Red Midnight Read online

  He turned then as the doorbell rang.

  Without thinking, Erin called after him. “Jarod?”

  Her voice was soft; he turned back to her.

  “Where—where are you going?”

  He hesitated, and she felt as if he sought something from within her with his eyes. “I have business on the square,” he said quietly. “I’ll be home right after.”

  He left her behind to open the door.

  The dinner went very smoothly. The plump little cook had created a mouth-watering concoction of beef in pastry that was nothing short of delicious, and the talk was casual. But as they progressed to coffee and brandy, Erin noticed that Jarod seemed to be watching. Watching what, she wasn’t sure. But she had come to know him somewhat. She knew the keen alertness that was ever alive in his gaze despite his casual stance. She knew he could be engaged in one conversation while listening to another, that his solicitous, tender touches throughout the evening were all a part of his design, whatever that design was. Did he feel her? she wondered. And she felt ever so slightly ill because she could feel him so intensely, the gentle graze of his velvet against her cheek, the scent that had long ago lured her, the touch of his eyes, his hands upon her shoulders.

  He was talked into playing the balalaika in accompaniment to Tanya at the piano after coffee. Erin had heard him play before, but had never seen him. She marveled at his ease with the instrument, at the lightness of his strong fingers upon the strings. He was such a contrast of qualities, but each of his contrasts further enmeshed Erin in the man.

  She glanced at the clock after the musicians declined to do another number to find to her horror that it was already half past ten. Jarod had asked her to help ease their company out by eleven—and she was determined to show him that she was capable. She picked up several of the empty snifters and liqueur glasses to bring them to the kitchen, hoping someone would realize that she was cleaning up because it was late.

  “Can I help you?”

  Erin glanced up from the sink where she had deposited the glasses to see Gil’s eager gaze upon her. He was such an amazingly pleasant person, Erin thought. Always willing to help, always anxious to please. She smiled at him. Jarod didn’t want her out with Gil, but Jarod had asked Gil into the house. Surely he couldn’t find fault with her for being pleasant in return to a guest in her own home.

  “Thanks, Gil,” she smiled.

  He disappeared and returned to hand her some empty coffee cups and saucers. “You look tired,” he said compassionately. “Is that why you’re trying to chase us all out?”

  “I’m not—” Erin protested, and then she laughed. “All right,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I am trying to chase you all out, but not because I’m tired. Jarod has to take care of some quick business late tonight.”

  “Ohhh …” Gill whispered back. “Out on Red Square, huh?”

  Gil must be working on the same stuff, Erin thought, pleased to hear his words. It meant that Jarod really was working, that he wasn’t leaving her for another woman—at least, not tonight.

  Erin nodded with a half smile.

  Gil winked. “I’ll help you!” he whispered.

  True to his promise, Gil returned to the music room and yawned deeply, then apologized profusely and said he must leave. He thanked both Jarod and Erin—kissing her hand elegantly—and led the others into also voicing their thanks and following him out of the door.

  Finding herself nervous and alone with Jarod, Erin once more set about cleaning up the refuse of the party, collecting glasses and cups and emptying ashtrays. The cook and serving girls had left right after the last dessert dish had been picked up, and it seemed the only logical thing to do.

  His fingers slipped around her arm as she bent to collect a demitasse cup. “Don’t bother,” he said softly, whirling her around and meeting her wide surprised eyes. “Sonia will be back in the morning and she likes her job. If you leave things too clean, she won’t have anything to do.” Even he, who knew both the strengths and delicacies of her beauty, was a bit awed by his wife in the navy velvet gown. It heightened the conflict of angel and devil he had always sensed within her. It was conservative, it was concealing, but the velvet clung to her slender curves in a hugging softness of sheer sensuality.

  He had been smiling; he stiffened. “Go up and get some sleep,” he ordered gruffly.

  He had been too close; he could have easily read the things in her eyes, heard the pounding of her heart. She had to move, quickly, before he could sense the things she never wanted him to know.

  Erin nodded wordlessly and jerked her arm from his grasp.

  His call stopped her at the stairway. “Thank you for this evening. Everything went smoothly. And”—he hesitated only a second—“you were exquisitely lovely.”

  He spun around before she could reply. Erin watched while he took his overcoat from the hall closet and slipped into it. He didn’t glance her way again, but opened the door and disappeared into the night.

  She stood at the foot of the staircase biting her lip for a long while, despising the way she clung to his words. “You were exquisitely lovely.” Finally she turned and trudged slowly up the stairs, shedding her velvet gown and slipping into a flannel nightdress. She was tired, bone weary, but she seemed doomed to sleeplessness. So she was awake when he returned hours later.

  She automatically tensed when the door to the bedroom opened, and she instinctively kept her eyes closed as he walked to the side of the bed. He made no sound, but he stood there, staring at her.

  Although he always gave so little away, she was becoming attuned to his moods and emotions. She could always feel his presence, and the radiating heat she felt now was chilling. He certainly hadn’t come because he thought her lovely. He was angry. Lividly angry. She could feel it as he stood there, a hot, tangible, palpitating presence.

  She tried not to move, not to curl away in instinctive and innocent fear. Jarod would not harm her, but she sensed that he wanted to. That he wanted to waken her, shake her, challenge her. Why? she wondered desperately. Why?

  It seemed that he stood there for an eternity, watching her. Erin prayed that he believed she slept. She willed herself not to move, not to jerk. She felt him turn. As silently as he had come, he had gone with his uncanny quiet, and she was left to lie awake for hours more, wondering what on God’s earth she could have possibly done….

  INTERLUDE

  THE SNOW WAS ABSURDLY deep for this time of the year. Flurries of an hour ago had become flakes, and Red Square was covered in a blanket of white.

  His footsteps crunched upon the new snow as he walked, a lone, dark figure in a navy wool topcoat and typical furred hat. He paused before the square near St. Basil’s. To the right he could see Lenin’s tomb before the red brick Kremlin walls. The guards stood like statues, motionless in the snow.

  Why had he come tonight? he wondered, blowing on his gloved hands as if he could add warmth beneath the leather. Instinct. Something in the air of the streets; an aura of tension that had invaded the embassy today, alerted his bloodstream. He was still sure the action took place on Red Square, beneath the noses of them all. At midnight.

  In the distance, clocks began to strike the chimes of midnight. He watched as the Kremlin gates opened, as a new vanguard goose-stepped its way to the marble mausoleum.

  He waited, tensed. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing he could see. Nothing he could feel. Nothing, not a damn thing he could hear.

  The high-stepped, awesome, and militaristic changing of the guard was complete, and still nothing had happened. He was a fool. A lone figure standing in the snow, freezing like an ass.

  The first sound came so quickly he didn’t realize what it was. A sound like the whip of the wind, or the instant zzz of a mosquito. Except that there weren’t any mosquitos in the frigid capital this May.

  The instant of paralyzing numbness was over. Before the next zzz whistled by, he had dropped and rolled in the snow, finding cove
r behind a workmen’s scaffolding. He lifted his head, his blue eyes scanning the frosted terrain, for in the orange glow of the lights was a figure, running. Keeping low he leaped back to his feet, shouting.

  Whistles shrieked through the night as he tore after the disappearing form. He was not a lone figure anymore; the square had come alive with racing men in uniforms.

  Jarod ran with the pulsing of his blood pounding in his temples. He searched every possible avenue of escape; every nook and cranny near the high brick walls. But despite his efforts, and those of the ultra efficient, productively trained officers, the form had disappeared.

  He was breathing heavily, dusting the snow from his fur cap upon his knee, as his long strides brought him disgustedly back to the square. He stopped dead as he saw the man waiting for him, his eyes taking on a guarded mist that shrouded emotion as the snow did the ground.

  “Well, my friend, you must be on to something,” Sergei said with quirked brows. “Someone taking potshots at you in the snow—that someone must be frightened of your knowledge, Jarod.”

  “I haven’t got a damned thing, Sergei,” Jarod said tiredly. “If I did, there wouldn’t be someone there taking potshots at me in the snow.” He accepted a cigarette from Alexandrovich and watched as the smoke joined the mist of his breath. “Thanks for the quick action, Sergei. My thanks to your men. It is no fault of theirs that we lost this wraith.”

  Sergei shrugged. “Murder is a crime in the Soviet Union, too, my friend.”

  “Unless it’s sanctioned?”

  Again Sergei shrugged. “From you, Jarod, I will not take offense.”

  They both fell silent, the flames of their cigarettes flaring against the glow and the darkness.

  “How come you happened to be here?” Jarod asked.

  Sergei laughed. “Feeling, my friend. The same as you. Gut feeling. And I didn’t want anything happening to you, Jarod.”

  “Thanks, Sergei, but I can take care of myself.”

  Sergei characteristically raised his shoulders again. “No man can always take care of himself, Jarod. And this is my country.”

  “Yeah.” Jarod dropped his cigarette to the snow, and out of habit, crushed out the flame. He jammed his gloved hands into his pockets.

  “I’m heading home. I’m freezing, I’ve got snow inside my clothes.”

  Sergei chuckled. “If I were you, Steele, I would be home now. Very warm in my bed. Only a fool or a fanatic leaves a woman like that.”

  Jarod moved off, cursing silently beneath his breath. “Maybe I’m a bit of both,” he shouted aloud over his shoulder.

  Sergei’s deep laughter grew in the night. “Maybe, friend, maybe!” He watched as the tall dark figure diminished. “I’ll pick you up in the morning myself, and see you to the airport for that Leningrad trip.”

  A hand lifted in the air assured him he had been heard. Still chuckling, Sergei Alexandrovich walked off through the snow.

  When Jarod reached the apartment, he couldn’t quell the temptation to look at her. He entered the room with no real attempt to be silent. But she slept like an angel. Her gold hair spread over the pillow in a haloed web, hair that compelled one to touch, hair that held a man in a web of seductive fascination.

  She was the only one who had known where he would be tonight. A devil in an angel’s guise?

  He wanted to wake her, to shake her, to demand that she tell him the truth, the complete truth. Who had she spoken with, who did she see? Had she whispered to someone at the party, or had she waited until the door closed behind him and made a phone call? Had she known?

  He ground his teeth hard. She had only been used, she had only been used. He wanted to think that, believe that, so badly. But suspicions were rising again along with his alarm. He had cleared her in his own mind and now …

  Now I really cannot let you go, he thought with bitter irony.

  He pushed his hands farther into his pockets, the fingers curling inward. Damn, did he want to wake her. Jerk her out of the bed.

  Shock her from her cool composure…. And take her into his arms.

  Rake his fingers through her golden field of hair. Force her silver eyes to his. Dare her cool innocence, her denial, her dignity. Let her know that the denial was a lie. Prove that he could strip away her pretense, find the woman he had created. Feel himself within her again. Feel warm, the fever burning away the cold, the reckless, unchecked passion that could erase the world.

  He stared at her a moment longer, closed his eyes tightly and swallowed, and retraced his footsteps out of the room.

  X

  “WAKE UP. NOW. I leave in ten minutes and I have to talk to you first.”

  Erin blinked groggily, not really believing that he was standing over her again, already clad in his coat, his gloves in his hands.

  She shook her head, astonished by the rudeness of his tone and trying desperately to clear the sleep from her mind.

  “What?” she mumbled in confusion. “You’re leaving again? Where—where are you going?”

  “Leningrad,” he said briefly, reaching for her hand and pulling her from the bed. “I have a cup of coffee poured for you downstairs. You have to hurry up. I let you sleep as late as possible.”

  “What a gentleman,” Erin murmured sarcastically. She twisted her hand from his grasp. “Let me wash my face—”

  “You have sixty seconds.”

  She stared at him with ill-concealed outrage but stepped cautiously around him and into the bathroom, where she rinsed away some of the fog of her deep sleep.

  “Erin!”

  “I’m coming!”

  She followed him down the staircase and into the dining room. He thrust a coffee cup into her hand and she sipped at it. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Overnight. And I mean overnight. I’ll be back by noon tomorrow. And while I’m gone, you will not leave the apartment. I mean that, too, Erin. There’s going to be a guard outside, and should you choose to disobey my orders, I want to warn you that you will be returned bodily to the apartment.”

  Erin gaped at him, astounded and infuriated.

  “Why?” was all she could manage to gasp.

  Jarod stepped past her, carrying his suitcase to the hall. He opened the door, looked out in the corridor, then returned to her briefly.

  “Who did you talk to last night?”

  Erin’s eyes narrowed dangerously and her fingers curled into claws within her hands. “Jarod, you know damned well who I talked to last night. We had a dinner here. I talked to all our guests. Mr. and Mrs. Alexandrovich. Tanya. Joe Mahoney. Gil Sayer. I also spoke to the cook and the two girls who served dinner, but I’m not sure that counts because I don’t believe they understood a single word I said.”

  “No one else?”

  “No one else.”

  “Who did you tell I was leaving last night?”

  Erin inhaled sharply, but rigidly held her composure. Something had obviously happened. But she couldn’t be at fault, she hadn’t said anything to anyone….

  Yes, she had, she had told Gil. But she was certain Gil was guilty of nothing. And it was evident that Jarod disliked Gil to begin with, whether he behaved politely toward the man or not. She couldn’t tell Jarod she had spoken to Gil. Jarod was angrier than she had ever seen him, and she felt it was only the tip of the iceberg. Gil would be hanged in Jarod’s book without a trial, and whatever it was, Gil couldn’t be involved.

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  Jarod was silent for a moment, but the blue daggers that riveted her to a standstill told her she was a liar.

  Indignation suddenly flared within her. He didn’t give a damn about her, but he was raising a stink over this whole Gil Sayer thing. Because he was possessive, because he didn’t want his pride and ego marred…. And he was acting like a jailer.

  “Don’t leave the apartment,” he warned her again.

  “Go to hell!” Erin flared. “You may have one of your paid dragoons outside now, but it won’t
last, Jarod. I’ve had it. There’s a phone here, and I’ll get hold of someone at the embassy. I am getting out. Out! I don’t care any longer about appearances, I didn’t create this fiasco! I was willing to try things your way; I was willing to give up two months of my life. But that was when you could behave like a halfway decent person. You are insufferable. You belong at the head of the Soviet purges. As I’ve told you before, you should be a damned communist, you make a marvelous Russian, you have a—”

  “Stop it, Erin!”

  His words were a roar, but she couldn’t heed them. She was torn in two, feeling cleanly knifed in half. She loved him, and the more that the feeling ingrained itself within her heart, the more he seemed to turn from her. She loved him, and she hated him with a terrible intensity because of that love.

  “I will not stop! And you will not tell me I can’t see or talk to Gil Sayer. At least he still remembers how to be an American.”

  “Erin!” He grasped her shoulders, and her wrath bubbled within her uncontrollably.

  She tried to wrench from his grasp but found it firm. “Let go of me”—her palm worked free and rose, coming across his face—“you dictator! You—”

  She broke off abruptly, stunned as he returned her slap, his palm delivering a stinging blow across her cheek. Her fingers moved instantly to her sore flesh. She realized somewhere in a far corner of her mind that his eyes were picturing a pain deeper than her own. He opened his mouth, an apology forming, but she spoke out first. “I despise you.”

  His mouth clamped shut, then opened once more. “Yes, you do make that quite evident.” All the safeguards had slipped over his eyes once more. He spoke again with bitter mockery. “I do apologize. That was unforgivable.” He turned, only to halt immediately.

  Sergei Alexandrovich was standing in the open doorway. How much he had heard or seen was impossible to fathom.

  Erin felt her entire body tense, and she realized she was holding a weak breath. But for his own reasons, Sergei seemed determined to ease the situation, pretending he had walked in on nothing.