“Surely it can’t be that hard to find a mouse in the desert,” she said.
“You going to follow every single rodent you locate?” Did she hear the inanity of it?
“What’s your plan then?”
“The following of the mouse is more symbolic. In other words, he sees something living and travels to it, leading him out of the desert and into the ice fields. Which obviously don’t exist since there aren’t any bordering the Siberian dunes.”
“If you don’t believe in the mouse, then does that mean I can have them for breakfast?”
Since she was the woman who had admitted to eating bugs, he feared she wasn’t joking. “Do you scramble chunks with your eggs?”
“Now you’re just being weird. They make great stock for an all-day simmering stew. Start at breakfast and it’s ready by dinner.”
“That’s nasty.”
“Only if you don’t rinse them first.”
He had no reply to that. None. “I’ll stick to my Mini-Wheats in the morning and nachos at night I think.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve seen you eat meat, or I’d start getting worried I was traveling with an herbivore.”
“The horror,” he mocked.
“Seriously. The vegan movement worries me. Why would anyone ever want meatless meat? It’s just wrong. So wrong,” she lamented.
“Spoken like a true carnivore.”
“You have no idea,” she muttered low enough he almost didn’t hear it.
The train lurched into motion, and she finally pulled her selfie stick close enough to replay her video.
“What were you taping?”
“People boarding after us. I recorded it to a cloud where Melly can run it and see what our facial recognition program picks up.”
The reply stumped him for a second. “You use facial rec?” That was high-end shit.
“We have all kinds of tools. Remember that next time you try to run.” She tapped the screen on her phone and swiped. Had she seen something?
“Do you think someone followed us?”
“If those hired to find you are half decent at what they do, then yes. After all, they’ve been pretty accurate as to where and when to hit so far.”
“A little too accurate. I’m beginning to wonder if maybe my sister’s hubby is trying to get rid of me.” Because she was the only person he’d talked to. While he knew she wouldn’t betray him, he couldn’t vouch the same for Lawrence. That man had secrets and a side he’d wager Charlie didn’t know about. A dark side.
“If he wanted to get rid of you, he’d do it himself. Lawrence isn’t a pussy that way.”
“Know him well, do you?” he almost snarled, only to realize at the last second his anger stemmed from jealousy.
“Since I was a kid. He’s a cousin of a cousin.”
“And is Lawrence the one calling the shots?” He still didn’t have a clear idea of who Nora worked for.
“He’s not my boss.”
“But your boss is the one buying the treasure if we find it?”
“Aren’t you just curious like a cat? That’s enough questions for now. We should get some sleep. Big day coming up.” Then she proceeded to do just that, leaning back in her seat with her eyes closed.
Peter did his best to join her, but as if landing back in Russia were a trigger, every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that basement. Dug into the very ground itself, the walls were braced by wood and concrete blocks. The floor was pure dirt and rock.
Irina—an old lady who’d somehow managed to kidnap a full-grown man—kept him in that basement, locked in a cage. Too short to stand. Barely wide enough to lie down.
She took his clothes. His identity. She didn’t speak to him in English, and no amount of pleading aided his cause. She’d come with a plate of food in the morning, noon, and night. Hosed him off with freezing cold water at her whim.
He hated the icy showers because they were the prelude to the true horror.
Irina would clomp up those wooden steps, leaving his cage unlocked. The first time, he was filled with such hope. He’d exited those bars and run for the nearest basement window. Nailed shut, and even if he could break the glass, the bars were too skinny for him to wiggle through.
And that was when he heard the basement door open. She must have remembered she forgot to lock him in. Surely, he could overpower one little old lady. He ran for the stairs, only to skid to a stop.
He’d have sworn the tiger on the steps grinned at him. By the time he crawled, sobbing, into his cage, trying to escape teeth, claws, and, worst of all, that raspy tongue, he was half dead.
Irina nursed his wounds, and two days later, out came the hose again. Followed by her pet tiger. Repeat.
Until he finally tricked the old lady. She’d come down and put his plate on the floor. He didn’t move. When she returned at lunch, his meal was untouched. He lay in the same spot.
She sniffed at him. Poked him with her cane. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch when she jabbed harder.
She muttered something in Russian before opening the cage. He hoped she wouldn’t hear his thumping pulse.
She reached for him, and he moved, shoving his shoulder into her, pushing her off balance. Then he scurried for the open door and slammed it shut behind him.
Locked it. Faced the old lady, whose eyes glowed with fury. And when she snarled, her huge teeth reminded him of another set.
He fled. Ran like a wild thing into the woods, flinching at every scrape of a branch, expecting claws. Whimpering when he thought he saw striped fur between leaves.
The shame of his terror startled him awake, and he caught Nora watching him.
“You having a nightmare?”
“Was it the screaming that gave it away?” He couldn’t help the sarcasm.
“What was it about?”
“Nothing.”
“The nothing you claim you don’t remember?” she asked, a little too astute.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. I’m curious. You obviously remember more than you claim.”
“I’d rather not. You’ve seen my scars.”
“And? You healed.”
He eyed her. “It hurt.” That seemed obvious to him.
She snorted. “So do a lot of things. You have nightmares about all your boo-boos?”
How dare she downplay his trauma? “I almost died.”
“But didn’t. You going to be a drama llama about it the rest of your life?”
“You’re annoying,” he growled.
“So tell me to shut up.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me,” she said with a smirk.
There was only one way he could think of that might actually work. Before he could tell himself it was a bad idea, he leaned forward and kissed her.
He meant to give her a quick peck, enough to shock her into silence, only the light embrace turned into a lingering touch that resulted in him kneeling in front of her. Her hands cupped his face, devouring his mouth. Their tongues got involved. Their breathing turned erratic, and next thing he knew his hands were up her shirt, cupping her breasts, rubbing thumbs over her nipples.
He shoved up her shirt and let his mouth follow where his fingers dared, sucking at the nipple through her bra. In the back of his mind, a part of him screamed he was acting irrational. But there wasn’t enough blood left in his head to care.