The Last Dance (21 page)

She had overslept. She had not needed to set a clock for years. Her pain always woke her up, but it hadn’t today. She had slept through the entire night. The last painkiller she had taken was thirty-six hours ago. The pain had not completely gone, but it was manageable and getting better every day because she had stopped putting strain on it. She was not dancing.

Her small bed felt empty without Roman, but he could not sleep here last night because this morning she was scheduled for a drop-off. Whenever she passed information to Pavel, she slept alone, another reason to hate him. She wanted to spend every night with Roman beside her.

She had placed a vase with a ribbon in her window, a sign for Pavel last night when Vlad dropped her off after her dinner with Roman. The red ribbon indicated it would be a city drop; green was reserved for rural drops. She hated those, especially when it was cold, and it was always cold in Russia.

She pulled jeans over thermal underwear and two pairs of socks. She zipped her boots and her jacket and headed for the door without a hat. She didn’t have time to look for it; she was late. The drop-off should have been made before six a.m. She could not worry about that now. Georgina looked up to see her nosy neighbor looking down at her. She pursed her lips and gave her head a disapproving shake like even she knew Georgina had over slept.

The streets were icy. If she broke her leg now, she could dine on the irony of it for the rest of her life. The streets were too busy to accurately keep track of every face she passed. Children were bundled up on their way to school, and people were going to work. Her head snapped up when a man brushed past her. He muttered an apology and kept going.

Georgina’s pulse quickened. She mentally noted each feature: red bulbous nose, tufts of hair growing from his ears, gold wire-framed glasses. She would remember him if she passed him again.

Georgina kept her head down when she entered the coffee shop. There was someone already in the toilet. She shook her head and swore inwardly. She tapped her foot on the wooden floorboards as she waited. This was taking too long. She needed to drop off, buy a coffee, and go. She should have taken the time to find a hat. Her red hair made her stand out. People would recognize her. She took a deep breath and held it, waiting for the calming effect, but it never came.

Finally the door opened. An elderly woman came out. She did not need to remember to take a note of her face. The chin whiskers, blue eye shadow, and coral-orange lipstick were not something she was going to forget.

Georgina locked the door and got to work. She pulled the tampon out of the plastic sandwich bag. She had already inserted the memory stick into the center, completely hiding it in the cotton. She took the lipstick vial and squirted red food coloring over it to look like blood and then pressed the foot pedal on the silver bin to toss it in. She shook her head when she saw the three other used tampons. This was why she needed to make the predawn drop-off. Pavel was going to have to search through all of that.

She shrugged her shoulders. She had done worse things because of him; he would have to manage.

Georgina zipped her bag and then braided her hair and tucked it down the back of her coat. She glanced in the mirror. She was slightly less conspicuous. She really should have set her alarm. Too late to worry about it now.

Georgina opened the door and stopped cold. Her bag dropped to the ground; the contents spilled across the floor. Her heart stopped with a painful thud. He was here.
Pavel
.

“The next time I see you in person, it will be to kill you.”

Her body froze in place. Her mind screamed at her to move. Run. Scream. Kick. Fight. Do something. But she couldn’t. She tried to speak, but the words lodged in her throat.

He had aged, but it was still Pavel, with the face of an angel and the soul of the devil. He was tall, not nearly as tall as Roman, but six feet. Pavel had thick, wavy black hair and stubble along his square jawline, but what she remembered most were his eyes. They were gold, not brown or hazel. They were gold as if they were lit from within.

He would have been attractive had he had a single redeemable quality, but he was grotesque. All she could see were the things he had made her do, the person she had become.

“Meet me at your flat in one hour,” Pavel said, pushing past her into the bathroom.

The café was too busy for him to kill her here. She was too famous to poison with ricin or anything; that would make the news. She was young and fit; any manner of death would raise red flags. The only way he could get away with it was if he made it look like suicide or a burglary gone wrong. That was why he wanted her to go back to her flat. He could have sent someone else to kill her, but he wanted to do it himself. An electric current of terror shot up her spine.

Galvanized into action, Georgina scooped the contents of her purse up and ran. She did not look back over her shoulder; she just ran. She pushed past a businessman and hopped in the taxi he had just hailed. She apologized as he swore at her, spitting out the words.

* * * *

Please be home, Georgina silently prayed. She gave the driver Roman’s address. It was half past nine; Roman would be at the office. He always left by eight. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. There was no place to go. She had no one to help her. Only Roman. Oh God. She closed her eyes and thanked God or the universe or whoever it was that stopped her from phoning Pavel yesterday. What had she been thinking? Pavel would murder her before he lifted a finger to help her. She was disposable. Thank God she had not gone through with it. She could never trust Pavel to help her. The only person she could trust now was Roman. Oh, the irony of it, given who they were and how they’d met. But she did; she trusted him.

Her heart vibrated in her chest. She could not tell where one beat ended and the next began. Her whole body shook. She tossed a wad of bills at the driver and jumped out. She rang the doorbell. When no one answered she pounded on the door.

Her head snapped round when she saw the woman from the bathroom. She squinted. It wasn’t her. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She pounded harder.

Finally someone answered.

The house cleaner opened the door. She had frosted blonde hair with black roots. Around her brown eyes was thick teal eyeliner winged at the corners; in her hand she held a mop; at her feet was the bucket. Georgina had met her once. What was her name?
Bepa!
“Bepa?” Georgina asked. Her voice shook with a panic-induced vibrato.

The woman nodded.

Georgina pushed past her and locked the door. “Is Roman here?” she asked in Russian.

Bepa shook her head. Just like Roman, the woman showed absolutely no emotion on her face. Georgina could be on fire, and Bepa would not flinch.

“Call him, please.” Georgina wrung her hands together. She didn’t have a phone. Roman had taken it the first night and never given it back. She had no way of contacting him or anyone else for that matter. Her breathing grew shallow, coming in rapid pants. She was taking in air, but none of it was reaching her lungs.

Georgina took the stairs two at a time. The metal of the balustrade was cold under her hand. She had clothes here and her passport, which she always carried in her purse. She just needed to get to the embassy.

She ran into Roman’s walk-in closet. It ran the entire width of his room. Suits lined both sides except for the section he had allocated for her. She pulled her clothes off the hangers. She only needed a few days’ worth; she would be home soon. She could replace everything once she got to America.

Georgina stopped. They would freeze her accounts. She was a criminal. It wasn’t just drug charges now. It was…treason…espionage… Oh shit…what had she done? She collapsed to the floor.

Her body shook. It was cold, so cold. She pulled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. She had messed up. She had really messed up. The magnitude of the situation crashed down on her.

Oh God, what had she done? Why? Why had she been so stupid? It wasn’t worth it; none of it was worth it. Why could she not warm up? She rocked back and forth on the floor. A scream formed in the pit of her belly, but it did not shift or move any higher to escape. It just stayed there like cast-iron manacles shackling her from the inside.

She sat for what could have been an hour, rocking and contemplating, searching for a way out. There was none. Nothing she could do, nowhere she could go and know she was entirely safe.

The closet door creaked open.

“Oh, angel.” Roman was above her.

She did not look up; her face was buried in the palms of her hands.

“What’s wrong?” His low voice was so soft, so kind.

She scrunched her eyes together as the pressure built.

“Vlad said the drop-off was smooth. He was watching you. He always watches. I would never send you alone, but then he saw you drop your purse and then run back here. But something else must have happened. Tell me, angel. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. Speak to me. ” Roman lifted her off the floor and held her against him. “You’re freezing.”

She tried to speak to explain, but the words would not form.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” He carried her into the bathroom and set her in the leather chair in front of the towel warmer. He crossed the expanse of marble tiles and turned the taps to run a bath. It was a massive tub, built for two, for lovers. He turned back to her. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?” he demanded. He ran a hand through his hair and swore.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Pavel,” she whispered.

“What?” The muscles in Roman’s jaw bunched under his taut skin. “What did he do? I will kill him.”

The brutality of his tone left her with no uncertainty; he was speaking the truth.

Georgina shook her head. “He was there at the drop-off this morning. I overslept and he was there. He wants me to meet him at my house—”

“No.” Roman shook his head. “You will never see him again. You are never leaving my side until this is over. Do you understand?” He picked up her hands and held them in his.

“Until this is over.”
The words were acid on a fresh wound. Roman was temporary. This was going to end. How it would end she did not know. But it was close. She felt it. She leaned forward and kissed him. Was this their last kiss? Or would it be the next, or the one after?

“You’re still shaking.” Roman stood back and stripped naked. His body was perfect, beautiful. She would miss his body the way she would miss him.

Roman peeled off her sweater, tossing it in the pile with his clothes. She stood up and allowed him to continue undressing her. When they were both completely naked, he pulled her into his embrace. “I will never let anyone hurt you. Pavel will never reach you. Do you trust me, angel?”

“Do you trust me?”
She bit into her lip until she tasted blood. She shouldn’t trust him, but… “You’re all I have.” The admission was painful. Roman was all she had. She had pushed others away, and still others had left on their own, but the result was the same. She was alone. She knew she was safe now, here with him. His house was like a fortress; no one could get her here.

Roman lifted her and placed her in the bath. Hot water lapped around her hips. Her whole body stung as the water warmed her frozen skin. Roman leaned over and turned off the tap and then climbed in behind her, creating a cradle for her between his legs. She leaned back against his solid chest.

ROMAN STROKED GEORGINA’S thin arms, so fragile and so strong at the same time. “I won’t let Pavel hurt you,” he promised again. He needed to tell her, to explain. She deserved the truth, at least the part that pertained to her.

He pushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the delicate column of her neck. He pressed his lips to the exposed skin, his mouth barely grazing her soft flesh. “Remember the first night we met? You called me a murderer. You were right.”

Georgina didn’t react. At first he thought she had not heard him, but then she said, “You don’t have to tell me.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I do. You deserve to know because it has to do with you.”

Georgina stiffened, but she did not speak.

Roman ran a washcloth over her arm. She had stopped shivering; now her body was rigid, no doubt in fear—of him. “As I said before, my father was a miner, as was his. Both of my brothers worked in the mine beside me. Hard work…” His voice trailed off. It was a lifetime ago. The memories no longer seemed like his own. “You know the politics of the aluminium wars. There was so much uncertainty. After the fall of communism it was chaos. The government was selling off assets for pennies. The mines were run by criminals. It was violent. There were riots. There was a point where someone from the mine was killed every third day. My father was killed first; he was the manager and thus a threat to the new owner. The owner wanted total control. Then Alexei was murdered, and then Mikhail. Both were threats in their own ways, Mikhail for his fists and Alexei for his brains. They both were agitating for change, basic rights, and safety. I was next. I was barely a man then, only sixteen, but I knew I was either going to starve, be murdered, or I could fight back. I think you can guess what I did.”

Georgina laced her fingers through his and pulled his hand to her lips and brushed a kiss against his knuckles.

“I suppose I could have run. That was an option—”

“No,” Georgina interrupted. “That would never be an option for you. You would never run.”

Roman sighed. She was right. As long as there was life in his body, he would always fight. “I killed the owner of the mine. He had murdered my entire family. He was always surrounded by his paid protection, but the night before his daughter’s wedding he was in a bar. He went to the toilet for a piss. I followed him. I was no more than a boy, so no one thought anything. I smashed a glass and slit his throat with one of the shards. There were no more murders in the mine after that day.”

Roman let out a long breath. If only that was where the story ended, but that was where it began. “People feared me after that. And I used that fear. Some people suspected that I murdered the owner, and others believed I had killed all the miners. I let people believe I did both. There was power in that. And power breeds power. But you were right, angel. I am a murderer. I killed a man. I killed Vitaly Ivanov.”