Vanity, Vengeance And A Weekend In Vegas Part 20

"Not that close," I said harshly, "it's not like he's my husband or anything."

I knew that was a cruel twist of the knife but for him to listen to Natasha about what other men I was or wasn't getting close to...it just made me want to scream.

"I can't accuse him of much at this point, but he's not a good guy. Look at who his employer is."

"Yeah, he works for your old boss. You know, you don't have to use his full name when you refer to him. You can just call him Kettle and I'll call you Pot. How 'bout that?"

Anatoly's jaw was so tight at this point I was a little worried that it might lock in place. But after a deep breath he managed to relax it enough to talk. "Even if this guy isn't the cause of all this, he's still involved and now I am too. That's why you need to get on a plane and as far away from both of us as possible...until I say it's safe."

"And that will be when? After you've taken down the entire Russian mafia?"

"Natasha doesn't think the mob set up that trap at Hotel Noir. Which means Tanya was either working on her own or she was working for someone else and that's weird. If you work for a crime family it's really not a good idea to freelance, and to what end? It's got to be about more than revenge."

"Oh, wait! I just thought of another possibility!"

The sun was in my eyes and I had to squint to look up into Anatoly's face. "What's that?" he asked.

"Maybe Natasha's full of s.h.i.+t!"

Anatoly chuckled. "Let's keep walking."

"I'm not kidding!" I insisted as we continued down the path. "Maybe Natasha is behind all of this! She could have lured you out here and set up a situation that made her look like your savior."

"She has no motive."

"She has a huge motive! She wants you back!"

"You think she set up a situation in which two people would be killed just so she could play the hero?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, would that be beneath the mafia princess' code of ethics?"

"One of those people was her cousin!"

"Please, did you ever watch The Sopranos? Cousins kill each other."

"Natasha isn't behind this."

I looked around at the landscape and studied the large boulders that decorated it. Each one was way too big for me to throw at Anatoly's head. "You're defending her."

"No, I'm..." his voice trailed off as he tried to find an alternative explanation. Unfortunately there wasn't one. "I don't think she's behind this, that's all."

"She was going to kill me, Anatoly."

"It wouldn't have gone that far."

"You are defending her!"

"As moronic as this sounds, she believes you're working with Alexander to get me killed."

"You still care about her!"

"I risked her safety in order to get you away from her. If she has whiplash it's because she deserves it. And if she had actually hurt you? I would have killed her."

"Oh!" Immediately I felt better about things. "That's sweet, thank you."

"But she wouldn't have."

And then I felt worse about things. "Oh, what-the-h.e.l.l-ever. Just tell me what information you have on the mafia."

"Some corners were cut and if the wrong people find out it will be a big problem for the mafia."

Could the man be more vague? "A life or death kind of problem?"

"No, just death," Anatoly said, his voice becoming so quiet I had to strain to hear him. "Kidnapping, torture, decapitation...even the family members, the kids and the wives...everyone will be in danger."

"Oh."

"That's why it doesn't make sense that Alexander would be behind this. Why would he want to risk getting caught up in that? But you should still stay the h.e.l.l away from him," he quickly added. The sun was even lower now. I had never seen the sunset over the desert and I wondered if it would be as red as the dirt we were walking on.

"I have to go," he said.

"No. You're not leaving me again."

"Natasha didn't have her family's permission to do what she did today. I can use that to make sure she doesn't come near you again. If you go back to San Francisco it'll look like the break-up is permanent. You'll be safe."

"Anatoly--"

"I have to figure this out. Natasha can help me but she won't if you're by my side." He ran his hands over my hair. "You can't tell anyone you saw me."

"Obviously."

"Please leave Vegas, Sophie."

"No."

Again he sighed and this time he gently pulled me to him, kissing my lips so gently that at first it felt like the tickle of a feather. But then it became deeper, more pa.s.sionate...I felt myself melting against him and automatically my hands went up into his hair as I tried to pull him even closer to me, to make my Heathcliff part of "my own being."

But of course there was no way of doing that...not in a physical way, and as his hands moved up and down my back I felt him gently pull away.

"Have you forgiven me?" he asked.

"I don't know."

He traced my jaw line with his finger and then lifted my chin so I was looking up into his dark brown eyes again. "You don't have to," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "But I want to fix this."

I could hear the concern in his voice and I wanted to tell him it was all going to be okay but that would be like one agnostic trying to convince another that there really was a heaven. I wanted to believe in our future...more than anything. But I wasn't sure anymore. Our lives were in danger and he was about to walk away from me and into the waiting arms of his ex-wife who had just tried to kill me...no, that wasn't right. She wasn't his ex anything. And if all that wasn't enough to drive a wedge between us, he was also keeping secrets from me.

"Anatoly, what's the real reason you learned to speak Spanish?"

He hesitated, but only briefly. "I'm good with languages. When I got to this country I could see that Spanish would be useful."

"That's all?" I didn't even try to disguise the disbelief in my voice.

He smiled, almost apologetically. If there was more to it he wasn't going to tell me. "I'm going to have Marcus call a car to come pick you up. I'll stay until it arrives. Believe it or not we're only about thirty minutes away from the center of the city."

"And then you're leaving again."

"I have to, Sophie."

"In that case have Marcus text me when the car arrives. I'm going to sit here by myself for a while."

"Sophie you shouldn't--"

"Either stay with me or stop telling me what I should and shouldn't do."

He winced "At least you're travelling light."

I didn't know what that meant and as he stepped away from me I wasn't sure I cared. What mattered was that he was leaving again.

"If you really want to help me, you'll get out of Vegas. If nothing else I need to know you're safe."

I stood stalk still as he turned around and walked away. In a whisper too soft for him to hear I said, "The only way you can know that is if you stay by my side."

Within minutes he was out of sight.

CHAPTER 18.

"h.e.l.l has no fury like a writer whose hard drive has crashed."

--Death Of The Party True to my word, I didn't immediately go back to the parking lot. Instead I found a rock to sit on and watched the clouds move across the sky.

I tried not to think about the personal aspects of things. I tried not to think about how it had felt to kiss him or how betrayed I felt now. I had to separate myself from all that and focus on the bigger picture.

The information Anatoly was holding onto sounded nuclear. That was good and bad. On the one hand sane people didn't mess with individuals who had their finger on the b.u.t.ton. So the best-case scenario was that this could turn into a cold war. The mafia could destroy Anatoly and Anatoly could destroy them. We could have a lifelong stalemate. It was a stressful way to live but it was doable.

But if the mob wasn't what the international community would call a "reasonable player," it could decide to push the red b.u.t.ton regardless of the consequences. It only took one crazy fanatic and really, was it so unlikely that the leader of a crime family might be a little crazy?

Eventually Marcus called to tell me the car had arrived. When I got back to the parking lot Anatoly was gone.

"He could have at least driven us back to the strip," I grumbled as Marcus held open the door for me.

"He said he would have but it was a bit risky since the Hummer was stolen."

"You're kidding?"

"I know, he took us for a ride with his hot Hummer. How can you not love that?"

I wasn't sure I loved that. I would have thought it was too conspicuous a vehicle to sneak away with but if anyone was capable of carrying off the feat it was Anatoly. As I sat down in the backseat I decided to keep that last thought to myself. I didn't feel like giving Anatoly accolades, even if they were in regards to his ability to act like an accomplished criminal, particularly since he was an accomplished criminal.

As the car pulled onto the street Marcus leaned his head back against the seat. "Anatoly a.s.sures me he can keep Natasha from coming after us again."

"I wouldn't count on that," I spat.

Marcus was quiet for a moment before adding, "If he really is going to keep Natasha from killing us he's probably right about needing to be apart from you for a while."

"You know what? I don't care what stupid excuses he gave you. We're supposed to be a couple. We're supposed to see things through together. No matter what."

"Maybe we should leave Ve--"

"No!"

Marcus raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet. After we had been on the road for about ten minutes he called Dena to make sure everyone was okay and to tell her we were heading back to the hotel. He was wise enough not to try to engage me in conversation once he hung up so the only sound in the town car was the instrumental jazz the driver had playing on the radio.

I hated instrumental jazz. I hated everything about this trip. This was not the Vegas from the brochures. We were weekending in a war zone.

When Marcus and I finally got back to the Encore we decided to go up to Leah's room first. I had the key but I still made a point of pounding on the door before using it.

"Are you knocking or trying to knock it down?" Marcus asked.

"I just want to make sure she can hear me in case...in case she's listening to her iPod."

"Okaay," Marcus said, giving me a confused look.

"Yeah, um, you know what? Let me go in first." I let myself in and held out a hand indicating that Marcus should stay back. But the lights were out and the bathroom door open, so after releasing the breath I had been holding I ushered him in.

"What's up with the extreme caution?" Marcus asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about. This is always how I enter hotel rooms." I opened the top dresser drawer. The gun was still there. It had been so unforgivably careless of me to leave it here. I should have buried it at Red Rock.

"Let's go back to my room," I suggested. Little memories kept creeping into the forefront of my consciousness: the first time he kissed me up by Coit Tower; holding his hand the first time we went to see a movie together... Hitchc.o.c.k. He loved Hitchc.o.c.k just as much as I did.

I hated that it was the fond memories that were breaking through the wall I was trying to put up in my mind. Why couldn't I hate him? Really hate him? What was wrong with me?

We walked down the hall and waited for the elevator. I was remembering the first time I rode on the back of his Harley. By the time we were stepping onto the elevator I was reliving the first time he saved my life, the first time he held me while I cried.

Let him go, Sophie. Just let him go!

But when the elevator doors finally opened again I was already lost in the memory of the first time he told me he loved me.

I was barely even aware of Marcus as I slid my keycard into the door. The last time he said he loved me had been less than an hour ago. But that couldn't be the last-last time! There had to be-- My brain froze in mid-thought as the here and now came cras.h.i.+ng down around me. Marcus gasped.

The room was trashed. The blankets pulled off the bed, the drawers were all open and my clothes were scattered on the floor. I stood perfectly still and listened for the sound of an intruder. He would know I was here so he'd be trying to stay quiet too. Still, all I needed was one small tell, a jagged breath, the sound of something rustling, a creak coming from the bathroom, behind the curtain, anywhere that should be silent.