Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(37)

Juliette clambered out of the blanket. “I will write a note,” she said breathlessly. “Ah Cao can make the call and pass it on directly.”

She closed her hand around a pen. Fetched a blank piece of paper.


I can help you get him back. Find me in Zhouzhuang.



Juliette paused. Looked up. Over on the sofa, Roma was lit like a dark star, surrounded by the glow of the fire and the soft threads of the blankets. She could still stop. Tear up the piece of paper. Protect her peace and her life.

But then Roma gave her an encouraging smile, full of relentless belief. And Juliette steeled herself, because she had him, and that was all that she needed to protect.

She signed off.


—JM.





FOR BENEDIKT AND MARSHALL





1 JANUARY 1932




The socks were bundled at the upper left corner, the shirts crammed along the middle, and the gun tucked right in between, nestled gingerly among the most padded clothes so that it wasn’t knocking against the hard material of the luggage case. The last thing Benedikt Montagov needed was an accidental misfiring when he hauled his luggage onto the train, so he had packed very carefully. He knew this, and yet, as he stood there in the line outside Yaroslavsky Station, he was suddenly doubtful.

“I have to check again,” Benedikt said.

Marshall Seo was holding his own luggage out in an instant, providing a flat surface to prevent Benedikt from jostling the line when he lifted his bag. The temperature was freezing, snow clumped in mounds along the sides of the pavement. With a grateful expression, Benedikt hefted his luggage case to rest on Marshall’s and undid the latches with his gloved fingers, running a careful eye over the contents. This was the sixth time he had checked since they’d left their apartment, and though Benedikt had most definitely packed everything he needed for their weeklong journey on the Trans-Siberian Express, there was still an unrelenting urge to keep looking, as if something might change despite the laws of physics and cause their plans to go horrifically awry.

Marshall’s face popped into his view suddenly, obscuring the luggage contents before Benedikt finished his examination. Marshall had craned his whole body sideways so that he could look up at Benedikt, nearly resembling a corkscrew despite the anatomical limitations of the human spine.

“Everything is well?” Marshall asked.

Benedikt reached his hand out, smooshing the entire palm of his cold glove into his husband’s face before pushing him away. “Yes. Yes, I think so. Now don’t do that—you’re going to pull a back muscle.”

Marshall righted himself with a grin, rolling out his shoulders as Benedikt closed his luggage case begrudgingly, both of them shuffling forward. At his full height, Marshall was at least two heads taller than the group of elderly women gossiping in front of them, but once he finished stretching to ensure he hadn’t pulled anything, he returned to his slouch, and he was again at perfect eye level with Benedikt. They were only a few feet away from the entrance into Yaroslavsky Station, and there weren’t many people in front of them anyhow, but the thick winter coats taking up space in the line made the wait seem endless.

“Don’t even remind me about my traitorous back,” Marshall said. “Twenty-three years old and I could get a cramp from breathing wrong.”

Benedikt blinked. He did the math in his head. “Mars, you’re twenty-four.”

Without warning, Marshall dropped to his knees, trembling with the drama. “I’m aging!”

The old ladies turned around with some concern. Benedikt hurried to haul Marshall back up, widening his eyes in warning but unable to fully commit to the chastising. Marshall was only trying to distract him. He knew Marshall better than he knew himself sometimes, and when Marshall Seo got overly theatrical, it was usually because he wanted Benedikt to stop frantically spinning in his own head and pay attention to him instead.

“You’re trying to get us told off for being a public nuisance,” Benedikt muttered.

“I could switch gears if you want to get told off for public obscenity instead,” Marshall replied. He puckered for a kiss.

“Marshall.”

“Love you too. Line’s moving.”

Benedikt forced himself to look stern. Marshall was hardly bothered, wearing a wide grin when they finally entered Yaroslavsky Station. Inside, a ticket attendant was checking passengers as they passed through the line, so slowly that one would think the Trans-Siberian Express wasn’t running on a tight schedule. Whether at the start of the route or along any of the multiple stops on the way to Vladivostok, the train would start running when it was supposed to run, and passengers either watched the time carefully or got left behind.

“Ben,” Marshall said, turning slightly more somber as he reached into his coat for their two tickets. “It’ll be all right, you know.”

He didn’t clarify what he was talking about, but he didn’t have to.

“Who said anything to the contrary?” Benedikt retorted.

Marshall looked askance at him, one eyebrow lifting smoothly. When he turned his head, the gloomy morning light glowed around his pitch-black hair, thick and smooth and eternally untangled no matter how many times Benedikt ran his fingers through it. He had an urge to do it now, but Marshall was easily spurred into mischief, and then they really would get marked for public obscenity.