job didn’t sound like a bright idea. “Juice would be nice.”

She needed to be sharp when they arrived in Miami. Dealing with Patrick would be difficult enough, but Elena? The prospect filled her with dread, but she didn’t see any way around it. Without closure, Elena would always haunt his thoughts and serve as a point of weakness.

Gwen followed Ruby through the arched doorway leading into a cozy kitchen with cherry cabinets and shiny black appliances. A breakfast nook was tucked in the corner with an L-shaped bench against the wall. She took the seat by the window and leaned against the back. “So how long have you worked with Dmitri?”

Ruby paused in front of the refrigerator door, a quart of orange juice in her hand. “Somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty years. You?”

“On and off for fifty.”

“That sounds about right.” Ruby set the carton on the counter and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet beside the stove. “Honey, you want any juice?” she called out.

“No, I’m fine.” Jack didn’t sound fine, but that probably had something to do with two reapers barging into his home in the middle of the night. There was an element to his life force that struck Gwen as odd, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The flashing eyes hinted at a demon heritage, but his soul felt distinctly mortal. He wasn’t a reaper, and he wasn’t completely human, so what the hell was he? It struck her as rude to ask Ruby, so she’d check with Dmitri after they left.

“Don’t mind him,” Ruby said as if sensing her thoughts. “He and Dmitri didn’t start off on the right foot. Give ’em time, and they’ll work it out.”

Was she serious? “How long are you expecting to wait?”

Ruby lifted one shoulder, a wry smile tugging at her lips. She opened the carton and filled both glasses. “I don’t know. Maybe a decade or two?”

Gwen laughed. “You know Dmitri well.”

“I know them both well.” Ruby put the container back in the fridge and set both glasses on the table. She sat, leaning back against the bench with an easy familiarity. “Like I said, I’ve heard about you through the grapevine, but Dmitri’s never mentioned your name.” Not bothering to hide her interest, she studied Gwen over the rim of her glass. “Must be some bad blood.”

“That’s a diplomatic way to put it.”

“So it’s true?”

“That depends on the question.”

Leaning close, Ruby lowered her voice. “I heard you shot each other, and that’s how you both became reapers. Am I close?”

Whoever her sources were, they were good. Few reapers knew the actual truth. Over the years, she’d heard all sorts of speculation concerning the antagonistic nature of their relationship. The most common theory was that they were former lovers and one caught the other cheating. Usually, Gwen was cast in the cheating skank role, something that always stuck in her craw. “Who told you that?”

Ruby shook her head. “Sorry, but I promised not to tell. I’d never get any more juicy gossip if I went around revealing my sources.”

Dammit. It had to be someone who’d been around long enough to know the truth. Riley, perhaps? Or maybe David Anderson. He’d worked with Ruby for a number of years before transferring down to Miami.

“So is it true?” Ruby prodded before sipping her juice.

Gwen considered lying, but what was the point? It wasn’t like she had anything to hide. Besides, she suspected Ruby wasn’t about to let it drop. “Yes, it is.”

Back and forth, back and forth, Ruby’s fingers traced a line along the choker circling her neck. “Hmm. You two have come far in such a short period of time. How long have you been working this assignment? A week?”

Christ, was it that obvious? “What are you talking about?”

Ruby chuckled. “Come on, honey. I’ll admit, you’ve got a great poker face, but I’ve been around the block enough times to notice the signs.”

“Signs?” What signs?

“Well, for starters, he called you
zaika
. Whatever that means.” She made a vague gesture with her free hand. “He only gives Russian nicknames to the people he cares about. Everyone else is just dickhead or asshole.”

Gwen noted a slightly territorial tone to her voice, like a big sister. . . or something more. “And what does he call you?”

“
Milashka
. But don’t worry. It’s not like that. We just had a little fun.” She glanced through the archway, to where Jack was lugging a ladder down the hall, and a lazy smile brightened her face. “I’m assuming
zaika
means something nice?”

Gwen nodded but didn’t elaborate. The nickname was personal, and she didn’t feel like sharing. “It all depends on his mood.”

A loud crash came from the attic, followed by a string of inventive curses.

“You okay up there?” Ruby yelled.

“Fucking dandy,” Jack yelled right back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Think we should check?” Gwen asked.

Ruby shook her head. “Nah, they’re fine. Just let them do their thing.”

There was a lot more banging and cursing in the attic, and some time later Jack climbed down the ladder, sweaty, disheveled, and surly. Dmitri dropped down a half dozen bags and backpacks, and Jack stacked them neatly on the floor.

“I can’t believe you let him put all this shit in our home,” Jack grumbled as soon as they finished. Both men had dust and cobwebs in their hair, and their clothes were damp with sweat.

“Better my weapons than my toothbrush,” Dmitri replied, and Jack’s eyes glowed silver again.

“Boys, behave.” The warning in Ruby’s voice had both men closing their mouths.

Dmitri slung a bag over each shoulder and headed toward the door, and Jack followed closely behind.

“Wow. You really need to teach me how to do that,” Gwen said.

“I will, the next time you stop by.” Ruby winked at her. “You tell me what
zaika
means, and I’ll teach you how to properly train your Russian.”

D
mitri’s mood grew darker the closer they got to Miami.

Fifty years of fury simmered beneath the surface, held in check by a lifetime of training. In all that time, the thought of asking Gwen about Elena’s whereabouts had never crossed his mind. Why would he? They’d been sworn enemies. But now that they weren’t, it burned his ass to know she’d withheld the information.

He pushed back the thought, focusing instead on how he’d deal with his former wife. Finally, his chance for retribution. Endless scenarios rolled through his mind, each progressively more unpleasant. She deserved to suffer for the pain she’d caused when she betrayed her husband and country.

“Take the next exit,” Gwen said, breaking his train of thought. She’d slept through most of the drive south from Orlando, only waking when they exited the Turnpike.

He followed her directions, and twenty minutes later they drove through the entrance of the Dos Rios Assisted Living Facility. The exterior stucco was painted crisp white, with cheerful pink petunias lining the walkways. This early in the morning, there weren’t many cars in the lot, so they parked in the front row by the entrance.

“She lives in a nursing home?” It shouldn’t surprise him, but it did.

“I think they prefer the term
retirement community
,” Gwen said as she stepped out of the car.

Together, they entered the main facility and checked in at the front desk. The place was clean, brightly lit, with walls painted a soft, calming yellow. The faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, and the tiles gleamed from a recent polishing. An elderly man ambled down the hall, aided by a walker with tennis balls attached to the bottoms of all four legs.

“This way,” Gwen said with a nod to the left after getting directions to Elena’s room.

To think, she’d been living only a few hours away from Dmitri’s home base in Orlando. His pulse raced, and his senses heightened with anticipation. For years, he’d been eager to reach this moment, but for some strange reason it now filled him with a sense of foreboding.

They rode the elevator to the third floor and walked the length of the wide-open corridor. A passing nurse nodded and smiled as she pushed an old woman in a wheelchair.

“This is it,” Gwen said when they reached room 318. Tension strained her mouth and eyes. She went to chew on a fingernail, but stopped when she realized she’d already bitten them all down to the quick.

The door to Elena’s room was already open. Peering inside, Dmitri spied an elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair by the window. She appeared frail and thin, with ghost-white hair that covered her head and framed a face lined deep with age. She stared out the window as if lost in thought and unaware of the scenery before her.

The years peeled back in Dmitri’s mind, and he saw her the way she looked at the age of twenty-eight. Young. Beautiful. Vivacious. He remembered her laugh, her touch, her smile. The sound of her voice when she said, “I love you.” All the air whooshed out of his lungs as if he’d been physically struck.

Elena peered away from the window and slid on the glasses that hung from a chain around her neck. When she noticed Dmitri, her eyes widened. “Dima,” she gasped.

Dmitri swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. The sound of her voice triggered an avalanche of memories, the good mixed with the bad. Anger and pain waged war in his mind, clouding his thoughts and drowning out logic. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but the words refused to form on his lips.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hutchinson,” Gwen said. She gave the old woman a small wave. “Mind if we come in?”

Ignoring Gwen, Elena’s focus remained riveted on Dmitri. “I—Dima, you’re dead,” she stammered. Her voice showed no trace of her native accent. Pale with shock, she pressed a hand to her chest. “How is this possible? You’re so young! Have you come to kill me?”

For years, he’d fantasized about doing just that. What he’d say. How she’d die. But now he could only stare at the old woman who’d betrayed him and caused his death.

“Honey, he’s not going to kill you,” a woman’s kind voice said from the hallway. “They came here to visit.”

Dmitri and Gwen’s heads whipped around to find a middle-aged woman wearing tropical-print nursing scrubs.

The woman gave them a sympathetic smile. “The poor dear thinks every man she sees is her late husband. It’s just terrible. And here I thought she was having a good day.”

“How long has she been like this?” Dmitri asked.

“At least four years. That’s as long as I’ve been working here. She has her good times when she’s more lucid, but they’re few and far between.” She gave Dmitri a long, appraising look. “Are you one of her grandsons?”

The question blew away what little mental balance he had left. “Grandson?”

The nurse must have mistaken his reply for confirmation because she smiled and nodded. “That’s what I thought. You’re the spitting image of your father.”

And here he thought he’d prepared for every possible scenario. Spots danced in front of Dmitri’s eyes, and for a moment he thought he might pass out.

Gwen gripped his hand and squeezed hard. “Why don’t you sit down? There’s a chair in the room right next to ‘Grandma.’ ”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He shook his head to jar his brain back into gear. After mentally getting his shit together, he glanced back at the nurse. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome. Y’all have a nice visit. I’ll be making rounds on this floor if you need me.”

His shoes felt like they were made of lead as he crossed the modest room. The air smelled faintly of lilac perfume, Elena’s favorite. He used to buy it for her birthday. A twin bed occupied a third of the living space, with a small wooden nightstand by its side. To his right was a bureau cluttered with old photographs and an eclectic assortment of keepsakes. Dmitri sank down in the chair beside Elena, still struggling for something to say.

Seconds ticked by on the clock on the wall as they stared at each other in silence. The years might have aged her body, but he’d recognize those whiskey eyes anywhere. They watched him now with both fear and amazement, still shining with a familiar brightness that reminded him of better times in their lives.

“I’m so sorry, Dima.” With tears in her eyes, Elena reached for his hand, and her skin felt cold and thin. “They promised not to hurt you.”

And she actually believed them? He couldn’t help himself. He had to know. “Why?” he choked the word out. “Why did you do it?”

When she blinked, tears rolled down her cheeks and stained the collar of her blouse. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and used it to dab her eyes. “I wanted a future for our family outside the Soviet Union.”

Her words hurt him worse than a knife to the gut. Dmitri slanted a glance toward Gwen, who stood a few feet away with her back against the wall. For a long moment their gazes locked, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Reaching over, she picked up a picture from the bureau and handed it to him. “Your son.”

In a daze, Dmitri stared at the image of a man who bore a striking resemblance to him. Same thick dark hair and deep blue eyes. Same facial structure and muscular build. But the man in the picture appeared close to fifty, with streaks of gray along his temples and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

His son was physically older than he was. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wrap his brain around the knowledge. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

“Don’t you understand? I couldn’t tell anyone! Our handlers wouldn’t have let me keep him.” The anguish in Elena’s voice was enough to rip a hole in his chest. “You know how they were. I thought once I defected, I could convince you to do the same.”

She should have known he’d never turn against his country. It simply wasn’t in his blood. But she was right about one thing: the KGB wouldn’t have permitted her to carry a child to term. Not after she’d gained a position of trust within the U.S. State Department. In those days, women didn’t work after having children. A pregnancy would have ended her career and her ability to advance the Soviet agenda.

“You should have trusted me. We could have found a way.”

“How? Your loyalty to the motherland was beyond question.”

“I—I would have thought of something.” Anything. To protect his child, he would have moved mountains. If she had only trusted him with the truth, they could have avoided so much pain.

Dmitri stood and stalked to the bureau. The pictures on top held a lifetime of memories. His son’s wedding. The birth of his grandchildren. Years of Christmas and birthday celebrations. The nurse was right. His youngest grandson looked just like him.

He’d missed watching his son’s first steps. He never got to teach him how to tie his shoes, or ride a bike, or any of the other things a father did with his son. The aching loss cut straight to the bone, and he doubted the agony would ever subside.

Squaring his shoulders, he stalked back to Elena, kneeled in front of her, and took her frail hands in his. “What did you name our boy?”

“Alexander. I wanted to name him Dmitri, but they told me I should choose a more American-sounding name.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I told him all about you. He’s a good man, Dima, just like his father.”

His heart knotted as thousands of questions crowded his mind. There were so many things he wanted to know, but there simply wasn’t enough time. If they stayed too long, someone might start asking questions he didn’t want to answer. “What is he like?”

A prideful smile creased Elena’s lips. “Even as a child, Alexander had a strength that drew people to him like a magnet. He’s smart, and he’s kind, and he stands by his principles, no matter the cost.” Her smile faded as tears welled in her eyes. “He’s so much like you, Dima. The way he looks, the sound of his voice. He carries himself the way you do. I see you every time I look at him, and even though I love him with all my soul, it tears me to pieces. I hate myself for what I did to you, but I don’t regret my decision.”

Dmitri squeezed his eyes shut. So many emotions boiled inside him, it was impossible to identify them all. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. She’d flipped his entire world upside down, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Through the fog of torment, he felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “Be strong,” Gwen whispered in Russian. “I know you can do this.”

He opened his eyes to find Elena watching him with an expression that matched the misery he felt inside. He had so many reasons to despise her. Unfiltered anger coursed through his veins, sparking an almost overwhelming urge to punch something.

But he couldn’t bring himself to harm the woman who’d raised his only son. Looking beyond the searing rage, he understood her motivations. In a moment of sheer desperation, she’d sacrificed her husband in the name of her child. How many other women would have made the same choice?

He strained to inhale and let it out with a whoosh. Deep down, he knew what he had to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. Summoning every last ounce of his courage, he forced himself to meet her gaze.

“I forgive you,
golubushka
.” It damn near killed him, but he choked the words out. “What’s past is past. You did what you did for the sake of our child, and for that . . . I am grateful.”

He felt hollow inside, as if someone had just ripped his guts out. He needed to leave before he lost all sense of composure. Head pounding, pulse racing, he stood and turned toward the door.

“Wait!” Elena cried out before he reached the exit. He looked back to see her digging through the top drawer of her nightstand. Every instinct told him to get the fuck out of there, but his feet refused to move. A few seconds later she pulled out an old book and held it out to him. “Please. I want you to have this.”

In her hands was a small photo album, its cover dulled with age.

“Please,” she repeated. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Dmitri nodded as he accepted the book of memories. “Thank you. Be well,
golubushka
.”

In an act of self-preservation, he left the room without looking back. Gwen followed a few feet behind, her shoes squeaking faintly against the tiles. In silence, they rode the elevator to the first floor and strode out the main exit. The air outside felt hot and humid, a stark contrast to the air conditioning inside. With the press of a button, the car doors unlocked, and he slid behind the wheel.

After taking a deep breath, then another, and another, Dmitri set the album against the steering wheel and flipped through the weathered pages.
My son. My blood.
Knowing he had a child filled his soul with joy and shredded it at the same time. His vision blurred as he viewed Alexander’s life through a collection of black-and-white and color photographs.

Gwen reached across the console and touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please understand, I gave Elena my word.”

He should have been furious with her for keeping the secret, but what was the fucking point? Helpless, speechless, he stared out the windshield, lost in the sorrow that threatened to consume him.

Digging deep, he called upon all of his training to push back against the crushing despair. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. He repeated the process, over and over, until he suppressed the unwanted emotions. He’d deal with them later, when he was alone.

With his jaw set tight, he jammed the key in the ignition and turned it until the engine roared to life. “Let’s get this over with,” he said as he shoved the car into gear.