“Good, because I can’t do that ever again. I can’t be under the power of someone like that.” She’d felt silly for even asking, since every instinct inside her told her he wasn’t like Vadym, but she liked him too much to trust her instincts.
Dimitri continued to caress her palm in that easy way. “Ask me anything, and I will do my best to tell you the truth when I can.”
“You mentioned brothers, but not blood relations?”
“Yes, I called them the brothers of my heart. We first met when we were eight years old, and since then we have been inseparable. Leo is a technical specialist, Maxim a security expert, and Nicholas, well, I suppose you could say he’s a diplomat of sorts.” His affection for these brothers was so clear in his voice.
“What is it you really do?” she asked more quietly.
His eyes darkened. “All I can tell you is that my life is devoted to stopping men like Vadym.” That was all he would say, and for now it would have to be enough. “And what of you, kiska? Why did you want to go to Moscow?”
It was a personal question, but he couldn’t have known that. But he was being honest, so she would have to be as well.
“I was adopted when I was a baby. Last year I did one of those DNA tests. It came back as fully Russian. I don’t even know my mother or father’s names or anything about them. I guess I wanted to feel closer to them, to know them. My mother died right after I was born. She bled out—that was the only thing the hospital could tell the adoption agency and she was alone, there was no sign of my father. I decided to take a year of Russian language at Pepperdine and they had a semester long abroad program to Moscow. I thought it would be good to go there and see where she’d come from.”
“You’re Russian,” Dimitri mused. His gaze turned distant, and she wished she knew what he was thinking.
They finished their pasta and the bottles of water, and then, without a word, Dimitri held out his hand and they walked toward the Los Angeles County Art Museum. Several dozen white-painted streetlamps from the 1920s and 1930s had been installed in a tight pattern in rows. The streetlamps’ rounded globes were pearly white and gave off a shimmer like moonlight upon fresh snow. It was an indescribable sight. Music played from some distant park, a single violin’s song wavering upon the evening air.
Elena stopped walking as she reached the middle of the posts and touched one of the metal columns, tilting her head back to gaze at the lights above and the darkening sky beyond.
“I was without light so many times,” she said.
Dimitri cupped her face and turned her toward him. “You are never without light.”
He pulled one of her hands to his chest and pressed her palm flat above his heart. She could feel the faint but steady beat beneath her palm. “Light comes from within, and you always shine.” His deep voice and the gentle rumble of his accent was slowly becoming enjoyable to hear rather than unsettling.
She leaned back against the lamppost and stared at Dimitri’s mouth. The sudden hunger for his kiss left her dizzy and confused. Her hand was still on his chest, and she curled her fingers slightly, fighting the urge to grab his shoulders and cling to him.
“Would you kiss me?” she finally asked.
He cupped the back of her head as he leaned in. “I can ask for no greater gift than that,” he said as he lowered his head to hers.
That touch of lips was fire and light, banishing the shadows that slithered within her, threatening to hold her back from life. The healing presence of this man was so potent, it was as though she had discovered a miracle drug that could cure her, and she was desperate to bottle it. Memories of other hands, another body hurting her, pressed against the mental box she’d locked them in. But they had no power over her when she was in Dimitri’s arms.
He deepened the kiss, her lips parted, and she curled an arm around his neck, holding herself close to him as he conquered her fears with her. As long as she was with him, she had hope that she could heal.
Viktor lingered by a picnic table, eating a burrito from one of the food trucks. As he finished his meal, he walked toward the Urban Light display in front of the Los Angeles County Art Museum. Straight ahead of him, two hundred yards away, was his target. He had tailed her movements to a house in Malibu that evening and had waited for the car to leave. He was good at tailing without being seen, but he’d almost lost the car twice. He hadn’t expected her to be with someone, however. Not that it mattered. It was just one more body to handle when the time came. All he had to do was wait for the right opportunity.
He meandered closer to the glowing lampposts where the girl stood. She pulled her companion toward her, and the two began to kiss.
Viktor snorted. This was almost too easy.
The man’s shirt tightened on his back as he leaned in, and the hint of a blocky shape at his lower back made Viktor freeze. The woman’s date was carrying a gun. This complicated matters.
Moving again, but slower, Viktor removed his phone from his pocket and began to take pictures of the light display, acting like any of the dozens of tourists lingering nearby. He kept changing his position over and over, taking pictures each time until he was able to zoom in on the face of the man with Elena Allen. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t place the man’s face. He sent the photo to his contacts back
