helicopter lifted into the air, he felt freer than he’d ever been. Years had gone by since his military training, but flying an aircraft such as this was like riding a bicycle, as the Americans said—a proficiency for which he would forever be grateful. Now he’d let the stars and his instincts guide him wherever he wanted to go.
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, he felt the significance of his newfound opportunity to reinvent himself. He knew how to disappear. And by doing so, he would eliminate the need for looking over his shoulder if the great Anton Bukolov got the urge to look for him.
For all anyone would know, Stanislav Petrovin had died on St. Lawrence Island, Alaska.
And by the time the Americans had concluded their investigation of the explosion and the helicopter crash— and sifted through the remains of those who had died—the actual truth might still not be discovered for some time…if ever. Who could say? The name Petrovin might even become legend. He liked the sound of that.
But he knew that the euphoria of his escape would not last long. Eventually, what had happened in Chicago and on St. Lawrence Island would eat at him—personally—until he could no longer bear to remain dead.
Perhaps if revenge was a dish best served cold, Stas Petrovin could learn to be a patient man—and bide his time.
CHAPTER 32
Talkeetna, Alaska
Three days later
Susannah had gotten up early that morning to make blueberry pancakes from scratch, Nikki’s first choice for breakfast. The house smelled of coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice, honey-smoked bacon, and a buttery maple syrup courtesy of the Roadhouse Inn in Talkeetna. After getting Payton’s call that he was bringing Nikki home, Susannah had rushed to clean the house and fill her refrigerator with all her daughter’s favorite foods, then anxiously waited to see her sweet face.
The longest wait of her life.
She knew it would be an uphill battle for Nikki to reclaim her life. The same could be said for her too, but the little girl who had run away from home was not the same young woman Payton brought back. She saw it in her daughter’s eyes. An underlying sadness remained and might never go away, but Nikki also had a newfound strength that Susannah hoped would stay. And like a good batch of pancakes, she felt like they were starting over…from scratch.
“Nikki, breakfast is almost ready,” she yelled loud enough for her daughter to hear upstairs. Calling the girl’s name, even doing the simplest daily chores for her, had become a blessing she never wanted to take for granted.
But she also knew they’d have their bad days too.
Every night since she’d come home, her daughter had horrible nightmares. But when she woke up crying, she had been there to hold her. Nikki had taken to sleeping in her bed, an arrangement a mother could get used to. She’d become addicted to the natural smell of her daughter’s skin and the sweet scent of her hair after a shower. And another memory lingered in her mind as she set the table.
On that first night after Nikki was home, Payton stayed over. He was too big for all three of them to fit in one bed, so they slept on the floor in the living room. Her brother never asked to sleep over. It was something they all wanted, and it just happened. She hated the reason that they needed the comfort that night, but she would always treasure the memory when they’d been reunited as a family.
So far, Nikki hadn’t wanted to talk to her friends or see anyone else since coming home, but maybe later that day it would change. After her painstaking cruise through a living hell, life had certainly gotten simpler, and Susannah didn’t mind that at all.
“Nikki? I’m makin’ pancakes. Your favorite.” She listened for the sound of her daughter’s footsteps upstairs, but hadn’t heard movement in a while.
She set the pancakes to warm in the oven and went searching for Nikki. She looked in her bedroom, the one they’d been sharing, but her daughter wasn’t there, and the upstairs bathroom was empty. She tried Nikki’s bedroom and didn’t see her there either. For a moment she felt a rush of panic, a mother’s reaction she found hard to contain.
“Nikki?” Her voice cracked and she slumped on her daughter’s bed, listening to the quiet of the house. That’s when she heard it. She walked to the girl’s closet and found her kneeling on the carpet, crying.
“Oh, honey.” Susannah dropped to her knees and held Nikki close. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
“One thing I remembered was the smell of my closet.” She sobbed, her voice sounding fragile and small. “And I remembered the sound of your footsteps outside my door. It’s good to be home, Mama…with you.”
Susannah held her daughter tight, kneeling on the floor of Nikki’s closet. Payton had come through on his promise that she’d get her second chance. Now it was her turn to make good. And from here forward—for Nikki’s sake—she’d take it one day at a time.
Jess lay in Payton’s bed, listening to the soothing sound of his breathing as he slept. She kept her eyes closed, content to let the morning’s peace wash over her. With the quiet patter of rain on the rooftop of his cabin, nothing could have been more perfect. She smiled and nuzzled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his bare skin next to hers.
For the first time in years she’d slept through the night. And considering what they’d just been through, that was a major miracle.
But when her mind and body clock wouldn’t let her rest anymore, she got up, wrapped a blanket around her naked body, and shuffled off to his bathroom to take care of business, bleary-eyed. The cabin was still dark, with only slivers of light coming through the windows. She could have gone back to bed, but changed her mind and walked outside in all her glory. In another life she would have dressed in the dark and slipped out of his life, but not today. Today, she had to drink in the seclusion of Payton’s wooded acreage.
And being alone to do it seemed important.
She stepped onto his front porch, with the blanket around her, to watch the rain drip off his roof and turn the dense treeline and shrubs into a deep slick green. In the distance she heard the steady rush of a river on the crisp morning air, a gentle hush she could get accustomed to. And the smell of the damp earth nourished her soul. Alaska was the best-kept secret on the planet.
Yet despite the mood-altering scenery, she had other things on her mind. Staying with Payton for a few days had been chicken soup for her heart, but at some point she knew she’d have to face reality. Not everything had turned out well.
The Alaska State Trooper chopper had gone missing. Jess tried hard not to let her imagination run wild, but she wondered if the Russian had somehow survived. Anyone from Globe Harvest could have taken the helicopter to escape the island, but her fatalistic nature was hard to deny.
And the Russian was impossible to forget.
The other day, Alexa had called to say that the report her alliance used to derive the coordinates looked like a black-market summary of “transactions,” bartering in human life on all levels. When they compared notes, and Jess told her what Seth had uncovered on the Globe Harvest Web site and the secret entry code to access it, Alexa said she’d take the information and put it to good use. Because the online system was set up across international jurisdictions, it would be difficult for traditional law enforcement to catch them. Although Alexa’s organization was anything but traditional, Jess wasn’t sure she felt comfortable with powerful vigilantes operating on an international level with no one to answer to—judge, jury, and executioner all wrapped in one covert well-funded alliance.
Except for the heartache of leaving Payton behind in Alaska—his family would need him now more than ever—Jess couldn’t wait to get back to her life in Chicago.
After the ordeal on St. Lawrence Island, she’d called Sam just to hear her childhood friend’s voice. She downplayed the incident on the island so the woman wouldn’t worry, saving the details for when they would talk face-to-face, but Sam had good news of her own to share. She told Jess that no bodies were found in the rubble of the textile factory outside Chicago. No one had died there; that wouldn’t be the case on the island.
But when Sam launched into her second tidbit of good tidings, she asked Jess to contact Detective Ray Garza when she got back to town. And that smacked of trouble.
