Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ana clutched her arms tightly across her abdomen, concern about her see-through shirt forgotten at the sight of A.J.
’s mouth dropping open in surprise. The hurt and shock in his green eyes struck her with fierce intensity and had her drawing in quick, panicky breaths.
“I’m sorry.” She turned and brushed past him, bolting for the door.
“Ana, wait!” he called out, but his words only had her moving faster.
She paused in the hallway to determine a direction. The right would lead her outside.
“Ana,” A.J. called softly this time, his voice heavy with disbelief. When she glimpsed back into the room, finding his hands on his hips, his gaze set on her, there was more than shock in the lines of his face. Disappointment. Disgust. Her worst fears.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, then chose her target, the back of the house.
Once outside on the porch, she hurried to the railing that overlooked a landscape that appeared to go on for miles. She clutched the wide-plank strip of wood and sealed her eyes closed, gasping in fresh, although hot, air.
The sight of A.J.’s expression was enough to crush her, to stamp out her hope that something would develop between them. This was why she’d vowed to reveal her true identity before she let her guard down, let his lips touch hers.
The pained look on his face had enveloped his features like thick fog over San Francisco Bay. What if he still viewed her with apprehension even after she explained herself? What if a seed of doubt now grew in the back of his mind and he’d always worry she’d betray the country as her parents had?
Her body went rigid. Strung tight, like always. The relaxed sensation from their playful and flirtatious banter in the kitchen was gone, and she desperately wanted it back.
She wanted A.J. to look at her with affection and longing as he’d done when she was pinned against his strong, muscular frame. Like a woman deserving of love and passion. Not the daughter of Russian spies who made a career of betraying the U.S.
Tears leaked from her closed eyes. Unexpected and unwanted.
She clenched one hand into a fist and slammed it down onto the wood, so angry at herself for believing anything would ever change. Even if her mission was successful, she’d always be Anastasia Chernyshevsky, the daughter of Volkov spies. Daughter of traitors.
Years and years of punishing herself for her parents’ sins had a painful sob ripping free from her chest. All the signs she’d missed from her parents while growing up. Signs she’d probably, in part, ignored because she loved them.
My red angel, my sweet Russian doll, her dad had once said upon entering her bedroom while her mom brushed the tangles from her hair, the view of the Golden Gate Bridge out her window.
You’re silly, Daddy. I’m not a Russian doll. I’m an American one.
Her dad had revealed a surprise behind his back, and her mom had to stop combing her auburn hair when Ana turned to face her father, excitement in her eyes, knowing he was about to perform a little magic. The blank scrolled paper in his hand was much more than it appeared.
Abracadabra, her father had said with a broad smile and sprinkled his “magic potion” across the page. A drawing of a beautiful doll that resembled Ana appeared before her eyes.
Wow, Daddy. That’s your best sketch yet! She’d clutched the paper and lifted it to show her mom before the image would fade away like normal. Like “magic” as her dad had always said.
At the feel of strong hands clasping her upper arms, Ana pulled herself out of the memory and went still as A.J. pressed his chest tight to her back, his chin settling on top of her head. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
Her shoulders slumped, and her entire body became racked with chills at A.J.’s soft, surprising words. And she broke down and cried even more, turning toward him and burying her face into his chest.
He wrapped his arms firmly around her body as she let her emotions free. She didn’t understand why he was hugging her. Or why he was trying to make her feel better before demanding answers to questions that were surely on his mind, but she didn’t have the energy to challenge his kindness.
“I was shocked. I’m sorry.” He was apologizing? “I didn’t mean to look at you like that,” he said near her ear when her tears began to slow. “I’m so sorry.”
His continued apologies and attempts to make her feel better put her over the edge again. Fifteen years’ worth of tears she’d held in since her parents died were pouring out of her.
His hands soothed her, moving up and down her back. Her face was turned to the side so she could breathe, but she wasn’t prepared to detach herself from his comforting and forgiving embrace.
“I’m the one who is sorry,” she said around a hiccup.
“No, you were being brave sharing what must’ve been hard to say.
” A.J. placed his hands on either side of her head, urging her to look at him, then stepped back and slid his palms down to cup her wet cheeks as he viewed her with such a sweetness her legs nearly gave out.
“I can’t imagine what your life must have been like, but I’m here for you.
I’m right here,” he said with a nod, his brows pulled together.
Her shoulders trembled, and she wanted nothing more than to give in and cry again, but he needed to hear the rest. He deserved the uncomfortable truth she’d never shared with her ex-husband.
“And if you don’t want to kiss me anymore after you learn what I have to say?” she whispered. He brought one palm to her mouth and pulled down her lip with his thumb.
“I reckon when the time is right, there ain’t a thing in the world you could tell me that will ever stop me from kissing you, not if that’s what you want me to do,” he said, his voice rough, emotion bleeding through.
“I’m the daughter of spies. I’m slightly OCD. I hate being sticky. And I make way too many lists. I’m stubborn and controlling. I panic-clean,” she rattled off her list of reasons why he should stay away from her.
A.J. brought his face within inches of hers. “I don’t care.”
“But—”
“I. Don’t. Care,” he said in a low, growly voice.
“You’re the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for nearly a year.
The woman who makes my heart race.” He seized one of her palms and set it to his chest. That tender act had her lip quivering with the threat of tears again.
“I don’t need you to give me a list of reasons to stay away, none of them will compete with my very own list that I got going on myself. ”
“You have a list?” she asked softly, then shook her head.
“Don’t tell me, not yet. I, um.” She wanted to hear every last word he had to say.
To have him kiss every inch of her. But .
. . she wouldn’t be able to breathe easy and accept what he said as the gospel truth until he heard her story.
He had to know what he was getting into before she’d truly let her guard down. “I have so much to tell you.”
“I figured that.” A small smile touched his lips.
“I should start from the beginning.”
“Usually the best place to start.” A touch of his typical playful tone had returned, and hearing it loosened her up a little bit. He took her gently by the elbow and motioned to the two white rocking chairs that sat at the center of the grand porch.
Apparently worried she’d lose her balance, A.J. kept hold of her until she was seated, but chose not to sit in the rocker next to her. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pockets and brought his back to one of the posts that held up the porch roof.
She sniffled and swiped whatever smudges of mascara were beneath her eyes, trying to pull herself together.
Had Kyle ever witnessed her cry? Had anyone aside from the Feds outside the movie theater where her parents were shot and killed seen her tears?
No one had seen her cry until A.J., and he was willing and ready to support her. How’d this night ever come to be?
“There is at least one spy within my unit, and it’s me.”
A.J. swallowed, and his hands shifted out of his pockets at her news, but he was doing his best not to react too quickly. To trust her. And it had her heart doubling in size.
“I’m undercover,” she added quickly since she’d failed to mention that crucial fact straight away, too wrapped up with concerns about how A.J.
might react. She was so accustomed to carrying around such an enormous amount of guilt about her parents that she’d almost convinced herself she was as guilty as they were, therefore deserving of A.J.
’s anger. “I was brought to D.C. with the sole purpose of infiltrating the Volkov organization.”
His brows relaxed. “Okay,” he said with a nod, followed by one more hard swallow.
“My parents were shot and killed by the FBI when I was sixteen.” She held back her tears this time.
“It was then that I discovered not only had they been professional con artists my entire life, but they were also Russian spies.” Her eyes fell to the wood plank boards.
“I never knew my real last name was Chernyshevsky, or that my parents had moved to the U.S. in their twenties from Moscow.”
When she peered up, A.J.’s focus was riveted to her.
There was no pity in his eyes. Nor was there disgust. It was .
. . well, it reminded her of how her parents had often looked at her, whenever she allowed herself to think of the good memories, that is.
It was a look of unconditional love. Compassion.
“The Feds’ explanation made sense about my parents once I took the time to reexamine my life after they died. The constant moving and name changes they had said were part of new adventures . . .”
A.J. shifted on his feet and put his hands back into his pockets, looking uncomfortable and unsure what to do or how to stand given her news. It wasn’t exactly Southern porch-swing conversation. “Why’d they get shot?” he asked, his voice low. “How’d it happen?”