Authors: Helaine Mario
The shock of hearing his childhood name spoken aloud pierced his heart. He bent to her. She reached out, touched his face. He felt the tears, warm and real, on her fingertips. “Sergei,
my heart
.”
He pulled back, staring at the scarred face, still so beautiful. He dropped his gaze to the withered dancer’s legs, so still on the metal chair. “Can you stand?” he asked her in Russian.
“This morning, I can do anything.”
He drew her slowly to her feet, supporting her. Then with a cry she fell against him, and he gathered her into his arms. For a long time they stood together in the brightening courtyard, arms wrapped tightly around each other, lost in memory and tears.
“Yesterday was your birthday,” she whispered. “I thought of you all day. Have I conjured you from my thoughts?”
“I am real,” he whispered against her hair. He pulled away to look down at her face, to move his fingers with a lover’s gentleness over the scars. The pain he felt at that moment was far more wounding than any fire could have caused.
“Tatyanovich,” he said gently. “I didn’t know.”
“You’re alive...” she murmured, touching his face with disbelief as if he were a ghost who had somehow taken shape. “You’re alive.”
“All that matters is that we’ve found each other.”
“But how…?”
“Two nights ago you met a woman. Alexandra Marik. She told me where to find you.”
“I am forever in her debt,” she whispered. “Hold me, Sergei. Just hold me.”
He looked up at the lightening sky. “It is dangerous for me here, Tatyana. For you, as well. Will you come with me now? I know a place where we can talk without fear.”
The slender hand on his cheek was still the hand of the girl he had loved. “Take me there, Sergei. I cannot bear to let go of you again.”
Once more he gathered her close, then settled her gently into her chair.
In moments, the courtyard was empty.
* * * *
Alexandra watched Garcia slip his phone into his jacket. Bright morning sun caught the hard planes of his face, lighting his skin with an amber glow.
From nowhere, a memory of blazing orange flames. “Sweet Jesus!” She looked up at him with shocked eyes. “I thought it was a nightmare,” she murmured. “But - there was a fire.”
Burns
. “It was real.”
“Si. Ivan - Rens Karpasian - left you to die in a fire.” There was a strange note in his voice. “Do you know what he was going to do?”
She stared at him, then closed her eyes. “He left the lodge, but - he came back. To rescue Juliet!” And then?
A man shouting, running into the heart of the flames
. “He ran back into the burning lodge, Garcia! Oh, God. Did he survive?”
He shrugged. “No remains were found in the chalet. His car was located a few hours ago in Bondsville, at the base of the mountain. But Karpasian hasn’t returned to D.C. Personally, I’m hoping that monster is with the devil himself by now!”
She winced.
“But I think you’re right. He’s gone to Tatyana Danilova.” He gazed down at her. “It’s what I would have done.”
What he would have done
.
She looked into the shining dark eyes. I want to be loved like that someday, she thought.
Get over it. Just give him what he needed, and be done with it. “The drugs are wearing off, Garcia. I told you Ivan admitted the truth. I have the proof. It should be with my clothing, in the closet.”
He flashed her a questioning look as he retrieved the plastic bag, emptied the contents on the bed.
She pointed to a small metal rectangle with a triumphant smile. “This is Eve’s recorder. I had it with me in Stratton.”
“By God, Red. You were wired?”
“Tucked it right against my heart! It didn’t catch everything, I was wearing a jacket and Ivan moved around too much. So I know it’s not admissible, Counselor, but this isn’t about convicting Ivan in court. I just wanted him to admit the truth. For me.”
He pressed a button. Whirring silence, static, and then Ivan’s deep, thick voice filled the small room. Moments later, his admission.
“
It’s the ultimate irony, Alexandra. In the end, the ballet dancer became a Russian soldier, albeit a secret one.”
“You got him,” said Garcia. “He’s ours now.”
They listened to the voice until there was only silence.
“Too much is missing for a trial,” she said. “But there’s a certain poetic justice to using Eve’s recorder.”
“We may have Cause here,” said Garcia. “Enough to reopen Eve’s case, investigate Karpasian, get an arrest warrant. Could even be a silver bullet, with enough circumstantial evidence. It’s finally something we can bring to the dance.”
He slipped the recorder into his jacket pocket. “I’ll get this to my team right away.”
“If only...” She hesitated, uncertain.
“What’s troubling you, Chica?”
“I can see his face,” she said slowly. “At the lodge. He said he didn’t have Juliet. And he said he
didn’t kill my sister
, Jon. He was horrified when I accused him of Eve’s murder. For a moment I actually felt sorry for him. I
believed
him. And now, I can’t help wondering -”
“Rens Karpasian drugged you, Alexandra. He left you to die in a fire!”
“
No
. The drug he gave me was a mild sedative. He just wanted time. And he was so scared of fire that he wouldn’t even light his own fireplace. Why would he destroy his refuge? And why would he choose
fire
?” She locked her eyes on his. “He came back, Jon, he caught Juliet when she jumped.
He ran back into the flames to help me
.”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Chica.”
“Ivan didn’t start the fire,” she insisted, “I’m certain of that.” She shook her head back and forth. “It was the blond, the man from the gondola.”
Quick, light footsteps, a terrifying, whispery voice
. “I felt his hands on me! He’s the one who took Juliet. He’s the one who set the fire, I’m sure of it.
Not Ivan
.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I keep hearing footsteps in my head. Quick, soft, on the lodge stairs. Not Ivan’s steps. He was already gone.” The roar of a collapsing roof rushed into her brain, and she shook her head. “Wherever he is - you won’t find him, Garcia.”
“We’ll find him, Chica. We’ll find them both.”
“I didn’t stop him,” she whispered. “I had that damned iron poker in my hand. But when I had the chance - I couldn’t.”
“Ivan can’t harm anyone now, Alexandra, dead or alive. We know who he is.”
“You’re wrong, Garcia. Remember the legend. The Firebird always rises from the ashes.”
More memories, crashing like a waterfall into her head.
Flames. A roof. A tower. A voice
…
“I think there was someone
else
there, too. Waiting for me. In a tower? Not Ivan. If only I could remember…”
He gave her a long, measured look, was about to say something when there was a quick, loud knock on the door.
A nurse charged into the room bearing a huge bouquet of white roses that hid the entire upper half of her ample body. “Good, you’re awake. And how are we this morning, Mrs. Marik?”
Garcia glared at the woman as Alexandra smiled. “
We
are just fine, thank you.”
“Aren’t these roses gorgeous?” The nurse set the bouquet on the bedside table, dwarfing the tiny spray of violets, and turned to the door. “I’ll be back for your vitals in ten minutes. If your numbers are good we’ll get you on your way home.”
“I see I’m not your only admirer,” murmured Garcia. “Who bought out the flower shop?” He bent to check the card. “To Alexandra, with love, A,” he read aloud. “
A
… Anthony?”
“My brother-in-law’s subtle way of forgiving me for suspecting him,” she said from behind him.
“Overcompensating,” he muttered as his cell phone rang. “Garcia.”
He listened, frowned, turned to her with a shake of his head. “The Palace of the Firebird is closed up tight. No one is there.”
“So now what? Where would Ivan go?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out, Chica. Because if Karpasian’s still alive, he’s got to move fast.”
“I was so sure he would go to Tatyana,” she murmured. A flash of memory. “Last night, he said he was going home. Could he be on his way to Russia?”
Garcia shook his head. “Not before he does what he came to do. Whatever he’s planned, it’s big. And soon. I’ve got my team looking at every significant political event planned in Washington for the next 72 hours. And any event that might have involved Rens Karpasian. That means hundreds of places, people, checkpoints.”
“Garcia…” She wanted to ask him if she would see him again, but the words wouldn’t come. She watched him move to the door, stop and turn back to her. The dark eyes held an expression she couldn’t read.
“You are no day at the beach, Chica.”
“If you want beaches, Garcia, go to Miami.”
He stood for a moment longer, gazing down at her as if he wanted to say something more. “Vaya con Dios,” he said finally.
And he was gone.
CHAPTER 56
“Cover her face...”
John Webster
Alexandra gazed at the familiar living room of her apartment in Greenwich Village. Simple tatami carpet. Pottery Barn sofa, easel by the window. Her mother’s green glass lamp, books and photographs. Art. Toys.
Home, she reassured herself, not the hospital. You’ve been home for six hours, and everything is ok. Her breath came out. You’re safe.
For now
.
Don’t think about that. Just be grateful. Juliet was fine, well enough to attend her rehearsal. Ruby was napping just down the hall. Olivia’s brother was on guard duty, working in the small study. No reason to be afraid.
She checked her watch. Almost 4 p.m. already! Good God. So many lost hours, so much of last night still a blur. Blasted drugs. She remembered being with Ivan, waking to the smell of smoke. Hearing Juliet’s scream. But after that… only a feeling of terror. Maybe you just don’t want to remember, she told herself.
But frozen moments, frightening images, had been forcing their way back all day long.
A roof. A tower. Juliet, leaping into the void, her body silhouetted against an orange sky
.
What had happened?
When she closed her eyes, all she could see were flames and black, choking smoke. She felt the searing heat, heard the terrible, awful roar. And then – what?
Suddenly she saw a sheet of black ice. Her stomach clenched as she felt herself sliding toward the edge of the roof. Flinging herself onto a balcony. Shooting pain, blackness. Then a pale face, lit by firelight, looking down at her. Why couldn’t she see the face? A voice. Saying… something, before the darkness took her.
More images and sounds rushed at her. Ambulance sirens, flashing lights. Strong arms around her, comforting. Safe. The EMT?
Ivan
?
She shook her head to banish the image of Ivan’s anguished face as he’d disappeared into the fire. A cold dread washed over her. He hadn’t been the one who threatened Juliet. He hadn’t been the one who’d started the fire.
Two different men. Both threats, in different ways. Where were they
?
It wasn’t over
.
She stood abruptly, in an effort to shake off the memories, and moved to stand by the high north window of her living room. In the small garden outside, the last flakes of melting snow dropped like white rain from slender bare branches that swayed in the wind.
With a sigh she turned back to the canvas propped on its easel in front of her. The unfinished face that stared back at her was an empty oval, pale and haunting in the fading light. She shivered and switched on a lamp to dispel the shifting shadows, wincing again at the pain that shot through her blistered hands.
Alexandra stared at the bandages wrapped around her palms like white fingerless gloves, leaving her fingers free. With utmost caution, she reached for the artist’s brush on her work table. But all she could see were flames. Panicky, she flung the brush down with an oath and closed her eyes.
A quick knock on the front door drew her back to the present. Garcia? She dropped a cloth over the unfinished portrait by the window as Olivia’s brother checked the peephole, nodded and opened the door.
“Auntie Zan?” Juliet Marik, dressed in dancer’s warm-up clothes and clutching a small carved pumpkin to her chest, peered into the apartment. She froze as she glimpsed Olivia’s brother, who gave a small wave as he retreated down the hallway.
“He’s okay,” Alexandra reassured her quickly. “That’s my friend, Danny – a retired detective. Ruby and I still have our own protection.” She arched an eyebrow. “And didn’t Garcia arrange for someone to be with you as well?”
“Well, sure, but she’s a ‘she,’ waiting for me in the car. Not fair that you get the dude. Couldn’t they at least give me a cute young guy?” Juliet shrugged her heavy jacket and backpack to the floor and set the Jack-o-lantern on the coffee table. “For Little Cuz. I rescued him from the corner deli. See? It’s not a scary face. I don’t want her to ever be scared. Not like…” Her voice faltered.
“Ruby will love it,” said Alexandra quickly. She bent to look into her niece’s shadowed eyes. “Last night was terrifying, Jules. I know you were scared. I was, too.”
“Not you.”
“Of course, me! But there’s no reason to be scared here. Tell me how you are,
really
.”
“Physically, I’m fine.” Staring at her aunt’s hands, Juliet said, “Ouch! Seriously, better than you, for sure.”
“A few bandages aren’t going to stop me. But I need your help. I can’t remember everything that happened last night.”
“I don’t want to remember,” whispered Juliet.
Alexandra stared at her niece, a graceful figure backlit by the light of the lamp, and a memory roared back.