12. Tara
12
TARA
“Just stay calm,” Gavriil whispers back.
“I’ll handle this.”
A man steps forward and demands to know our business.
Gavriil steps up, voice smooth, calm.
“My wife isn’t feeling well. She’s pregnant. We’re here for an emergency ultrasound.”
I go with it.
I press a hand to my stomach and feign queasiness.
The leader of the unit eyes me, then Gavriil, then sighs and waves us along to the ultrasound wing.
It’s cold.
The doctor speaks only Russian, but I’m as fluent as Gavriil is, so I keep up with the conversations.
Once again, I find myself on an examination table having icky gel spread on my stomach before the doctor is gliding the wand over my flat belly, and then she points something out to us that steals my breath.
A flutter.
Tiny.
Perfect.
The baby.
I’m handed a printout of it.
My fingers tremble as I take it.
Irina will want this, and something deeper reaches out, whispering, I want to keep a copy too.
No.
This is not yours!
I tell my subconscious.
I’m just the incubator.
But still, I can't take my eyes off the picture.
“It’s always a breathless moment the first time you see that little life starting to grow,” Gavriil tells me, grinning.
When we leave the building, I’m still shaken. The moment feels unreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.
Then I freeze as we run into the giant just outside the hospital
“Hello again,” he says to me.
Gavriil stiffens beside me.
“Konstantin,” Gavriil says, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting my father,” Konstantin says, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”
“You two know each other?” I look at them.
“Yes, Konstantin works for Irina’s brother,” Gavriil tells me, and that’s all the introduction he gives.
My heart jumps. What the fuck? Was he stalking me? Keeping an eye on me because of the rumors about me and Gavriil? Bastard!
His eyes flick to the sonogram in my hand.
“How far along?” he asks.
“Two weeks,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
His brow rises.
“Are congratulations in order?” he turns to Gavriil.
“Would I be wasting my breath asking you to keep this quiet?” Gavriil asks. “As in don’t report back to Ruslan?”
“That depends,” Konstantin replies. “What’s in it for me?”
“What do you want?” Gavriil asks, tense.
Konstantin’s eyes return to me. “To know what was in the puzzle box Miss Craft had with her in the park the other day?”
“Are you following her?” Gavriil asks accusingly.
“No,” Konstantin says, shaking his head. “I was taking a walk in the park when I saw her. She’d kindly helped me the night before, so I stopped to talk.”
“Why do you want to know about the puzzle box?” I ask.
“So I don’t call Irina’s brother about this meeting and what you have in your hand.” Konstantin looks at me. “He’s back in Moscow tomorrow.”
Fuck.
Gavriil stiffens some more, and I can all but feel the anger radiating off him and know he’s going to explode.
“It was just a photo of Anya Novikov,” I say quickly, “and a birth certificate.”
“You didn’t have to tell him,” Gavriil growls, sending Konstantin a warning look before taking my hand.
“It’s okay,” I whisper back, though my stomach churns.
“I hope you stick to your end of the agreement, Romanov,” Gavriil barks before he starts to pull me away.
Irina told me never to let Ruslan Dragunov find out about the baby. Now Konstantin knows. And if he tells Ruslan…
“Do you have it with you?” Konstantin asks, stopping us from leaving, his eyes on me. “The photo and certificate?”
I shake my head. “No, sorry.”
“Can you send me pictures?”
“I…” but before I can finish, Gavriil steps forward.
“That’s all we know. And we don’t have them with us in Russia.” He starts to guide me around Konstantin. “Now if you’ll excuse us…”
As I pass him, I brush against him. He turns and smiles.
“Take care of yourself, Tara,” Konstantin says and salutes. “Till we meet again.”
Gavriil yanks me away.
“How does he know my name?” I wonder aloud.
“It’s not surprising,” Gavriil tells me. “And he probably knows a lot more about you than most people do.”
“Wonderful!”
Back at the mansion, I call Irina the moment we walk in.
“How did it go at the hospital?” Irina asks.
“Another fucking dead end,” I say, feeling frustrated. I tell her about the special forces and the sonogram. “We bumped into Konstantin Romanov on the way out.”
“What the fuck was he doing there?” Irina hisses.
“Gavriil thinks he’s been following me,” I reply.
“Yes, on my frucking control freak brother’s orders,” Irina hisses.
“Irina, he knows about the baby.” I pause. “He thinks it’s mine and Gavriil's.”
“Shit.” There’s a pause. “He’ll call Ruslan—that’s a guarantee.”
“Gavriil said he was going to call Ruslan and sort it out,” I tell her. “Get on top of it before Konstantin has a chance to tell your brother.”
“No,” Irina says quickly. “Don’t. Get out of Moscow before Ruslan knocks on your door. I need to think. This might be a good thing.”
“Okay.” I nod even though I know she can’t see me.
We hang up as Gavriil walks in, jaw tight.
“That was my contact,” he says. “When he pulled the file on Lidiya Zorin, RMSAD showed up within a couple of minutes. They are this black ops, special project team.”
“Why on earth would they do that?” My brow furrows. “Is that normal?”
“No.” Gavriil shakes his head. “But I’m beginning to think that there is a whole lot more to the story of Lidiya Zorin than just your father bringing you to America if she does turn out to be you.”
“I have come to that same conclusion.”
“My contact said he’ll be able to help us tonight and must be at the hospital at eight,” Gavriil tells me.
“Let’s hope this time, we get somewhere.”
We arrive at the hospital at eight. Only the building’s burning, and now I’m sure we’ve kicked over a hornet's nest looking into Lidiya Zorin.
Flames leap from the records room windows. Fire trucks scream. A body is wheeled out. Gavriil turns pale as we glimpse an arm hanging out from beneath the sheet.
“It’s him,” he says. “My contact.”
Terror crawls through me.
We back away.
We’re halfway down the sidewalk when a black car screeches to a stop. Doors fly open. Hands grab us. Hoods drop over our heads, and our hands are zip-tied.
“Get in,” a woman’s voice commands, thick with a Russian accent.
“Who are you?” Gavriil growls. “We are American citizens.”
The car speeds away.
“I am aware of who you are, Mr. Mirochin,” the woman assures him. “And you, Miss Craft. And you need to know that whatever you’re searching for is not worth the cost.” She pauses for a moment, and her voice seems a little less cold. “Some truths are buried for a reason. It’s best to leave them where they are.”
“Where are you taking us?” I demand.
“You need to leave Russia, you are not safe here, Tara.”
After what feels like an hour, the car stops. The door opens, and another engine drives off. Our hoods are removed.
A tall man with a square jaw gets in the driver’s seat.
No words. Just motion.
He drives us to a private airstrip. The Mirochin jet is ready and waiting.
“What about our things?” I ask.
He opens the trunk. Our bags are inside.
“You broke into my house?” Gavriil growls.
“Your housekeeper packed them. She thought I was your driver.”
He cuts our zip ties. “Have a good trip home.”
He’s gone before we can say another word.
“We can’t leave,” I say. “We didn’t get what we came for.”
“It’s not safe,” Gavriil tells me. “We’ll find another way.”
I want to argue, but then I touch my belly. The baby.
We board the plane and I reach into my pocket for the sonogram.
“The sonogram, it’s gone.”
“Maybe you dropped it?” Gavriil says.
“No.” My eyes widen. “The last time I had it was when we saw?—”
“Konstantin,” Gavriil finishes grimly.
“Why would he take it?”
“Because that is what he does,” Gavriil tells me. “He is only loyal to two people. Ruslan and himself.” He gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out when we’re home.”
Gavriil takes his seat, and I leave him to get on with some work
My phone is in my hand before I realize I’ve moved. I want to contact Konstantin. I want to get the sonogram back, but I also want to ask him the real reason he’s so interested in the puzzle box. I toy with the idea of getting Gavriil's phone and seeing if he has the number, but he seems pretty busy on it.
I do know someone who can help me, though.
I start texting: Sam, can you get me a number for Konstantin Romanov?
Sam: Hey, kiddo.
Please tell me you’re not serious, or it's not Konstantin Romanov who works for Irina’s brother.
Me: He took something of mine and I want it back.
Five minutes later, the number pops up.
I stare at the screen, then start typing to Konstantin: You have my sonogram. I want it back.
Konstantin: Hello, Miss Craft. If you want it, come get it. Alone.
Me: I’m on a plane back to Vegas.
Konstantin: That was a short trip.
Me: Send it to me.
Konstantin: Call me when you land.
Me: How do I know you won’t give it to your boss?
Konstantin: You don’t. But I won’t.
Me: Why do I feel like you want something in return?
Konstantin: Call me when you’re free of your watchdog. Safe flight.
When I get home, it’s just after seven.
I make tea, curl up on the couch, and dial.
“Hello, Tara,” Konstantin answers smoothly. “Did you have a good flight?”
“No. Because of you,” I say. “I was all anxious, wondering if you were going to stick to your word and not give Ruslan Dragunov that photo.”
“Being anxious is not good for the baby,” he says. “And I told you I wouldn’t give it to him or mention it.”
“I want my sonogram back.”
“Let’s make a trade,” Konstantin suggests.
“What do you want?”
“Tell me about the puzzle box,” Konstantin says.
“Tell me what you know about it first,” I counter.
“I know it’s Russian and made by Ofiliya Zorin,” he tells me.
The name strikes me like lightning.
“Does she have a daughter named Lidiya?”
“I don’t know. Why?” he asks.
“The birth certificate…” I hesitate. “It’s for Lidiya Zorin. Born in Moscow in 1998. It’s the same date as my birthday.”
Silence.
“And you think it’s yours?” Konstantin says. “Any reason for that?”
“You mean other than it was hidden in my father’s things and has my birth date on it?” I laugh.
“I mean, do you have any reason to doubt who your parents are?” Konstantin clarifies.
“I never knew my birth mother,” I admit. “My father said she died during childbirth.”
“And now you find a birth certificate with your birthday, no parents listed, hidden in a puzzle box with a photo of a woman no one will talk about.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Konstantin says. “If you answer a few questions. Honestly. I’ll help you look into it.”
“What makes you think you’ll have better luck than we did?” I ask skeptically. “So far, all we’ve managed to do is nearly get arrested by the RMSAD and then abducted by some woman who warned us to stop digging and put us on a plane back to Vegas.”
“Wait, what?” Konstantin asks, concern etched in his voice. “Start at the beginning with the RMSAD. And how do you even know about them?”
“Gavriil made an appointment for us to meet a friend of his at the hospital who was going to let us into the hospital records room,” I explain. “But then, when we got there, the RMSAD were waiting for us. Gavriil told them we were there for a sonogram, and they believed us. But I had to get a sonogram.”
“Is that what you were really doing at the hospital?” Konstantin queries.
“Yes.”
“Are you pregnant?” he asks.
“Yes.”
More silence.
“I’ll help you find your mother,” Konstantin says. “But I want something else in return.”
“What?”
“End things with Gavriil.”
“I have already,” I tell him. It’s not an outright lie. We ended things a few months before he married Irina about nine years ago. “But I still work at the Ember Club.”
“Fine. But the affair ends. I’ll know if it doesn’t,” Konstantin warns.
“Why do you want me to end things with Gavriil?”
“You deserve better,” Konstantin says, his voice firm. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, and staying with him will end that way.”
“I told you, it’s already over,” I assure him. “Gavriil is helping me find my birth mother.”
“Now you have me helping you,” Konstantin points out. “Trust me, I have a lot more reach than Gavriil.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Like I said. It’s already over.”
“Does he know that?”
“Yes.”
“What about the baby?” Konstantin asks. “Are you keeping it?”
“What kind of question is that?” I’m instantly on the defence. “Of course I am.”
“What’s Gavriil's involvement going to be?”
“I’ve made it clear, I don’t want help from him,” I tell him.
“Good.” Konstantin’s voice is soft. “If you need help. Any time of the day or night, Tara, you can call.”
“Thanks.” I clear my throat as a lump forms and tears gather in my eyes. “That is kind of you.”
I have no idea why I just opened up to the man. A man who, for all intents and purposes, was following me. If he knows Gavriil, it means he probably knew where the toilet was that first night. And the park; he’d probably followed me there and then a chance meeting in Moscow?
All these things scream to me that he’s been sent to follow me. Which means Irina’s brother has heard the rumors and thinks I’m having an affair with Gavriil. But something inside me, the same thing that drove me to message him in the first place, trusts him.
“You should get some rest,” Konstantin suggests, snapping me from my thoughts. “I’ll call you tomorrow to find out how you are.”
“Thank you,” I say. “But you don’t have to check in.”
“I want to,” Konstantin says. “Goodnight, Tara.”
“Good night.”
I hang up, take a bath, and eat. Then I climb into bed and pull out the box.
The photo of Anya Novikov is still inside.
I flick on my blacklight to read the message on the back again, but I find the edges of the photo shimmer. A faint outline appears—an X marked on what looks like a map.
My breath catches.
A map?
Holy shit.
What the hell have I found?