Chimera (The Korsak Brothers #1)(34)



“No, I’m not hungry.” The frown deepened and he shifted from foot to foot. “Is this where we’re staying?”

The corner of my mouth twitched ruefully at the faint dismay in his voice. “It’s no worse than that rattrap from last night. We have fresh air, stars, and crickets to sing us to sleep. It’s practically a commercial for camping gear. What else could you want?”

The reason for his two-step became apparent as he snapped rather desperately, “A bathroom.”

“Ah.” I fought against the laugh that wanted to spill free. After the day we’d had, I enjoyed the warm swell of humor, but I had a sneaking suspicion Michael wouldn’t appreciate it if he thought the laughter was aimed at him. “Well, that’s easy enough.” I waved an arm. “Pick a tree.”

“A tree?”

I’d dragged him here and there, nearly gotten him killed at every turn, and he hadn’t blinked an eye. But tell him to take a leak in the great outdoors and he was as outraged as an eighty-year-old nun. “Watch out for snakes,” I warned with only partially suppressed glee.

His wasn’t a face made for scowls. It was too smooth, too serene a mask, but that didn’t prevent him from giving it the old college try. As he walked into the trees, I could still see the pale smear of him in the dark. The waves of annoyance that I could feel radiating in my direction weren’t pale at all. Pulling off the baseball cap, I grinned and tilted my head back to see the pink glitter of Mars. If I wanted to pretend it was like the old days, I could. Who was going to stop me? Teasing a younger brother, what could be more natural? What could be more treasured? I closed my eyes as a stream of cool air, pure and clean, washed over me. “If you have to wipe, try to avoid the poison ivy,” I called.

“If you want me to believe that I’m your brother,” the tart voice came from my elbow, “you have an odd way of showing it.”

He’d moved up on me in utter silence. I was impressed, but not particularly surprised. Genes would tell. Our family had three generations of reason to be swift and soundless. Although I still was of the thought that Lukas . . . Michael . . . would’ve been the one to choose a different path from Korsak tradition. It was even possible that had he never been taken, I too might have turned out differently. Turned out better.

“You survived the deep dark woods, Grizzly Adams.” I tossed the hat onto the hood of the car and gave him a quick whistle of mock respect. “I’m impressed. How do you want to celebrate? I think you’ve made your way through all the snack food, but you could lick the wrappers.”

“I think,” he said with narrow-eyed deliberation, not exactly enthused with my humor, “that a blanket would be fine.”

Swallowing another grin, I fetched an armful of cotton from the trunk and put it in the backseat. “There you go, kiddo. Fold up one of them and make a pillow.” I restrained an urge to ruffle his hair. It was so strong that it was painful, but it wasn’t the thing to do. Seven-year-old Lukas would’ve tolerated it, only just, with a laughing protest, but Michael at seventeen wouldn’t remotely enjoy the gesture. Most likely he would retreat, and I didn’t want the day to end like that.

Michael settling down for the night gave me the chance to make some calls. I wasn’t prepared for him to discover what I’d made of my life. It could be I’d never be entirely ready for that, but that was a problem for another day. The first call I made to Dmitri. He was more than a bartender; he was the next best thing to a mob yellow pages. If he didn’t have the information I needed, he would know who did.

I tried the bar first. Unless he was off sick, Dmitri was usually there, six days a week. Konstantin was not one to concern himself with overtime regulations or the Fair Labor Standards Act. The phone rang several times before it was picked up and a voice said without preamble, “Koschecka. We’re closed. Call back next week.”

“Closed?” I drawled as I walked away from the car to lean against a tree. The bark scratched roughly through my shirt. “Damn, Dmitri, who died?” There was silence in my ear. No glasses clinked, no music boomed; the only sound to be heard in the velvety quiet was the rasp of Dmitri’s breath against the receiver. It was eerie enough to have my senses sharpening instantly. Something was wrong.

Ah, shit. Konstantin had found out about Bormiroff. It didn’t get any more wrong than that. I had known that moment of morality was going to come back to bite me in the ass. I’d known it as I’d looked down at the man on all fours, his bloody hands trying to carry him away from death, trying to carry him away from me. I didn’t try to fool myself with false memories. I’d had every intention of pulling that trigger. There was no doubt it would’ve effectively destroyed what was left of my soul, making the generous assumption I had one to begin with, but I hadn’t seen any other option. Vasily had to die so that Lukas might live. It wasn’t a fair choice, big surprise, but it was the one I had to make. That my finger refused to move had stunned me. That I’d lifted Bormiroff unceremoniously off the asphalt and hidden him in the trunk of my car before driving away had done more than stunned me. It had shaken me to the core, and not in a positive manner.

I hadn’t been proud that I hadn’t killed. Far from it. I was furious with myself, choking on guilt as corrosive as sulfuric acid. I had been risking Lukas’s life for the life of a thief, and, at that, one stupid enough to steal from murderers. Vasily had sworn he wouldn’t be seen in the state again, his hound dog eyes terrified in the gloom of the trunk. He’d promised he’d vanish. It could be done, especially if you were assumed dead. Whether that sad loser could pull it off was another story. But I’d given him the chance while simultaneously reducing Lukas’s. The only thing that made the situation any less disastrous was that I planned to disappear myself days later. I hadn’t anticipated needing help so soon. If Konstantin had found out about Vasily, help would be one of the few things he didn’t visit upon me.

Rob Thurman's Books