Lying and Kissing(61)

I lay on the bed in our stateroom and tried to figure out my feelings. I should be happy! The mission was nearly over and it was a complete success. I’d done everything asked of me and soon I’d go home. Some weeks or months down the line, there’d be an epic bust. I’d be hailed as a star field agent and Luka would spend the rest of his life in a Russian prison.

So why did I feel ripped apart inside?

It was as if everything good we’d had was being twisted like a knife into my guts. I’d used his feelings against him.

He was an arms dealer. He was evil. But I was worse.



 



Back in St. Petersburg, Yuri transferred our bags to a car and we set off for the airport. Luka and I both sat there brooding, staring out of opposite windows. It seemed like we’d sit like that for the entire flight back to Moscow, too.

Until, suddenly, Luka’s cell phone bleeped. Not a call or a text—some sort of app. And his face lit up with genuine pleasure for a few seconds before he reigned himself in. He leaned forward to Yuri and muttered something I couldn’t hear, and we turned off the highway.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Luka grinned at me. I could still sense the storm on the horizon—we both knew, now, that this couldn’t last. But just for a second, he was happy and he wanted to share it with me. He showed me the screen of his phone—a map of the area, with an airplane symbol on St. Petersburg. “Jet is here,” he said with satisfaction.

“Jet is here?” I said blankly.

“Jet is here.”


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“Another trophy?” I asked, eying the sleek white business jet.

He shook his head. “I bought this myself.” He stroked the wing lovingly. “She was having work done on her engines—that’s why we had to take a normal flight on the way here. But now she’s back.”

She?

On board, the pilot and co-pilot greeted us, all smiles and enthusiasm. Luka asked after their wives and kids. I saw the same fierce streak of loyalty in the pilots I saw in Yuri—for all his evil, Luka obviously treated his staff well.

He was still grinning when we sat down in the huge leather armchairs and buckled ourselves in for take-off. He took my hand and, as the engines spun up, he squeezed it.

He was...excited. This huge bear of a man, that nothing seemed to phase, was excited.

I blinked. I’d known there was tenderness inside him but I hadn’t expected to see...fun. He’d always been larger than life to me, but this was the first time he’d seemed complete—a man who’d make a good friend, a good father. He hid all that away.

“You like planes,” I said.

His hand loosened in mine. “What? No. Jet is to impress others. Symbol of status.”

“Status symbol. And no it isn’t. The yacht was a status symbol. You like this plane.” I paused, studying him as we sped down the runway. “No, you love it.”

He squirmed in his seat, just a little. I’d found his weakness. It was incredibly reassuring that he had one. “You’ve liked planes ever since you were a kid, haven’t you?” I said, figuring it out. “It reminds you of those days. When you didn’t have to think about all this stuff.” I felt the wheels leave the ground. “It must be nice to have something pure—one thing in your life that isn’t about guns and violence.”

He locked eyes with me and held my gaze. I’d been talking about the plane, but it occurred to me that I’d just described myself.

“You Americans and your psycho-analyzing,” he muttered. But it was a good-natured mutter. As if he didn’t mind someone finding out his weakness....as long as it was me. We stared at each other and I knew he could feel the connection as strongly as I could. That sense that this was right, that we worked together...even though we both knew it couldn’t last. His dad had told him to break up with me and, even if that didn’t happen, I was going to betray him.

It just felt so good, though, to finally meet someone I clicked with. I leaned over and wound my arm around his much thicker one, spiraling them so we were entangled, and put my head on his shoulder. He let out a long sigh—not aimed at me, but at the situation.

“What are you doing here, Arianna?” he said. “Why not in America with stockbroker?”

We stared at each other. We both knew the answer. “A stockbroker isn’t what I want,” I said quietly.

He shook his head. “You don’t want monster, either. You think you do.” The seatbelt sign went off. He unfastened his belt and patted his lap.

I slowly got up. He guided me to sit astride his legs, facing him. He folded his arms around my back and the warmth of him, after all those hours brooding alone on the yacht, made me melt inside. “I know what I want,” I said firmly.