Lying and Kissing(84)

But I’d been there before, trapped in a car, screaming, and this creeping cold was easier and quicker. I could just let my eyelids close and go to sleep.





There was a particle in the darkness of my mind. Orange-red and glowing, defiantly alight despite the freezing wind that whipped around it. I couldn’t go to sleep until it flickered out and it was taking its sweet time.

That little spark of warmth hadn’t been there, back in the crashed car. It was something new. And the more the coldness pressed in around it, the brighter it burned, until it glowed bright enough that I could see its shape.

Luka.

Insane. A man who hated me. Who never even knew the real me. Who I’d used and betrayed. Who I’d thought of as a monster and tried to change, when the real monster was me. To cling onto his memory was pathetic. If he was here right now, if he found me like this, he’d probably put a bullet in my brain.

I waited for the spark to go out...but it wouldn’t. Not even the thought that he hated me stopped me loving him.#p#分页标题#e#

I didn’t want to see him die. It wasn’t much of a wish, even as deathbed wishes go, but it was all I had. I knew I’d lost him; I knew I was as good as dead myself, from the cold or Luka’s people or Ralavich’s people, if any of them saw me. But I didn’t want to take Luka with me.

The cold was welcoming me with open arms, drawing me down into it. But I couldn’t give myself up to it completely. My love for him wouldn’t let me.

I opened my eyes.

At some point, I’d slumped onto my side. I was half-covered in snow, huddled up against a low concrete wall. The sun had set.

I tried to move and found I couldn’t. Nothing worked. My muscles wouldn’t respond. I lay there like a puppet with her strings cut.

A woman walked past and didn’t even look at me. I was just another passed-out whore sleeping off the drugs, or dead.

I tried to twitch a leg and felt the sick, lurching fear of being paralyzed. My body had completely shut down. My heart had probably slowed so much it had almost stopped, my breathing, too. Anyone finding me would think I was dead. In another few minutes, they’d be right.

I thought of Luka and the ballet and the stateroom on his yacht. Of the restaurant and the ice rink and the party and the way he’d held me that time in the car.

I heaved with every ounce of will I had and my left leg shifted a few millimeters. It felt like lead. And then the pain started, exploding up through my calves and thighs. Every nerve felt as if it was being shredded. But pain was good. Pain meant I was still alive.

It took long minutes, but I managed to roll onto my front and then get to my knees. My legs were too shaky to carry me. The wind was whipping the snow into a full-on blizzard, my clothes plastered white.

I crawled to the edge of the sidewalk and knelt there, my arms held straight up above my head, and prayed a cab would stop. I was about to give up hope when headlights bathed me and an aging Mercedes pulled up. The driver looked at my dress, filthy from lying in the street, and at my snow-soaked hair. He must have wondered whether I was a well-dressed hooker or a debutante who’d been mugged. “You have money?” he asked in Russian.

I had nothing. I’d run out of Vasiliy’s house without my purse. But I was wearing the necklace Luka had given me and I managed to lift it away from my neck to show him.

He grumbled and then got out and lifted me into the back seat of his car. We drove through the streets with the heater on full blast and, gradually, I thawed out. More pain, as the feeling came back, and then the shivering started. I took off the necklace and gave it to him. “Thank you,” I said in English.

He stared at me in surprise. “You American?” he asked in English. He looked again at my bedraggled appearance. “You want go embassy?”

I shook my head. My brain was finally starting to work again. “I want you to take me somewhere there’s a payphone,” I said in Russian. “And I need you to loan me a little money.”

Given that the necklace probably cost more than his car, the cab driver didn’t grumble too much about handing over the equivalent of fifty dollars. He even took me to the taxi company and let me use the phone there and bought me a cup of coffee. It was scalding hot and strong and the best thing I’d ever tasted.

I knew it was no good going through the CIA switchboard—I didn’t exist anymore, to them. But I’d called her at home before and I only need to see a phone number once to memorize it.

“Hello?” said Roberta.

It was the middle of the day, there, and she was at home. That was good for me and almost certainly bad for her.