Mendez: Anywhere in particular?
Ian: He’s staying in an apartment near the city center. Not far from where Peter and Ludmilla Yelchin lived before they died.
The couple who’d been raising Roman while Kat did Sergei Turov’s bidding.
Mendez: Either someone is going to a lot of trouble to set us up or he’s searching for something.
Ian: The truth maybe?
Mendez didn’t dare hope, and yet he did anyway.
Mendez: But why now? Why not at any point in the past several years?
Ian: He’s twenty-one, he’s in the navy, and those who had a vested interest in controlling him are either dead or in prison. With the exception of Misha Turov, who likely has more important things to worry about just now. Maybe Kazimir’s finally learned something that has him on the hunt.
Jesus, he hoped Ian was right. It was possible. If the kid was really Roman, if he’d inherited even a tenth of the skill his mother had, or even his father, then maybe he’d bided his time until now. Maybe he was on the move because the time was right for him to do so. But what did he know? Would could he know?
Mendez: What’s your next move?
Ian: Watch and wait. Unless you prefer we kidnap him? Might be a little hard getting him out of Russia, but I like a challenge.
Mendez: Tempting, but I’d rather not create an international incident just yet.
He’d wanted Ian to arrange something so he could meet with Rybakov, not abduct him.
Ian: Your call, but I like creating incidents.
Mendez laughed. Then he typed, Yeah, I know.
Ian: How’s Kat?
Mendez looked toward the hallway. It was dark and he couldn’t hear anything coming from the master bedroom.
Mendez: Ready to have this baby. She doesn’t sleep well.
There was a lump in his throat as he pressed send.
Ian: It’s going to be fine. Though neither of you are gonna sleep much after the baby comes, you know.
Mendez: So everyone says.
Ian: Gotta get back to work, mon general. I’ll let you know if anything changes.
Mendez: Thanks, Ian. I owe you.
Ian: I know. <winky emoji>
Mendez erased the conversation with Ian, just in case, and set the phone on the counter. He kept things from Kat all the time, because they were mission specific and he had to, but this one felt different. It was personal and it involved her. He wanted to tell her, but all she could do was worry if he did. Strike that—she’d do more than worry. Kat would act, and that wasn’t something he needed to deal with when she was about to have a baby. Nothing stopped Kat. Though she was about to give birth, she wasn’t your average pregnant woman. Kat was highly skilled and deadly. If she got the idea she had to do something, she would. And Mendez didn’t want her doing that right now. They didn’t have Kazimir in front of them and they didn’t know if or when they would. Mendez wasn’t telling her a thing when it could all be a sick joke pulled by their enemies.
Fuck. He shoved a hand through his hair. Part of him wanted to call Ian back and tell him to go and capture the kid, bring him to DC so Mendez could see him in person. So they could take a cheek swab and solve the issue of his DNA once and for all. If he was Roman, then Mendez would go from there. If he wasn’t, then Mendez would put the fear of God in him about messing with him or Kat and drop his ass on the Kremlin doorstep. Misha Turov would get the message loud and clear if he was trying to run a revenge plot for his father.
But patience was best, so he planned to be patient. Ian knew enough people that he could arrange for Kazimir to be sent to the States on an assignment. Or maybe somewhere in Europe where Mendez would meet him and learn the truth. There was time. No need to rush.
Mendez finished his coffee while watching the snow come down. It was pretty, and it reminded him of his first winter in Moscow, though there’d been a lot more snow. He didn’t want that kind of snow here, not when Kat was pregnant. He turned on the Christmas tree lights because he knew Kat would like that when she woke up. He also put Christmas music on in the great room, turned down low, so she’d have that too. Then he went to the mudroom and slipped on boots, his coat, gloves, and a hat, before going into the garage to get the shovel so he could clear the driveway.
The air was cold, and the snow was steady. He waved at a neighbor shoveling his own drive and then got busy making sure the way was clear if he needed to get Kat to the hospital. His mind was on Kazimir/Roman and how Kat would react if the truth was a miracle. Was it really possible that Roman had survived? Or was the whole thing a cruel setup? It was the kind of cruelty that Dmitri Leonov had loved most. Sergei Turov was more of the bullet-through-the-brain type, but Dmitri believed in fucking with minds. Ripping the real Roman away from his mother and making her think he was dead fit Dmitri’s personality. If that’s what had happened, it made Mendez wish that Dmitri was still alive so he could be the one to kill him this time.
Only he’d do it slowly, not fast with a bullet the way Ian had done.
10
Kat woke after a particularly sharp kick to her bladder. She lumbered up and went into the bathroom to pee as the baby continued to kick. Johnny wasn’t in bed, but she knew he was home. He’d taken the rest of the week off plus he hadn’t come in to kiss her and tell her goodbye. He was always quiet if she was still asleep, but she knew when he kissed her forehead. She always knew.
She brushed her teeth and dragged on a fluffy robe over her pajamas, then shuffled off to the kitchen. There was a pot of coffee and a cup sitting ready for her. She put in some cream and poured her coffee, then headed for the great room. Johnny had plugged in the tree and turned on Christmas music. She knew he did it for her. She smiled as she passed through the room and walked to the front of the house where the dining room and his office lay. She could see him in the driveway, shoveling snow in his buffalo plaid sleep pants and boots.
She laughed softly. Other men might want to put on something more manly, like deer hunter camouflage or something, but not her Johnny. He didn’t give a crap what anyone thought. He shoveled snow in his Christmas sleep pants with Let it Snow written down one leg and didn’t flinch.
Kat returned to the kitchen to fix breakfast for them both. She could tell he hadn’t had anything yet because there were no pans in the sink, no toaster sitting out, nothing. Plus, he usually waited for her. She whipped up some french toast and eggs, finishing up just as he was coming back inside. She heard him stomping in the garage and then she heard the door open and the sound of a coat being hung on the peg.
When he sauntered into the kitchen in his sleep pants and gray t-shirt, she had to sigh. His muscles flexed and bunched as he walked, and he had a nice pump from all the shoveling. His face was a little red, from cold and exercise, and he smiled when he saw her.
“Morning, baby,” he said as he walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He smelled like cold air and pine trees with a hint of coffee.
“Morning,” she replied. “I made breakfast.”
“I see that. But shouldn’t you be resting? You had a rough night.”
She moved away to finish putting the food on plates. “I know, but I’m not tired anymore. It’s part of being this pregnant, Johnny. Your body has all kinds of energy because you’re about to deliver and you’re going to need it.”