Chapter Twenty-One
Barefoot, Quinn padded down the hallway and peeked through the half-closed bedroom door. Like the two rooms she had already checked, this one had six kids clad in brand-new pajamas crowded into beds or lying on cushions on the floor. There was plenty of room for them to sleep spread out throughout the house. None of them were remotely interested in that. In the face of the tremendous upheaval they’d endured that day, Quinn didn’t blame them for craving the security of surrounding themselves with those they knew and trusted.
Unlike the other rooms, the kids in this room sat spellbound as Mila read aloud the Russian version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Quinn leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb and listened. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but she thought it was the part where Hagrid made his smashing entrance into the miserable shack on the rock on Harry’s eleventh birthday. She smiled to herself. Pyotr and Klara were right. Her Russian needed more practice.
She left them to their story and stole down the stairs, pondering the parallels between Harry’s wretched existence under the Dursleys’ staircase and the children’s forced imprisonment and labor, before they were given abrupt and disorienting freedom.
It was an interesting premise that would have to be explored another time. All she longed for now was sleep. She slipped into their bedroom, where James was already stretched out on the bed. It took her less than a minute to strip down, throw on a tank top and a pair of boy shorts, and flop onto the mattress next to her husband.
“Bed check complete?” James asked.
“All present and accounted for.” She stretched and gave in to a jaw-cracking yawn. “I think this has to be one of the most emotionally draining days of my life.”
“It’s right up there for me, too.” James reached up and switched off the lamp on the nightstand. The last light of the long summer day filtered into the room through thin curtains.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like for those kids,” she said.
“It’ll take some time for it all to sink in. They’ll need a lot of support.”
Quinn rolled onto her side and draped an arm over James’s bare chest. “I want to take the Semenov kids back to the US with us when we leave.”
“What about your conversation with Reem?”
“I agreed they shouldn’t leave until they’re ready. But they came to me earlier today and said they want to go where their captors will never find them. They are ready.”
His fingertips lightly trailed back and forth over her forearm. “They may think they are, but are they really?”
Her head lifted off the pillow. “Why are you taking Reem’s side?”
“I’m not. There aren’t any sides in this,” he said evenly, his gaze on the ceiling. “It’s about what’s best for the kids.”
She levered up on her elbow and looked into his face. “But what if they don’t want to stay here? Don’t you think they’ll be more receptive to therapy if they’re in a place they want to be? Otherwise, we’re just adding more layers of abandonment and resentment on top of the mountain of crap they already have to deal with.”
When he didn’t respond, she pressed on. “I’ve already done some research on places they could go to that do intensive therapy for kids and teens coming out of trafficking.”
A smile danced on his lips. “Of course you have.”
She nudged his thigh with her knee in response. The next part was sure to seal the deal. She moved closer and lowered her voice. “There’s a rehabilitation center in Colorado.”
His eyes snapped to hers at the mention of his home state.
“It’s a ranch up in the mountains,” she continued. “They have chickens and goats and horses and dogs. And it’s super secure because they keep the exact location secret. The kids would live there until they’re ready to go home to their parents.”
“Okay, that does sound perfect for them. Say we get the go-ahead to take them back to the States. We can’t take them on a commercial flight. They don’t have passports.”
“The grandmother in Slavnoye might still have them.”
“Maybe. The parents could have taken them back, too.”
She huffed in frustration. “You’re right.” Her brow knit as she thought. “What about the American consulate in Saint Petersburg? Or the embassy in Moscow?”
James chuckled and said, “How about we remember who we work for?”
“Of course.” Quinn’s head dropped back on her pillow. “They had a fake passport ready for me in just a few hours when we went to London.”
“I blame exhaustion for not thinking of the agency first. I’ll call Meyers in the morning. Who knows? Maybe he can wrangle a plane for us and I can fly us home.”
“I’m all for that. You’re so incredibly sexy, sitting in a cockpit, wearing your sunglasses and headset.”
He flipped onto his side. When they were lying face-to-face, he said, “If you’re good, I might let you handle my control stick.”
She smiled. “What if I’m bad?”
“Then I’ll definitely let you handle my control stick.”
Snickering, she shifted forward and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. The connection they shared, the tender way he touched her face, drove the jumbled thoughts and emotions of the day from her mind.
Her fingers threaded into his hair. She opened her mouth and kissed him deeper.
His response was immediate and fervent. He rolled her onto her back and kissed her with a passion that had her moaning. His hand slipped under her tank top and massaged her breast. She hummed with pleasure as he stoked the fire in her belly.
Her heart pounding, she slid a hand under the waistband of his boxers and grabbed his butt.
He raised his head and whispered, “Just a sec.” He gave her a kiss that left her seconds from combusting and scrambled out of bed. Her body hungered for him to return as she watched him tiptoe across the room and turn the lock on the door. “Don’t want any of the kids walking in on us. They’ve had enough trauma.”
“Now I know how my parents must have felt when all us kids were home,” she said.
He dove over the end of the bed, crawled on top of her, and kissed her ravenously. The way he was settled between her legs, the weight of his body pressing down on hers, it filled her with searing desire. It was exquisite.
She grew more and more desperate for him. “What time are you supposed to relieve Dave from guard duty?”
“Not until four.”
“Good. We’ve got plenty of time.” Her hand slid under his waistband again, only this time down the front. “Now, about your control stick . . .”
* * *
Quinn jerked awake. Disoriented, she blinked itchy, dry eyes and took in her surroundings. It took a few seconds for her brain to process and come to the realization she was in a bedroom in the safe house in Olgino. James lay next to her, his face slack with sleep.
She flipped onto her other side and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was a little before one in the morning.
Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth and the annoying tickle in her throat conspired to ensure sleep would remain elusive until it was soothed. She sighed and sat up. A trip to the kitchen for a bottle of water was warranted.
Careful not to wake James, she eased out of bed, stole across the room, and slowly opened the door. She grimaced and shot a glance at him from over her shoulder when the hinges emitted a groaning creak. His steady breathing assured her he was still asleep.
In her tank top and shorts again—she and James had dressed and unlocked the door after their nocturnal activities in case any of the kids came looking for them—she ran her fingers through her tousled hair as she walked toward the kitchen.
Silhouetted shapes moving in the backyard caught her attention. It was likely Dave checking the perimeter, or perhaps trees swaying in a breeze. Regardless, it was prudent to investigate. She crept across the living room to a window and edged back the curtain. Three pajama-clad kids stood in the center of the yard.
Scowling with confusion, she hurried outside and closed in on the three afflicted with nighttime wanderlust. Mila, Sasha, and Ilya stood with their heads tipped back and faces raised to the starry sky.
So as not to startle them, Quinn slowed and announced her presence by clearing her throat. When they looked her way, she asked, “What are you doing out here? Is everything okay?”
“We’re sorry if we woke you,” Mila said, sounding a little guilty. “Those stairs are really creaky.”
“It’s fine. Is everything okay?” Quinn asked again. At least now she knew why she’d awakened so suddenly.
“Mm-hmm. It’s just that it’s been a long time since Sasha and Ilya have gotten to see the stars. I’ve been on trips and have seen them, but they were always left behind.” Mila hesitated before dropping her gaze to the ground and adding, “Inside.”
Quinn stepped closer. Her tone was gentle when she said, “I understand.” She raised her eyes and stared up at the pinpricks of sparkling light. “It’s a beautiful, clear night. Perfect for stargazing.”
They fell silent and beheld the expanse of stars. The only sound around them came from leaves rustling in the light breeze.
A light thump interrupted the peace. Instantly alert, Quinn’s eyes darted toward the cluster of trees in front of the cement fence at the back of the yard. Her nerves jangled when she observed movement. “Go back in the house. Now.” Her tone was sharp and insistent.
“They not move,” a man’s voice said in heavily accented English. A hulking figure stepped out from the shadows. He was big. And bald. The pistol he held was pointed directly at them.
Anatoly.
Careful to not make any sudden movements, Quinn slowly stepped in front of the kids to shield them. “Leave them alone, Anatoly.” Utterly defenseless, she scanned the area, looking for something, anything she could use as a weapon. All she saw was a patio table and chairs, and a folded umbrella upright in a stand. Unless she hurled a chair at him, everything around them was useless.
Not good.
“No. They belong to us. I take them back.”
Quinn’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t even manufacture enough saliva to swallow. She held her hands up in front of her. “It’s over, Anatoly. Viktor, Zhanna, your other buddies, and Yefimov are in custody. Olga is on the run. There’s no one to take them back to. Your drug ring is busted.”
Anatoly was unmoved by her speech. “They will go free soon. I take workers back. We pay money for them.”
He must have gotten a message from Yefimov. No doubt the mole in the police department had somehow found out and supplied him with the exact location of the safe house.
“I can’t let that happen, Anatoly. You’ll have to go through me.” She had one last card to play. If she could talk him into putting his pistol down, she might have a chance. “But at least make it fair. Do you really want to be known as the guy who shot an unarmed woman? That’s not very manly.”
He laughed, gravelly and derisive. His chest expanded when he asked, “You fight me?”
“Sure. I may be small, but I’m scrappy.”
Quinn heard a whispered whoosh followed by a muted thup.
The scorn on Anatoly’s face turned to shock. His eyes lowered to the knife handle sticking out of his chest. The gun slipped from his hand and he dropped to his knees. As he teetered, his lips moved, but no words came. His eyelids fluttered before he pitched forward and crashed to the ground like a felled pine.
Dave stalked past them and went straight for Anatoly. He kicked the pistol away and looked over at them. “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine,” Quinn said. At his questioning, if not slightly cross, expression, she said, “I found them out here enjoying the stars. Anatoly decided to crash the party.”
His gaze fell on the kids and his features softened. “Ah. Well, it is a nice night for it.” He squatted down and pressed his fingers to the prone man’s throat.
Mila stared down at Anatoly, her face an impassive mask. Blood oozed from under him and spread over the patch of dirt where he lay. “Is he dead?”
“No.” Dave gripped Anatoly’s wrist and hauled him onto his back.
Anatoly’s tattoo-covered arm flopped to the ground. His breaths had turned labored and gurgling as his chest cavity filled with blood.
“Not yet anyway,” he added.
“Let’s go back in the house,” Quinn said and shepherded the kids toward it.
Each one shot a glance over his or her shoulder. As they looked back at one of the men who had robbed them of everything—their freedom, their dignity, their humanity—their expressions were mixed. Triumph. Contempt. Defiance. Peace. One thing was sure: None would lament the demise of that loathsome piece of human garbage.
James, dressed only in jeans, emerged from the house. “I woke up and you . . .” He switched to operative mode the second he observed the body on the ground. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Quinn filled him in on everything that had transpired since she had left their bed.
His response was decisive. “I’m gonna help Dave figure out what to do with Anatoly. You get on the phone with Meyers right now. Tell him what we talked about earlier.”
Quinn nodded. She cast a glance at the dying man before looking at James again.
“Tell him to pull every damn string there is. We’re leaving for the States as soon as possible.” His eyes fell on each child’s face in turn. “And you’re coming with us.”