The Romanov Legacy (13 page)

“Your sister is missing, Ms. Brandon.  I need you to
tell me where she might be.”

Beth sank against the doorframe and clutched it until her
knuckles shone.  “Goddamn, I knew this would happen someday.  Jesus
Christ, Nat, why now?” 

“Ma’am, what do you mean, you knew this would happen?” 

“It’s my sister,” she said, trying to stay calm.  How
much could she tell this man?  Would he understand if she tried to tell
him about Nat’s condition?  “She’s…not like other people.”

Lopez shifted his stance.  “Is she disabled?”

Beth looked up at the policeman but his hard eyes revealed
no sympathy.  To him, this was just another call.  “She sleepwalks,”
Beth lied.  “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”  

“I know what a sleepwalker is, lady.  But let me tell
you, a sleepwalker didn’t shoot up your sister’s apartment.”

“Shooting?  You didn’t say anything about a
shooting.  What the hell happened?”

“We got the call early this morning.  Shots fired,
breaking glass, heavy footsteps, that sort of thing.”  Lopez
shrugged.  “The neighbors thought it might be a robbery.”

“My sister doesn’t have anything worth taking.”

“No one outside the apartment knows that.  I’d like you
to come take a look and see if anything’s missing.  Based on your 911 call
last night, we think someone was watching your place while their buddies robbed
your sister.”

“Give me five minutes,” Beth said, slamming the door before
he could reply.  She ran to the phone and dialed her neighbor, wincing at
the early hour.  When June’s husky voice answered, the words tumbled out
in a rush.  “June, I’m sorry to call so early, but Seth and I need a big
favor.”

July 2012

San Francisco, California

Ivan Tarasenko watched the blond sister slide into the cop
car parked in her driveway.  “She’s moving,” he said, activating the
transmitter in his ear.  “She’s coming to you.” 

There was a moment of silence before the headset transmitted
a response.  “You are sure?”

“
Da
.  She is with a policeman.  Do you want
me to follow her?”

“
Nyet
.  Maintain your current position.”

Ivan sank down into his seat.  He hated
stakeouts.  The van stank of paint and cleaning chemicals and it was beginning
to give him a headache.  Sergei hadn’t said anything about a stakeout
during the mission briefing in Moscow.  They’d been told it would be in
and out in less than two hours, but they’d arrived 12 hours ago and still had
no cargo.

The first target, a dark-haired girl, had gotten away. 
Two squad members died trying to prevent her escape, which made Sergei grumpy
and the rest of the group nervous.  When a search of the girl’s apartment
revealed her sister’s address and phone number, Sergei assigned stakeout duty
to Ivan.  They’d all hoped the dark-haired sister would come here to hide,
or at the very least, call to tell her sister where she’d gone.  Neither
had happened so far.

In the meantime, the rest of the squad had gone to pick up
the second target.  Ivan hoped they were having better luck. 
Personally, he thought it would be a good idea to grab the sister who lived
here and hold her for ransom.  The house was obviously expensive. 
Surely the family had money tucked away somewhere for just such an
occasion. 

Ivan began to plan the attack in his head.  He could
enter the house through the side gate, hide inside, and snatch the woman after
the policeman brought her back.  She had just taken her child and the dog
to a neighbor’s house, so she would be all alone when she returned.  Even
if Sergei told him to let her go, he could still have a little fun with her
before turning her loose.  He imagined her warm body pressed against his,
struggling frantically.  Every move she made to try and escape would bring
him closer to pleasure. 

Ivan smiled.  Yes, that would definitely make up for a
stakeout with no results.

July 2012

San Francisco, California

Natalie fell backwards into Yuri as the front door swung
open.  A tall man holding a briefcase stepped through.  His black
eyes canvassed the room, flickering from Constantine’s gun to Yuri’s. 
“Well, aren’t you a cheerful lot,” he said with a faint British accent. 

“Who the hell are you?” Yuri asked.  He made sure to
keep the barrel of his gun pressed against her temple. 

“That’s an interesting question,” the stranger
replied.  “Who the hell
am
I?  Who the hell are any of us,
really?  It’s so difficult to put a label on a consciousness that’s
constantly evolving.”  He paused and inhaled deeply.  “There, did you
see that?  I just evolved.”  He looked down at Yuri.  “I suppose
you did, too, although it’s a bit harder to notice.”

“Viktor,” Constantine interrupted.  “What are you doing
here?”

“I’m the cavalry, darling.  Vadim thought you might
need help, so I’ve been re-routed from Columbia.”  He tilted his head at
Natalie.  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your pretty friend?”

Constantine shifted his grip on the Walther.  “Maybe
later.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow at Yuri.  “You are Mr. Voloshin,
I presume?”

Yuri nodded.

“Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Viktor
Igorovich Zhilin.  I am authorized by the Director of the Public Security
Intelligence Bureau of the Russian Federation to issue you a single payment of
ten million dollars in exchange for your Romanov artifacts.”  He paused,
giving Yuri a conspiratorial wink.  “I’m told you asked for asylum, but
really, with ten million dollars, the world is your asylum, isn’t it?”

Yuri pointed at Viktor’s briefcase.  “You got ten
million dollars in there?”

“Strictly speaking, no.  But if you remove the gun from
the pretty girl’s head, I’ll show you what I can do to get it.”  Viktor
set the briefcase on a side table and flipped it open to reveal a laptop. 
“I have a secure satellite connection and a shadow installation of our bureau’s
wire transfer software.  You’re familiar with wire transfers?” 

“Yes.”

“Splendid!  Then allow me.”  With one delicate
finger, Viktor pushed the barrel of Yuri’s gun from her head.  “That’s a
good lamb,” he soothed.  Then he pointed at Constantine.  “You too,
love.  Weapons down.”

Constantine held his position.  “Not until you get his
gun further away from her.”

“It’s called good faith, dove.  He trusts us and we
trust him.”

“I don’t trust him.  Get it away from her.”

“Oh, have it your way.”  In one swift movement, he
wrenched the gun from Yuri’s hand and clicked on the safety.  “Are you
happy now?” 

Constantine lowered his gun.  “No.”

“I suppose you hate puppies and moonbeams, too.”

Natalie took a deep breath.  She grasped the banister
for support with one hand; with the other, she clasped Yuri’s box to her
chest. 
Belial
, she thought. 
Where are you?

Yuri, robbed of his weapon, glared at the newcomer. 
“If you’re here to give me money, hurry up and do it.”

“Of course!  The customer is always right.”  Then
he stopped and glanced around the room, taking in the brown corduroy couch and
gondola-print wallpaper behind it.  “Well, perhaps not
always
. 
But here’s how it’s going to work:  I’ll initiate the wire transfer to a
bank account of your choosing.  When it’s complete, I will ask you to sign
a receipt.”

“Do it,” Yuri said. 

Natalie stumbled away, still clutching the box.  Her
head hurt and she was drenched in sweat, but most of all, she wondered why
Belial had remained silent while Yuri held the gun on her.  It frightened
her—Belial only disappeared when he was planning something.  Suddenly, she
remembered the plastic jug of vodka in the kitchen. 

“I’ll be in the other room,” she said to Constantine. 
“With the vodka.”

The jug was where she’d left it on the counter.  As she
unscrewed the cap, Belial flicked her with one of his wings. 
You’re
going to need me soon.  You don’t want to do that.
 

“That fucker could have shot me.  Where the hell were
you?” 

I have my reasons.

“Don’t we all,” she mumbled.  She slid to the floor,
pressing the box to her chest with one hand and holding the vodka with the
other.  In the living room, she heard Viktor talk Yuri through the wire
transfer. 

“Now,” Viktor said, “as soon as I’ve verified your
possession of the letters, I’ll type in all those lovely little zeroes.”

“They’re in a box,” Yuri said.  “That crazy bitch took
it with her into the kitchen.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me for a
moment.  Quid pro quo, you know.”  A moment later, Viktor walked into
the kitchen and smiled at her, revealing slightly crooked teeth.  A shock
of thick black hair dipped into his eyes and he brushed it away like a
self-conscious schoolboy.  Natalie ignored him and took another swig of
vodka.  “Darling, you really should slow down,” he said.  “Only
bricklayers and circus freaks drink like that.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”  He knelt down next to her and she turned to
meet his gaze.  For the first time, he saw her unusual eyes up
close.  The easy smile fell from his face and he crossed himself in the
Eastern Orthodox fashion.  “
Durnoj sglaz
.”

Natalie recognized the protection against evil eye. 
“Nice to meet you, too, asshole.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…your eyes.  They make you look
like a
rusalka
.”

“
Rusalki
have green eyes.  I thought Russians
knew these things.”

“Who on earth
are
you?”

“I’m the professor.”

“
You’re
Professor Brandon?”

She nodded.  “I’m a tenured professor, employed since
2001 by Rosemont College.  My specialties are early modern European
history, World War I, and dating computer science nerds who eat sushi with
their hands.  Sometimes I have blond hair and wear expensive makeup.”

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“On the contrary,” he said softly, slipping to the floor
beside her.  “I’ve never met a professor who could win a drinking
contest.  May I offer a friendly word of advice?”

She shook her head.  “I was raised to take candy from
strangers, not advice.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Ducky, when I walked through the door, you had a gun held
to your head.  Does that sound like a description of someone who doesn’t
need help?”

“Constantine wouldn’t have let him shoot me.”

“I thought the
rusalki
were the ones who did the seducing,
not the other way around.”

Natalie narrowed her eyes.  “Do you have anything
useful to say, or do you just walk around talking like Elton John all day?”

Viktor grinned and picked an invisible piece of lint from
his pants.  “Constantine and I have worked together for years.  I
know him.  That’s why I worry.”

“He kidnapped me just fine.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, lamb chop, but all the
great tragedies start out ‘just fine.’  You know…Oedipus has eyes, Romeo’s
alive, Charles imagines he’s in love with Di.” 

“Do you have a point?”

“I do,” Viktor sighed.  “You looked straight at him the
minute I pried that gun away from your head.  I know that look, love, and
I don’t want this to get any more complicated than it already is.  Don’t
believe everything he tells you.”

“Why not?”

“He’s hiding something.  I suspect it’s a woman.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”  Natalie shook her head and
took another swig from the bottle.  “That’s as weak as your accent.”

Viktor lifted his shoulders.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn
you.  There’s someone he calls and writes to every time we’re in the
field.  He sends her money, too.  He tries to hide it, but it’s
someone he cares deeply for.  He is trouble, darling, with a capital T.”

She leaned her head back against the under-sink cabinet. 
Why is he telling me all this?
she wondered. 
Is he trying to
hurt me?
  “Constantine is a grown man.  He can take care of
himself.”

“I know that,” Viktor said, resting a hand on her
shoulder.  “But I don’t know if he can take care of
you
.”  

He moved his hand from her shoulder to her chin, tilting it
up gently.  “I’m here to keep you safe, if you’ll let me.”  He leaned
towards her and she felt the heat of her breath mingle with his.  Viktor’s
lips were dark, naturally suffused with color. 
That’s what vampires
look like
, she thought, bending forward for a closer look. 
Interpreting her move as desire, he opened his mouth and placed it over
hers.  As soon as she felt the soft pressure of his lips, he flew
backwards, jerked away by a hand twisted in his collar. 

“Get away from her,” Constantine growled.

Shit
, Natalie thought.  Would Constantine really
think she’d wanted to kiss Viktor?  The last thing she wanted to do was
hurt him.  She didn’t want to kiss Viktor, not at all.  It was the
strangeness of it all, the vodka, the relief of having Yuri’s gun barrel
removed from her forehead.  It was stupid and she instantly regretted
it. 

Viktor appeared unbothered.  He shrugged and
straightened his collar.  “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.  I
suppose I’ll go back and keep the customer satisfied.”

Constantine extended a hand to Natalie.  “He didn’t
hurt you, did he?” 

“Of course not,” she said, placing her hand in his.  It
disappeared entirely when he wrapped his around it and pulled her to her
feet.  “I don’t know why it happened.  It wasn’t what it looked
like.” 

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Natalie.”