Red Midnight Read online

  Tears kept forming in her eyes. As the door to the room she had thought she had just checked out of was cordially opened for her, she made one last attempt with the guards.

  “Please … spasee ba …”

  The younger of the two men faltered. He looked confused for a moment, as if struggling for words.

  “You wait. Wait. Understand?”

  No, she didn’t understand at all. But she was ushered into the room. The door was closed behind her and she knew she would find it locked from the other side if she tried to open it, just as she knew that a guard would be hovering on either side of the door.

  The tears that had continually threatened finally fell. What on earth have I done?

  The deluxe-class room suddenly closed in around her. It wasn’t a room anymore; it might as well consist of iron bars.

  Get ahold of yourself, Erin, she muttered.

  She tried to calmly light a cigarette. Tears were still damp on her cheeks. She had to flick the lighter several times before she could create a flame. Even then her fingers shook so badly she could barely take a drag. She started pacing the room. Time became eternity as she tortured her mind over and over again. Why? Why? Why? And what was going to happen now?

  Jarod had been stunned when he tuned into Catherine II and heard first that Erin had planned to run and second that she had been taken off the plane by Sergei’s men. He was both furious and alarmed. What did Sergei have on her?

  Nothing, probably nothing. Was Sergei in the same quandary he was in? Wondering if Erin was really a suspect, or merely an innocent pawn. Damn! If only he had a few answers….

  He couldn’t believe she was guilty, but it was still possible. He had to get her back under his control.

  He left the computer room and hurried into his office, taking deep breaths and clenching and unclenching his fists as he planned his phone call. Finally he asked his secretary to get him through.

  He had to plead an emergency. Hell, it was an emergency. He had to be the one watching Erin McCabe; he had to be the one to discover what was happening first. And if she was innocent, she needed to be protected.

  That’s an emotional response, he reminded himself with impatience. Emotional, but true….

  His phone call went through. He heard Sergei’s voice and spoke Russian in return.

  “What’s this, Sergei? I hear you dragged my fiancée off a plane. For what?”

  Sergei hesitated a long time. “I think we both know, don’t we, Jarod?”

  “Do we? Did you find anything on her?”

  More hesitation. “No.”

  No. Jarod breathed a long sigh of relief.

  “But I think Miss McCabe should remain our guest for a while, don’t you, Jarod? We haven’t searched her person—”

  “Dammit, Sergei!” His indignation was more than acting. “Listen, Sergei, leave her alone. You’ve got her at the hotel?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right there. You can’t really suspect her of anything, and damn it all, Sergei, she’s my fiancée. I’ll take care of things, I promise you.”

  “Jarod,” Sergei replied slowly, “I haven’t even had a chance to speak with her yet.”

  “Christ, Sergei! Trust me, will you? I told you, I’ll take care of things. She’ll be with me.”

  Jarod prayed silently as he waited.

  “Make sure you keep her, Jarod. You do seem to be having problems with this woman to whom you are … engaged.”

  “I’ll handle things,” Jarod promised grimly.

  He hung up the receiver and drummed his fingers on the desk. A second later he had his secretary putting through more phone calls.

  An entire pack of half-smoked cigarettes littered the ashtrays. She had cried, she had sat in shell-shocked silence. And now she was pacing the room again, trying not to cry again, ready to scream, beat on the walls, or tear her hair out.

  The door finally opened and then she heard his voice. Husky, velvety, authoritative. And for the first time since meeting him, the sound filled her with abject gratitude.

  Jarod. Oh, thank God! When she so desperately needed him, Jarod had come for her.

  “Oh, Jarod!” she gasped as she saw him, his tall frame and undeniable presence an aura of power and security that overwhelmed her.

  But she caught her words in her throat. His eyes as they caught hers were pure blue ice; she had never seen the rugged contours of his face more grim. She swallowed and stood silent as he came to her, gripping her hand in a vise of frigid steel.

  “Jarod, what did I do? What’s going on? Why—”

  “Just shut up and go along with everything,” he hissed quietly.

  Erin could do nothing but nod, and realized that he had not come alone. Joe Mahoney was with him and one of the secretaries from the dinner at Sergei’s the night before. (Had that been less than twenty-four hours ago? It felt like years.)

  And there was a third man, dressed in the robes of a priest. He positioned her beside Jarod, then began speaking in Russian. He paused and glared at her, and Jarod tightened his grip on her hand.

  “Say yes,” he whispered in another hiss.

  Erin nodded, forming a yes that didn’t create a sound.

  Jarod said something; the strange ritual continued.

  Not even Joe Mahoney would meet her eyes. The entire proceeding was tense and cold and miserable. It seemed the Russian man would go on speaking interminably.

  She could only lay it down to the shock of the situation that it took her so long to realize they were going through a mock marriage ceremony, but it wasn’t until Jarod took her hand and slipped a plain gold band over the diamond that she did understand. By then it made no difference. She hadn’t been in a jail, but she had been just as surely held in a nightmare. Whatever ruse he had constructed to free her from this terror of not knowing, of waiting, of being scared half to death was fine.

  And then it all ended. Jarod made a quick, terse phone call. The two guards deserted her door. She was so relieved she felt as if she were intoxicated, stumbling, weak.

  “Thank you,” she managed to gasp to Jarod, still grim, still meeting her with his glacial stare. She didn’t care. “Oh, thank you. I know you’ve wanted me out of the country—I’ll go. I don’t know what I supposedly did, but I’m very grateful. I’ll oblige you and go immediately.”

  He just kept staring at her, so Erin kept talking, her words gushing out like a waterfall. “I really appreciate everything. I know how terribly annoying this mock marriage must have been. I realize it will cause you a great deal of embarrassment, and again, all I can say is thank you and that I’ll never trouble you again.”

  He clenched his hand around her wrist; she almost screamed out. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he grated close to her ear in a sizzling whisper that made her hot and then cold and clammy again, a ripple of fear and electricity raging along each vertebra of her spine. “Shut up before someone hears you. You’re not going anywhere—not until it’s convenient for me to take you. You little fool! Did you really think I could take you from the Soviets with theatrics? That marriage was no mockery, madam. You just became Mrs. Jarod Steele.”

  VI

  THE BUILDING WAS OLD, but the apartment had been done in a contemporary style. The downstairs consisted of a kitchen—large and airy, bright and inviting with soft yellow tiles—a formal dining room, a music room, and a living room or salon that reminded her of a friend’s ranch house in Denver. There was a warm brick fireplace, a cowhide rug over earthen tile, and a couch in leather with complementing chairs beside it. The drapes were in mellow orange and beige, the coffee table was hewn from maple. As yet, she hadn’t seen the upstairs.

  Despite his hard demeanor, apparently Jarod wasn’t completely immune to the depth of her shock. From the impromptu wedding he had brought her here; he had placed her before the fireplace and stoked up a flame. He had made coffee, and she could dimly appreciate that the coffee was excellent.

  From nervous emotion
which had left her stuttering word after word in shaky quivers, she had gone completely still. Cold seemed to have invaded her extremities; she was numb. Even her mind felt numb. She hadn’t said a word since they had entered the apartment. She now sipped her coffee jerkily, as if she were a mannequin performing a task.

  Finally she managed to open her mouth, and her single word was an agony of torment and confusion. “Why?”

  He straightened from the fireplace, watched her as he picked up his mug of coffee, took a sip, returned it to the maple table, and took one of the chairs beside the couch. His glare was cool, distant, and yet probing. With elbows casually upon the arm rests, he folded his hands together, the forefingers straight, idly held beneath his chin.

  “Because Ivan Shirmanov was arrested last night.”

  “Who?” Erin said blankly, a frown creasing her brow with further bewilderment.

  “Ivan Shirmanov, the Intourist guide who picked you up at the train station.”

  “For what?”

  “Treason.”

  If she had been cold before, she was colder now. Breathing seemed so terribly difficult. “But what on earth has that to do with me?” she demanded, barely keeping her tone from becoming a screeching wail.

  “Perhaps nothing,” Jarod replied, his eyes still watchful and yet strangely distant. “Any tourist with whom Ivan made contact in the last week is being questioned.”

  “You mean they were just going to question me?”

  At his nod Erin rushed on. “Then why the wedding? Why? I have nothing to hide! Why didn’t you just explain things to me? I could have handled myself if I just understood what was going on.”

  “Erin.” His interruption was quiet—too quiet. It held a razor’s edge. He hadn’t moved, and yet she had the uncanny feeling that if she were to rise he would pounce upon her in a split second. His condemning and unyielding stare was fast wearing on her nerves, but she still fell silent at his statement of her name.

  “I have certain friends within the KGB. And a few … other … ways of knowing things. I don’t think the Russians would have listened politely and let you go. They have reason to believe you might be a spy.”

  “What?” It wasn’t really spoken; it formed on her lips.

  He raised a cryptic brow and smiled. “That surprises you?”

  “Oh, please! Dear God, don’t start that stuff on me now!” Erin exclaimed, her voice rising hysterically. She tried to set her mug down; the liquid spilled all over the table. Jarod finally rose to haunch down beside her and help her sop it up with his handkerchief.

  “Don’t, don’t!” Erin hissed. “I’ll get it.” But as she tried to wrest the handkerchief from his hand, she dumped the remaining coffee over his sleeve.

  He rather painfully went still, staring at her with resignation and reproach. “Damn! you really are an occupational hazard.”

  “Oh, go to hell!” Erin spat out, tossing the handkerchief down. “How can you worry about a coffee spill at a time like this! Talk to me! Tell me what the hell is going on!”

  He stood again, tight features portraying a tense and controlled anger as he jerked out of his jacket. “All right, Erin. We’ll take this at face value. You don’t know a thing. But information is coming into and leaving the country—all linked by ciphers indicating that you might be involved in espionage.”

  “Me! Ciphers!”

  “Codes, Erin!” he snapped, ripping away his tie and working on the buttons of his shirt. “Key codes—numbers—easily passed. A sign, a word, a motion. The key that links everything else together. They think you might have been leaving the country with that key.”

  Erin gasped. “I wasn’t!”

  He said nothing else at the moment, but started up the short staircase to the second level, his chest bare, his stained clothing left upon the tile where it had fallen. He reappeared a moment later, buttoning up a new and crisply ironed shirt. His attention was focused on his dressing. For a moment Erin felt as if she weren’t even there. He was getting ready to leave, she realized, and she was still floundering in darkness.

  “Jarod!” Erin stood with hands clenched tightly at her sides. “What information? Please! Talk to me. I swear to God I don’t know what’s going on. I still don’t understand why we had to go through that ceremony.”

  He continued to button his sleeves, staring at her coldly. “I don’t know what the information is yet. I’m going to have to keep working with Catherine to try and break the code. There was only one way for me to protect you and watch you myself—diplomatic immunity. As long as a country is among the so-called civilized, foreign ministers cannot be detained or searched. Nor can their wives.”

  Erin sank back to the couch. “Oh, God,” she murmured.

  She felt him as he paused behind her, shrugging into a fresh jacket. “I don’t suppose you could help me with that code?”

  It was the finishing straw. They were in a mess which hadn’t even fully registered in her mind yet and he was still going on about codes.

  Her fingers curled around the empty mug, she threw it against the fireplace with a flaming rage, rising and swirling to face him. “What do I have to do to convince you?” she grated. “Son of a bitch, Steele! You have to be worse than the Russians, worse than the KGB—or else you should be with them.”

  His face went white beneath the tan, his hands shot out over the back of the sofa for her wrists.

  Not my wrists, Erin thought desperately, not my wrists.

  “Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” he muttered darkly, his icy eyes suddenly searing. “Or else I will be sorely tempted to turn you over to the real KGB—and Siberia is still cold, lady. Very, very cold.”

  She couldn’t even answer him, she didn’t really hear him. My wrists, she thought, my wrists…. Panic took hold of her, she felt the loosening of his hold and she twisted to strike out with animal fear, catching him squarely across the cheek.

  The sharp sound, the red staining of his flesh, brought Erin back to a modicum of control and reason. She watched with horror as emotions filtered through his eyes; as his facial features, already tight, hardened muscle by muscle. For a wild second she was terrified that he would retaliate, and she hadn’t even meant to strike him—he couldn’t know what he had done.

  But he didn’t retaliate. He blinked once, fathomless. Cold blue ice reigned, and he took a step backwards.

  “I have to leave,” he said simply. “Please do us both a favor and sit tight here today. The kitchen is fairly well stocked, there are all kinds of books and magazines upstairs in my room. Towels are in the hallway closet if you want a shower. I’ll be back about six.”

  Erin swallowed sickly. She wanted to apologize; she didn’t think it would make any difference, she couldn’t explain. But more than anything, she didn’t want him to leave, not yet. She didn’t know what was going to happen.

  “Wait, Jarod, please!” she murmured. He lifted a brow to her and she awkwardly continued. “What do we do now? I mean, you said that marriage was real. When will I be able to get out? How do we go about getting out of this?”

  He paused, hesitating a second. “I’m afraid it will be a while before I can get you out of the country. This is all getting sticky. We can jeopardize everything if you attempt to waltz out now, and I won’t have my position jeopardized.” He shrugged. “When you are back in the States, you can arrange for a divorce. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Oh, God, Erin thought desperately. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. She had to swallow again to speak, and even then her voice was as weak as she felt her legs becoming.

  “How soon do you think that will be?”

  His reply was another shrug. “Two months? I’m not really sure.”

  Her knees gave. Thank God she was still by the couch.

  Her reaction irritated him. “Listen, Erin, I’m really sorry I so inconvenienced you by saving your neck. But you will have to be inconvenienced. What is at stake here is far more a priority than the leisure
and working life of a model—even Erin McCabe.”

  Steele, Erin thought, hysteria rising within her. My name just became Steele. But he certainly didn’t seem to register that fact. Of course not, it was only a part of the game plan. He certainly didn’t really consider her his wife.

  An icy strength suddenly returned to her veins. She tilted her head to look at him, silver flashing in her eyes. “I wasn’t thinking only of myself, Jarod, believe it or not. I do appreciate what you’ve done—I realize you can’t possibly run around marrying all your suspects. I’m sorry for what this may cause you—I’m a divorcée already. A bit notorious. A marriage to and then divorce from me can hardly be advantageous to your career.”

  He blinked, and his blink hid something, a streak of emotion, that she almost caught. But it was gone. “Don’t worry, Erin. I was never the material for a presidential candidacy anyway. And no, I can’t marry every suspect, but you needn’t feel overly obligated. I didn’t particularly do it for you, but because I will get to the bottom of Project Midnight.”

  Cold, hard, to the point. Why waste time on feelings? He had never pretended any, unless a certain desire, another “occupational hazard,” could be stretched and called, emotion.

  “Project Midnight?” she heard herself say.

  “Umm,” he murmured, watching her. “Perhaps I’ll tell you about it someday.”

  He turned then, striding for the door.

  “Jarod!” she called again.

  He turned to her once more, impatience showing.

  “What …” She had to moisten her lips. “What am I supposed to do for two months … here …” Her voice trailed away.

  “Do you knit?” he inquired politely.

  “No.”

  “Then I suppose you have plenty of time to learn.” He sighed suddenly. When he turned to leave once more, she didn’t call him back.”

  It was strange being in Jarod’s apartment. She remained before the fire at first, smoking cigarette after cigarette, rising only to refill her coffee cup until she had drained the pot. All she managed to do was make herself more nervous.