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Authors: Susan May Warren
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hel—”
“You can sleep in one of the upstairs rooms, if you want.” She turned toward the door, milliseconds away from tears. She could hardly believe her brother—and the man she once loved—would so belittle her dreams, her life’s purpose. Did they seriously think that after being held at gunpoint in a refugee camp in Somalia, or choppered into a burning village in Chechnya, that she would be the slightest bit ruffled by a little disturbance in a city two hundred kilometers southeast?
She found her composure by the time she hit the hallway, and broke out in long strides.
“Sarai!”
She didn’t turn. Wouldn’t turn. Ever. “Go back to where you came from, Roman. I don’t ever want to see you again.” Her words would have carried more emphasis if they hadn’t cracked at the end.
She entered her office and slammed the door, locking it as it shuddered.
Roman slammed his fist into the door. “Why do you always have to be a martyr!”
“Go away!”
She heard him hiss, perhaps holding back a few Russian adjectives. Well, she’d heard them all before, and frankly, with his chosen profession, she wasn’t surprised.
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t fair. David had kept her apprised of Roman’s desire to be God’s man in his profession.Still, he had so much potential to be more…and perhaps that was what hurt the most.
And she wasn’t a martyr. She was just doing something no one else could do. She didn’t exactly see people lining up for her job, did she?
If people like her didn’t stick around when life turned into a battlefield, who would?
Sarai sank to her knees with her back against the door, pressed her palms into her eyes and refused to cry.
Chapter Five
“I sat in the hall all night staring at her locked door.” Roman ran his palm against his eyes, fighting the tug of sleep. “She’s simply overjoyed to see me.”
On the other end of the cell phone line, Vicktor gave a snort. “You have all the fun.”
Yanna’s sat–cell phone toy had saved Roman a few minutes ago when she routed Major Malenkov’s call to his jacket pocket. Only, eight a.m. Khabarovsk town time translated to five a.m. on the Smolsk clock. Three hours he’d been sitting there on the cold concrete floor, trying to talk Sarai into opening her door.
It would help if she gave him a response other than muffled sobs. She’d been quiet for more than an hour now, however.
He felt like a real hero. Flying across three time zones so he could be the bad guy. At least in Sarai’s eyes.
And soon, in the FSB’s eyes, also. Because the clock was ticking. Malenkov had ordered him to check into the office by the end of the day. Roman didn’t even want to calculate the hours he had before Malenkov discovered that unfortunate glitch.
“Sarai offered me a cot in one of her convalescence rooms, but I have this gut feeling she’s just waiting for me to snooze off so she can ditch me.”
“C’mon Redman, aren’t you overreacting?” Vicktor said. Roman could hear him on the other end take a sip of coffee. The guy had a regular java addiction after his short-term gig working for the Seattle Police Department. Roman could use a shot of caffeine right now, if only to ease the headache that knotted his brain.
“No. I don’t think so. At the very least, she’s not talking to me. Do you believe she actually thinks David and I concocted this mess to get her out of the country?”
“Bednov’s edict is probably in the news.”
“If I leave to get a newspaper, she’ll bolt.”
“She lives for that clinic. If anything, she’ll chain herself to her examining table.”
Roman smiled. Yes, Sarai would do something like that. He’d practically had to threaten to handcuff her and drag her away from Red Square the day of the Moscow coup.
Until, of course, he’d nearly gotten killed.
That event had changed things with head-spinning velocity. She’d nearly given him windburn exiting from his life.
“Well, then, you’ll
“You can sleep in one of the upstairs rooms, if you want.” She turned toward the door, milliseconds away from tears. She could hardly believe her brother—and the man she once loved—would so belittle her dreams, her life’s purpose. Did they seriously think that after being held at gunpoint in a refugee camp in Somalia, or choppered into a burning village in Chechnya, that she would be the slightest bit ruffled by a little disturbance in a city two hundred kilometers southeast?
She found her composure by the time she hit the hallway, and broke out in long strides.
“Sarai!”
She didn’t turn. Wouldn’t turn. Ever. “Go back to where you came from, Roman. I don’t ever want to see you again.” Her words would have carried more emphasis if they hadn’t cracked at the end.
She entered her office and slammed the door, locking it as it shuddered.
Roman slammed his fist into the door. “Why do you always have to be a martyr!”
“Go away!”
She heard him hiss, perhaps holding back a few Russian adjectives. Well, she’d heard them all before, and frankly, with his chosen profession, she wasn’t surprised.
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t fair. David had kept her apprised of Roman’s desire to be God’s man in his profession.Still, he had so much potential to be more…and perhaps that was what hurt the most.
And she wasn’t a martyr. She was just doing something no one else could do. She didn’t exactly see people lining up for her job, did she?
If people like her didn’t stick around when life turned into a battlefield, who would?
Sarai sank to her knees with her back against the door, pressed her palms into her eyes and refused to cry.
Chapter Five
“I sat in the hall all night staring at her locked door.” Roman ran his palm against his eyes, fighting the tug of sleep. “She’s simply overjoyed to see me.”
On the other end of the cell phone line, Vicktor gave a snort. “You have all the fun.”
Yanna’s sat–cell phone toy had saved Roman a few minutes ago when she routed Major Malenkov’s call to his jacket pocket. Only, eight a.m. Khabarovsk town time translated to five a.m. on the Smolsk clock. Three hours he’d been sitting there on the cold concrete floor, trying to talk Sarai into opening her door.
It would help if she gave him a response other than muffled sobs. She’d been quiet for more than an hour now, however.
He felt like a real hero. Flying across three time zones so he could be the bad guy. At least in Sarai’s eyes.
And soon, in the FSB’s eyes, also. Because the clock was ticking. Malenkov had ordered him to check into the office by the end of the day. Roman didn’t even want to calculate the hours he had before Malenkov discovered that unfortunate glitch.
“Sarai offered me a cot in one of her convalescence rooms, but I have this gut feeling she’s just waiting for me to snooze off so she can ditch me.”
“C’mon Redman, aren’t you overreacting?” Vicktor said. Roman could hear him on the other end take a sip of coffee. The guy had a regular java addiction after his short-term gig working for the Seattle Police Department. Roman could use a shot of caffeine right now, if only to ease the headache that knotted his brain.
“No. I don’t think so. At the very least, she’s not talking to me. Do you believe she actually thinks David and I concocted this mess to get her out of the country?”
“Bednov’s edict is probably in the news.”
“If I leave to get a newspaper, she’ll bolt.”
“She lives for that clinic. If anything, she’ll chain herself to her examining table.”
Roman smiled. Yes, Sarai would do something like that. He’d practically had to threaten to handcuff her and drag her away from Red Square the day of the Moscow coup.
Until, of course, he’d nearly gotten killed.
That event had changed things with head-spinning velocity. She’d nearly given him windburn exiting from his life.
“Well, then, you’ll
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