The bright lights of the department store blurred into the even brighter lights of the ring, a hundred television cameras pointing at Dmitri. His ears pounded with rushing blood. He told his heart to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t happening now, had been a long decade ago. But somehow, the arena’s cold air blew across his sweat-drenched body, furious adrenaline coursing through him.
“You were in a fist fight?” Sonya’s question brought him all the way back to the present.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. The air made his nose itch, even though no pleasing scents registered. “No sweetheart, a boxing match. I used to be a boxer.”
She frowned. Apparently, it wasn’t her favorite sport. “What happened?”
He rubbed his hand up his brow and across his scalp. “I lost a championship fight in the first round on global television.”
Her frown turned to a grimace, revealing she understood exactly how shameful a defeat like that was.
“Took a blow to the head so hard the doctors told me I had to quit or risk big-time brain damage.” He left off the rest. That he’d lost his only hope to be anything other than just like his dear old dad. “My brain’s okay, but my nose hasn’t worked since.”
He spun a perfume bottle, its cut glass reflecting glints of light onto the shiny countertop. With every twist of the crystal, the lights flew off in different directions, and then moved together like a swarm of minnows, mesmerizing him. It was probably symbolic of some shit, but he didn’t know what.
“Dmitri?” Sonya’s sweet voice held a note of fear.
He curled his fists. She should never have to be afraid. Then his skin crawled, his instincts screaming. He scanned the store, certain those idiots were on his tail again.
Sonya took a step closer, and his cheeks burned. She’d been watching him journey down fucked-up memory lane. She wasn’t afraid of thugs popping up from behind the perfume counter. She was afraid of whatever she’d seen on his face. He glanced away from all the compassion in her doe-eyes, aimed right at his humiliation.
“Everything changed that day?” she asked.
“Yeah. Everything and nothing. Now come on. My past doesn’t matter. It’s yours we’ve got to figure out.”
Under her gaze, his shirt felt too tight. He undid a button at his collar. Her being able to see through him was proving more uncomfortable than he’d bargained on.
Finally, she tucked her hand into his. “Lead the way.”
The housing-goods section of Bloomingdales was deserted. And for good reason. Dmitri could understand indulging in pricey clothing, did it all the time. But a 150-dollar bath towel was total bullshit—unless it was for Sonya and purchased with his lying son-of-a-bitch uncle’s credit card. After all, Gregor always bought the best of everything.
With the luxurious towel tucked under her arm, she trailed behind him, her hand deceptively relaxed in his while the muscles around her eyes strained and her mouth pinched. She ran her fingers along the stacks of linens, lingering as if every touch was the last thing she’d ever feel. She probably worried it might be.
He halted, spinning to face her. “Hey, ghost, I won’t desert you.”
“I know.” She met his gaze squarely.
But her dark irises had a green cast, and once again, the bug-crawl started up his neck and scalp. Damn it. He surveyed the surroundings, finding only display table after display table and an occasional shopper or clerk.
In the corner of the sprawling showroom, they found a posh bed—its satiny spread sported the sticker price of a low-end car. He set down his pack, and she dropped onto the mattress.
He crouched to look her in the eye, resting his hand on her legs, so sexy in the new pair of jeans. “Stay here, I’ll be right back. Five minutes to sort things out with Gregor. That’s all.”
“Okay.” She tilted her head toward the kitchen products. “I’ll see if I can rattle some fine china.”
He opened his mouth to beg her not to, but the greenish twinkle in her eyes revealed his ghost was just joking.
Her lovely lips curved into a reassuring, if forced, smile. “I’ll be fine.”
He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm before letting go, turning her instantly ghost.
Bang.
A gunshot. The bullet whizzed through her translucent form and buried itself in the bed’s headboard.
“Duck,” she said, all-commanding rusalka.
Her supernatural tones compelled him to obey, and he tucked his head and rolled to the floor. The pop of a second muzzled gunshot echoed through the department store. The smattering of patrons cried out and dashed toward the escalator. Shouts from someone speaking in Ukrainian rose above their cries. Gregor’s thugs emerged from behind a display of shower curtains, even more ridiculous than if they’d popped up behind the perfume counter. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see them wearing shower caps.
But how had they found him?
Sonya began to shudder, crying. “I can hear them, Dmitri. My parents are calling to me.” She plugged her ghost ears with her fingers but thrashed her head, seeming to find no relief.
“Hands up, Lisko. Where did she go?” asked the dumb one.
Dmitri didn’t bother with his hands. Gregor would kill these fools if they even grazed him. The smart one, at least for a thug, turned his gun up and away from Dmitri. “Just turn her over. We won’t hurt you. Orders are to only take out the girl.”
Hovering over the bed, Sonya trembled. The air vibrated with her anger. “Your uncle is trying to kill me? Again?”
He bobbed his head once in answer and then turned to Thug and Thugger. “What girl?”
Thug frowned at the bed, where Sonya’s clothes lay in an artful pile, as if their wearer had simply vanished. His astonished expression was priceless, the picture of pure idiocy. She sniffed and then giggled, her laughter seeming to calm her shakes. God, he loved she could laugh at a time like this. But he had to keep a straight face.
Thugger tilted his head toward the bed. “The one who was wearing those.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Dmitri let himself smile. It was just too good. Of course, they had seen Sonya and even sent along a picture of her to Gregor, and now Dmitri was denying her very existence. If he were in their shoes, he would blow a gasket. But he wasn’t, so it was bordering on hilarious, as were their gaping expressions. Rarely, if ever, had he seen thugs so confused.
“It does seem like someone left her clothes here. You think she’s hiding under the bed?”
Thugger dropped to his knees, and Dmitri kicked him in the face. He toppled over, blood pouring from his split lip. Thug re-aimed his gun, now from a short four feet away. Dmitri could easily persuade them to run off with their puzzled tails between their legs. But there was no fun in that.
“Wait. Do you see that? She’s right there.” He pointed at Sonya and Thug’s eyes flicked off Dmitri for just long enough. His kick sent the man’s gun flying, and seconds later, he had the man by the wrist, Thug’s arm bent at a wrong angle behind him.
Thugger had trained his gun at Dmitri during the scuffle. “Let him go, or I’ll shoot.”
“Sure thing. And then you two run off and tell my uncle what happened.” He let go of the man with a shove. “Just go. And if I see either of you again, you’re dead.”
The smart one narrowed his eyes. “Gregor said the same thing if we fail.”
Dmitri rubbed his palm over his head. “I’ll call him off. Just get the hell out of here before security shows up. None of us need that.”
When they turned their back on him to leave, he stuffed Sonya’s clothes in his pack, along with the new towel. Scanning the walls, he found a door camouflaged between shelves, marked only by an emergency exit sign—good, it would lead outside, hopefully before security showed up.
She was holding steady, no longer giggling, but also not pulsing with a rusalka’s righteous fury.
“Come on.”