Pairing Off (Red Hot Russians #1) (27 page)

“How dare you show your face here, you sneaky bastard!” The stone-faced senator was now a furious bear of a man, with flared nostrils and bared teeth. “What did they pay you? Who was it? Parnell? Answer me, you son-of-a-bitch!”

He seized Parker’s wrists to push him off. “What are you talking about? Who is Parnell? Where is Carrie?”

The little girl was screaming as Lolly tugged at her husband’s arm. “Lester, stop it! Let him go this minute!”

After one last shake, Parker did. He took a step backward, but his eyes were wild and dangerous. Panic rising, Anton turned to Lolly and Sarah, the only sane people in the room. Then Lolly led him over to the television. A reporter, outside the very building he was standing in, recapped the sensational story out of Lake Placid; that Georgia Senator-elect Lester Parker had conspired years before to conceal his wife’s suicide, brought on by his own infidelity.

Anton’s jaw dropped. Where had
this
come from? It explained the reporters and why Carrie wasn’t taking his calls, but nothing else. Olga couldn’t have leaked this, but who did?

Back in the studio, the dark-haired female news anchor looked grave. “The senator is currently in seclusion in Lake Placid, where he had traveled to watch his daughter compete. Attempts to locate Carrie Parker have been unsuccessful and in light of her suicide attempt last year, family members are understandably concerned. Her husband, Russian figure skater Anton Belikov, whom she allegedly married under false pretenses last month in Moscow has been identified as the source of the information.”

“That’s not true!” He shouted at the TV, then turned to Lolly and Sarah. “I swear I had nothing to do with this.”

Les charged forward. “So you admit that you knew.”

“Yes, Carrie told me. And I told no one. I would never betray her trust.”

“You expect me to believe that? You’re nothing but a liar, out to ruin me and get your filthy hands on my money. You don’t give a damn about my daughter.”

“And you are one to talk?” His voice rose, ragged with anger. “When Carrie needed you, you turned away. You refused to come to her wedding. You blamed her for
this
—” He gestured toward the television, “—when she was seventeen years old, just to save your own ass. You are one who doesn’t give a damn.”

Les cocked his arm, ready with a punch. Anton tensed, ready to return it. Maddie screamed again. Lolly stepped between them.

“Lester, for God’s sake, will you listen to what they’re saying? It’s nothing but fabricated garbage. You know darn well Carrie didn’t attempt suicide.”

Again, Parker stepped back. His jaw moved, but no words came. He ran his hands through his gray hair, looking like a tired old man. Lolly went to him and rubbed his back.

But Carrie’s friend came to Anton’s side, and her little girl took his hand. “We knew you wouldn’t try to hurt Carrie,” said Sarah. “We’ll do whatever we can to help you find her.”

Everyone froze at the metallic trill of a ringing mobile.

“Maybe its Marvin,” Lolly said, glancing at Les.

“Or it could be Carrie.” Anton desperately hoped it was.

Parker grabbed his mobile off the dresser, and his shoulders sagged with relief. “It’s Marvin.”

Lolly heaved a sigh. “Oh thank heavens.”

Anton stared in disbelief.
Marvin?
Who the fuck was Marvin?

Lolly pursed her lips. “Les’s campaign manager located some old footage of me speaking at a conference the night Vicki-Lynn...passed. It should prove Les and I weren’t holed up in a motel.”

Anton shook his head, his heart about to break. No wonder his
solnyshko
felt so alone. Her family was more concerned with heading off a political scandal than with finding her. But he’d made a promise to Carrie and would keep it.
If you’re lost, I’ll find you, just like I did in Hobo-Peebo.
“Such relief Marvin is taking care of things. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my wife.”

* * *

From the footpath, Carrie stared across Mirror Lake at the athlete’s village, nestled at the base of one of the ski slopes. Clouds had moved in and daylight was fading. Soon, it would be time to leave for the arena and tonight’s competition. Provided they were still skating.

Was Anton at Russia House, waiting? Was he out searching for her? Or was he with Olga? When they’d parted this morning, her happiness had been complete. What a difference a few hours made.

Could every loving touch, every tender word, the promise of their life together, all have been a lie?

A picture might be worth a thousand words, but this was so out of character for the kind, selfless man she knew and loved. Weeks ago, he’d talked about Olga’s attempt to drag him into some reality show, and how he didn’t want to do it. He wanted a peaceful life, a family. There was no way he would toss aside everything, including his mom’s dreams, for something like this. He cared too much about his family, and Galina.

And yes, Carrie too. He’d encouraged her, protected her. He’d welcomed her into his life, his family. When he had the chance to skate with a better partner, he turned it down. He’d always been honest with her. There was no reason to doubt him now.

And that was exactly what she’d told the reporter who ambushed her inside the pizza restaurant, even as she knew how foolish she would look if she were wrong.

All the way back from Lake Placid, her thoughts ping-ponged from hope to heartache. But alone on the footpath, the quiet dusk and crisp, cold air braced her like a dunk in Max’s pool.
She wasn’t wrong. She didn’t know who Cody’s mysterious source was, but she would swear on her mother’s grave who it wasn’t.

Just because her father had turned away from her all those years ago didn’t mean Anton had. And though this might be the death-knell for her hopes of reconciling with Dad, she could still save her marriage. Anton deserved her loyalty, and her love, and until she heard otherwise from him, that was exactly what she would continue to believe.

The parking lot at the path’s end was awash in the glare of TV lights, made even brighter in the overcast afternoon. Carrie took a deep breath and tilted her chin, ready to face the hoard. Cody had tried to ruin her once, but it wouldn’t happen again. In Halifax, she’d been afraid and ashamed, but today, she would walk proud.

A press of reporters, TV cameras and gawkers were gathered across the street, at the gates to the village. Flashing lights from a nearby police car bathed everything in eerie blue. Anton stood at the center of the crowd.

Carrie’s heart leaped. “Anton!”

He turned, and joy and relief washed over his face. “Carrie!”

He pushed his way through the ring of bodies as she ran forward. They met in the middle of the blocked street and she threw her arms around him. “It wasn’t me, I promise,” he said, in a voice choked with emotion. She gazed up, and the anguish in his beautiful eyes confirmed what her heart believed.

“I know,” she whispered.

Cameras flashed, reporters crowded around shouting questions, but she heard only his voice. “Olga sent text from Dmitri’s phone, so I’d come. She wanted to warn us what deWylde was going to say about our marriage. I don’t know where he got the rest.”

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m with you. I love you so much, Anton.”

His kiss smothered the rest of her words, and she clung to him, fiercely, her face against his neck and her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders. Her beloved husband was here, holding her. Everything else—competitions, her father, faded away. She had what she wanted most.

“
Ya lublu tebya
, Carrie.”

Then out of the crowd, Cody pounced with his microphone. “Anton, can you tell us what you were doing in Olga Zelanskaya’s hotel room two hours ago?”

Anton replied with a solid right hook that sprawled Cody flat on his back.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Flanked by her coaches and with a crowd of media at her heels, Carrie approached the entrance of the Lake Placid Police Department.

“Carrie, is it true Anton threatened your former partner?”

“Has he ever been violent toward you?”

“Can you comment on reports that Anton could be charged with felony assault and face at least three years in prison?”

She gasped softly and whispered to Galina and Ivan. “Is that true?”

Ivan avoided her gaze.

“Do not listen to such things. They only want to see you upset,” Galina muttered, looking rather upset herself.

She paused at the top of the steps, and turned to face the crowd. “My husband is a gentle, peaceful man who defended me against slander, and I have complete faith that Anton will be freed shortly. Thank you for your concern.”

But inside, away from the cameras, her composure cracked. “Prison? That can’t be true! All he did was punch someone in the nose.”

Ivan lifted an eyebrow. “He
broke
the man’s nose, on live television, no less. After he had already threatened him in a message.”

Oh, God. Carrie clasped her hand over her eyes.

Ivan cackled. “Why would he do such a thing, do you think?”

She avoided his sideways glance and mocking smile. More guilt was the last thing she needed.

The awful sight of Anton handcuffed and driven away in the back of a police car was indelibly etched in her mind. Her husband had defended her and now he was in jail, facing a felony charge that could send him to prison. The very thing she’d feared most was coming true. She’d destroyed the man she loved.

The clerk on the opposite side of the bulletproof glass window had no information and nodded toward the vinyl couch in the corner. “Have a seat. You’re gonna be here awhile.”

She sat on the sofa, her hands shoved in her coat pockets. Ivan sat beside her. In the corner, Galina paced, her cell phone pressed to one ear and her hand cupped over the other. She clicked off and glared at the phone, as if it was responsible for the mess they were in. “Andrei Kazakov still doesn’t answer. Someone else, I’ll try.”

Ivan pulled out his phone too. “We need the press on our side. Perhaps one of the American networks would like a jail-cell exclusive.”

In her opinion, the press had already done more than enough. It didn’t look as if the skating federation was going to be much help either. The long program competition started in just a few hours and no one seemed in any hurry to process Anton’s case, let them post bail and get out of here. As her coaches worked their phones, it seemed like they’d been abandoned by everyone except the salivating hoard outside.

But she wouldn’t be the treacherous Delilah who brought down Samson. She would fight for him, just as he always fought for her. Anton needed a good lawyer. Carrie knew one. After what had happened today, she’d be surprised if Dad or Lolly even answered her call, let alone agreed to help, but for her husband’s sake, she had to try. She went to Galina’s side, and touched her sleeve. “I need to use your phone.”

“Mrs. Belly-cough?” The clerk opened the security door beside the glass window. “Will you please come with me?”

Carrie and the coaches followed the woman through the cluttered outer office, then into a rear stairway, down two flights, their steps clanging on the metal stairs. At the bottom, they were led past a processing room, where an unshaved man was being fingerprinted, then past two holding cells that reeked of urine masked with industrial-strength disinfectant. Both were empty. At the end of the corridor was a conference room. Anton stepped out, and smiled.

For the second time today, she rushed into her husband’s embrace and held him so tightly she thought her arms would break. He felt warm, strong and solid—though she clung to him, terrified this was their last goodbye and someone might drag him off to jail at any moment.

Anton gently rubbed her back. “It’s okay,
solnze
. It’s all over now.”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

His laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “I can’t believe I did either.
Zhopa
deserved it, though.”

“But you don’t! Not to be arrested, or thrown in jail, or have people say terrible things about you. All you did was care about me and now, you could go to prison!”

“Carrie.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and a little smile played at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not going to happen. Everything will be fine.” He paused. “Your dad has seen to it.”

Carrie stared and her lips parted. Turning, she saw Dad, Lolly and Andrei Kazakov emerge from an adjacent office, accompanied by a rumpled-looking man in a tan sport coat. Her father tucked a folded packet of papers into the inside pocket of his dark suit.

Their eyes met, but Carrie remained frozen in place, not sure of what to say or do. Anton gently urged her forward with a hand between her shoulder blades. “You did this?” she whispered, barely believing. “For us? For me? How did you know?”

Dad responded with a brief nod and a strained smile.

Beside him, chic and polished in political-wife red, Lolly said, “When we saw the broadcast of Anton’s arrest, we came right away.”

Carrie stared, as tears clouded her vision. Was it a longed for gesture of love...or political self-preservation? Knowing Dad, it was probably both. At heart, he looked out for himself first and always would. But he could have stayed away and done nothing. The fact he was here meant more than he could ever know. Her hand went to her mouth, to quiet the sob that rose uncontrollably in her throat. “Thank you,” she choked, then stepped into his arms.

He crushed her to him and muttered fiercely into her hair. “All those years...I blew it, kiddo.” His voice trembled. “I hope, somehow, you’ll forgive me.”

She nodded, barely able to speak. “I thought you hated me because of...”

“What happened that night wasn’t your fault. It was just easier to pretend it was. But the truth’s out now, and it’s time I face up to it.”

“I’m sorry this happened. I never wanted to hurt you,” she whispered.

“I know.” He kissed the top of her head, then let go, turning to Anton. “You’re a good man, who will do right by my daughter. I’m glad I was able to help straighten this out.”

“So am I,” Anton said, accepting Dad’s handshake. “Thank you.”

Carrie returned to Anton’s side and wrapped her arms around him, wanting only to be close. Then Kazakov approached, looking stern. “Anton Sergeeovich,” he said, addressing Anton by his patronymic. “Your bail has been paid and you are free to go. Though you must remain in United States to answer criminal charges, you may participate in tonight’s competition, under your coaches’ supervision. Be aware that further unlawful behavior will not be tolerated.”

In the circle of her arms, Anton relaxed. “Believe me, you have nothing to worry about.”

Official duties accomplished, Kazakov cracked a smile. “Tonight, may you both have best of luck.”

The police chief offered to take them out the rear door, but Dad declined, assuming the confident mantle of a statesman. “No more hiding. The people should hear the truth. I intend to give it, and move forward.”

The blowing snow hadn’t discouraged the reporters and cameras waiting outside. As the Parkers, the police and the Russians stepped out onto the concrete front steps, everyone began to shout at once. Holding Anton’s arm, Carrie tensed. Her father signaled for quiet. Tall and distinguished, his presence commanded authority. The din quieted, as they waited for him to speak.

“Thank you. I will answer every question, but first, my daughter, son-in-law and their coaches must be allowed to leave in peace so they can prepare for tonight’s competition. I trust you will extend them that courtesy.”

His cultured, Southern voice was strong. Presidential. Carrie felt proud. Despite a few muted grumbles, the reporters complied and cleared a path to the curb, where a car waited. Kazakov walked ahead and opened the back door. As they were about to climb in, someone shouted, “Anton, can you comment on what happened today?”

He stopped and then slowly turned to the phalanx of reporters and cameras. His dark eyes shifted from the press, to Carrie. He gave a slight smile, then took her hand. “You’ve all seen video. Cody deWylde harassed my wife for months. I told him to stop. He didn’t, and broadcast vicious story full of lies. So I punched him.” He shrugged. “That’s my comment.”

* * *

That evening, she and Anton sat on a rinkside bench, awaiting their call to the ice. She looked down at their joined hands and at the ugly red scratch on Anton’s wrist, left by the handcuffs. She stroked it gently with her thumb.

He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “It will heal,
solnze
. Everything does.”

He spoke so quietly, she almost didn’t hear. She turned and looked into his eyes, but the usual, playful glint was gone.

After everything that had happened today, it shouldn’t be a surprise. They’d arrived in time to practice “Shaken, Not Stirred” once before they were hustled into the dressing rooms, where Vera waited with their costumes. As the lower-ranked pairs skated, they passed the tense hours in the downstairs athlete’s lounge, avoiding the TV monitors and conversation.

The smiles on everyone’s faces suggested Olga and Valentin’s program had gone well. If Parker and Belikov were to remain in the top three, they would have to skate flawlessly. The French pair made a small mistake in their skate to Chopin, but the Chinese team was perfect, and when the Canadian siblings, skating to big, bold Gershwin, landed their big, bold throw quadruple toe loop, the North American crowd went nuts.

As Carrie and Anton were called to the ice, Galina wore a strained smile.

From the first crashing guitar chords, something felt off. The music was too fast, Carrie’s arms and legs too slow. Anton wore a look of grim concentration as he came out of his spy pose and skated toward Carrie. He felt it too. They launched into the first element, side-by-side triple flips. She hung on for a wobbly landing. Anton tumbled out of the jump onto the ice.

Over the music came a collective gasp from the audience.

He scrambled back to his feet, the shock visible on his features for less than a second, but the fall had put them behind the rapid pace of the music. Only after it slowed, about two minutes in, were they able to catch up. The next elements were clean, but without the sexy energy they usually brought to this program. She was off her game. Anton was off his. It happened to every skater, but
why
did it have to happen to both of them tonight?

Like an unwelcome guest back too soon, the fast pace returned. They skated faster too, but never quite with the music. Coming into the throw triple Salchow, Anton launched her with more force than usual, trying to speed them through the element. Spinning through the air, losing control, Carrie prepared for a rough landing.

A split second later, cold, hard impact jarred every bone as she crashed onto the ice.

* * *

Noise from the party followed her outside through the sliding doors and onto the balcony. Anton had gone that way a little while ago, probably as tired as she was of fake smiles. From the moment they sat in the kiss-and-cry area, watching the scores that dropped them to fifth place through the post-competition interviews, a reception and now a party at Russia House to celebrate Olga and Valentin’s silver medal, they’d been onstage. Anton never dropped his gracious manner, but she saw the strain. It had been there before they skated. She could only imagine how he felt now. A nagging fear also suggested there was more than skating on his mind.

He stood alone at the opposite end of the long balcony, a beer in his hand, gazing at dark silhouettes of the Adirondacks in the distance. As she approached, he turned. “Ei.”

“Hey,” she returned, and went to his side.

He put his arm around her shoulders, but didn’t look at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as her voice trembled. “About everything.”

He pulled her close and brushed a kiss on her temple. “It’s okay,
solnyshko
. You can’t blame yourself. What happened tonight was my fault just as much. When I fell on the triple flip...” He shook his head and shrugged, having explained it to the coaches, reporters and everyone else, at least a dozen times. He looked down and gave a resigned smile. “The dream was to get here and we did. Plus, there’s still Worlds next month. Whatever happens, we were pretty damn good for pair that was only together one season.”

“Pretty damn good,” she echoed, loving him so much it hurt, and terrified by the “were” part. Did he see their marriage in the past tense too?

Then he stepped from her embrace and rested his elbows on the wooden railing, staring off into the night. His serious expression caused a stab of fear. He pressed his lips into a thin line, and swallowed. “But reasons you came to Russia, and why you were willing to stay, aren’t true anymore. You have your career back. You have your family back. Who knows? You might be president’s daughter someday.” He smiled sadly. “If you’d rather stay in United States...I will understand.”

She touched his back, aching with love. Anton always put those he cared about first—regardless of what it cost him. So unlike her father. Olga had taken advantage of his big, generous heart, but she wouldn’t. “I can’t ask you to stay here. It’s not right for you to give up your family, your friends, the life you love.”

He clenched his jaw muscles. “You want me to go back alone, then?”

The shock hit full force, as she understood his meaning. Anton didn’t regret their marriage. He feared
she
did. Overwhelmed, she gasped and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Anton, no.” She wrapped him in her arms, loving him more than she ever thought possible. “I’ve never forgotten what you said...that home isn’t where you are, it’s who you’re with. As long as I’m with you, I’m home. Here? There? It makes no difference. Wherever you are, is where I belong.”

Anton cupped her face in his hands, and gazed down. “Belong,” he said, lingering over the word. “It’s funny thing for you to say. Because from the very start, it’s how I’ve thought. The morning I left Amsterdam, all I could think of was this strange, beautiful American girl whose name I didn’t even know. Someone I would never see again, but also would not forget. Seemed crazy, but now makes perfect sense. We were meant to be together,
lubyimaya
, time just wasn’t right back then. But since very first night, I’ve belonged to you.”