Jeannie hovered in the twilight zone. The space between awake and asleep. She thought back to the first time she'd heard of the Istochnik. The day she'd met the white-haired man.
"Come, Jeannie," her mother said. Meet your krestnyy otets."
Five-year-old Jeannie Jones clutched her mother's skirt with a tiny fist. With trepidation, she peered from behind it, lifting her gaze to the man staring down at her.
The man had flat, silver-blue eyes and skin as white as snowâjust like his hair. Jeannie didn't like the man. His smile reminded her of the Big Bad Wolf in her picture bookâlots of teeth and long canines.
Valeria Jones loosened Jeannie's hand from her skirt and pushed her daughter slightly forward. Jeannie's heart seized with trepidation when the white-haired man swung her up in his arms. He tickled her, and the more Jeannie laughed, the more she forgot about her initial fear.
"This is your stop, miss."
Jeannie sprang awake with a frightened gasp, darting her eyes right and left until they focused in the gloom.
The bus was empty of passengers, save her. The driver gave her a quick scowl before walking away, shaking his head as he mumbled something about drunk passengers.
Jeannie felt drunk. She walked as if she her feet were encased in lead, her shoulders rolled, and her hair hung in her face. The lethargy in her limbs came from the abject misery of wanting something she couldn't haveâHawthorne Gable. Still, he was all she could think about as she slowly made her way to where the porter was offloading the bags. The outside air held the sharp smell of diesel. Mixed with her tang of despair, the scent floated on the cold night air like the wings of some giant prehistoric birdâits span encompassing the sky.
The arc of the depot lamps cast a bluish glow down on the porter who grunted as he lifted Jeannie's bag. He pushed back his cap on his balding head and wiped his damp brow with a handkerchief. The piece of luggage wasn't heavy, but there were more than a few remaining in the cavernous belly of the bus's innards.
"Thank you, sir." Jeannie handed the grateful man a few bills. He tipped his cap at her, a smile creasing his weathered face.
Might as well brighten someone's evening, she thought.
Jeannie left the porter, rolling her bag on the cracked concrete. She made her way through the bus terminal and the waiting transportation outside.
She hadn't even bothered to call an Uber. She knew he would be there to greet her.
Sure enough, there was Demetri in his tailored black suit and crisp red tie.
Red for the blood of my enemies, he'd once told her.
Jeannie had always thought he resembled a highly polished undertakerâ with his narrow face and long nose. He also had the demeanor to match. She could count the number of times she'd seen his thin lips smile.
But despite his austere presence, she loved the man.
Demetri was her godfather and her handler. He'd also been her mother's employer. He was a trusted family friend and he was there to help Jeannie out of a tight situationânamely, the medical care of her father. She owed Demetri her allegiance.
Jeannie choked back a sob at Demetri's concerned face. Shame grabbed her gut and twisted. She'd failed her godfather, her father, and her country. The mission Demetri had given her was in jeopardy because she'd let her feelings for Thorne come before her duty.
Demetri said not a word as he wrapped Jeannie in his arms, rubbing her back as she broke down in tears.
"There, there, moya milakha (my sweet darling girl). Everything will be fine." Demetri reached in his pocket to hand her a starched white handkerchief. She used it to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
"Come. Get in the car. We're attracting too much attention."
He extended his hand towards the open door of a Range Rover. Its windows were as tinted as black as its body.
Demetri's driver, Anatoly, a walking-wall of muscled flesh packed tightly in a shiny blue suit, took Jeannie's bag with a bob of his head. She gave him a weak smile then climbed into the back of the SUV, sniffing away her tears.
Normally, her godfather liked to spend his evenings in front of a roaring fire, sipping pepper vodka and reading a Russian classic. Jeannie had caused Demetri to leave his favorite retreat to once again take care of her.
Misery washed over her afresh.
She grew worried about her godfather's reaction as he spoke in whispers to Anatoly outside. Not to give her anxiety away, Jeannie schooled her features into a mask of indifference. Her heart, however, chugged at a rapid pace, like an ancient Viking ship's oars, set to ramming speed.
When Anatoly slipped behind the wheel, Demetri joined Jeannie in the back seat. He unbuttoned his blazer, stretching out his long legs.
The light in the Rover's salon reflected the matte metal of his Glock 23. The gun, housed in the sidearm holster underneath his jacket, didn't alarm her. She knew Demetri always carried and that the safety was always off.
Anatoly revved the engine before nosing the SUV out into the late evening traffic, his bald head glistening and bobbing as he made his way forward.
When the dome light dimmed, Demetri spoke, "What happened, Jeannie?"
"I'm sorry krestnyy otets. I resisted Hawthorne as long as I could, but he's an excellent agent." Jeannie hung her head as fresh tears fell from her swollen eyes.
Demetri patted her knee in a soothing gesture. "We trained you to resist such men as he. Why did you allow yourself to be fooled by him?"
Jeannie's shame grew tenfold. Demetri was right. Thorne had done his duty by getting Jeannie to fall for him. It was no one's fault but her own. She'd flown into his trap like an insect into a spider's web.
I thought...I'd hoped that he cared..."
She tapered off as disappointment clogged her throat. Her pitiful excuse had sounded lame and Demetri seemed to agree. His impassive expression, like his silence, spoke volumes of how much she'd let him down.
Jeannie swallowed the lump in her esophagus and stammered on, telling Demetri of her new plan to salvage the mission, "Shon and I are still close. After the SCP meeting, I plan to askâ"
Demetri interrupted her with a flick of his hand. "That won't be necessary. I will have Carmen take over." His smile, a token of forgiveness, made Jeannie's heart soar...until she remembered that Thorne had already replaced her with someone else.
"Why so sad, milakha?"
Jeannie held back from explaining the real reason. Not that she didn't trust her godfather, she did, but the way he was looking at herâhis eyes narrowed, and his mouth thinnedâmade her think he was holding back his anger only because she was family.
Jeannie wanted to spare him from more vexation, so she told him a half-truth. "I've messed up the mission and now someone else will have to do what I couldn't." Demetri's mouth tightened further, and Jeannie continued, hoping to appease him. "I'll do whatever you want to make things right."
Jeannie's relief replaced her anxiety when Demetri again patted her on the knee. "You just study and make your country proud. I will ask no more of you."
"Thank you, Demetri. I'm grateful for your understanding and your forgiveness."
Jeannie leaned back her seat and closed her eyes as exhaustion overtook her. Demetri had been calm and reasonable, more than she expected or deserved from him. He'd shown her leniency, something she knew he hardly ever did.
She wouldn't forget it and she vowed to do better. Jeannie promised herself never again to give him cause to be angry with her.
Thorne Gable had been a fantasy. She'd jeopardized her mission over a man who'd received training in the art of seduction.
How could I have been so stupid?
Thorne hadn't given her any sign he'd wanted for a long-term relationship. If he'd had, she'd have moved the universe out of alignment to keep him. But it was too late. He'd made his choice. The bumps and the moans from behind his door told her Thorne had already moved on.
They sat in the driveway. Anatoly had rushed inside as soon as he'd parked the SUV. His eagerness to share a cup of tea and a side dish of varenye with Jeannie's father, had hurried his steps across the dew-laden grass.
Despite his haste, he'd left the engine running with the heater on low. Anatoly had cracked the driver's window enough to stave off any carbon monoxide poisoning.
Russians and their superstitions. Jeannie thought, smiling inwardly.
She was guilty of believing in them. She'd sat on her luggage for at least two minutes as she prayedânot for a safe journeyâbut for Thorne to break down her door.
Chest bare.
Hair loose.
Green eyes filled with desire.
He'd beg Jeannie's forgiveness and when she gave it, he'd sweep her up in his arms and carry her to bed. There, they would explore each other's bodies until the outside world ceased to exist.
Demetri cleared his throat, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Milakha," Demetri said, his voice cutting over the hum of the engine like warmed butter smoothed over hot bread. "The agency has worked for many years to bring this assignment to its conclusion. Even though you're no longer part of the mission, we still want you and Shon to work for Istochnik. However, Hawthorne Gable is not part of the plan." Demetri gave her a sympathetic glance as if he could take in her sorrow and make it his own. "I'm sorry, but you will have to give him up... unless..."
Jeannie seized on any shred of hope. "What? Tell me, please."
"Unless ... you can bring him to our side."