Prologue

They tripped their way through the jungle as fast as they could. Aili ran half backwards, trying to shield the bundle in her arms from the branches and underbrush. It was the middle of the night, but the stagnant air suffocated them in an ever-thickening coat of sweat so oppressive Aili would rather have fled for their lives through a blinding downpour of rain.

Katya staggered, and Aili’s ears pounded with panic and guilt. Why hadn’t she shielded this teenage girl? Why hadn’t she protected her in the first place? This was all Aili’s fault; she’d been the one to blow the plan.

Katya had taken a hit somewhere in the abdomen. That was all Aili knew; it was dark. She wanted to try to do something for this poor child, but she wasn’t sure they could afford to stop. The men who hunted them could be right behind them, and it would be much safer if they kept moving. That couldn’t be helped. The only helpful thing Aili could do was reach out a single hand to steady Katya when she started to fall. So they pressed on.

Then, suddenly, it didn’t matter whether or not they could afford to stop because Katya collapsed facedown in the rotten underbrush. Aili choked back a shout and carefully laid her still burden underneath a tree near the injured fifteen-year-old.

What could Aili do? She glanced from the young girl to the little, rag-wrapped parcel. She couldn’t carry them both. She knelt down at Katya’s shoulder.

“Katya,” she whispered to the girl, “it’s not much farther. Really. You can make it.”

Katya didn’t even lift her head. “Go, Alice,” she said in her heavily accented English. She still didn’t know Aili’s real name. “You must.”

Aili shook her head as two tears she couldn’t hold back mingled with the sweat on her face. “I won’t leave you, Katya. We need you, remember?”

“Anya will be enough.”

“No, no, no,” Aili muttered. “I’ll help you, and we’ll move on together.” Aili turned Katya onto her back. Even though the poor girl hadn’t the energy left to scream, Aili could tell by her grimace that her pain was torturous. Aili fished her penlight from one of the pockets of her designer khaki safari shorts and risked flipping the switch, hoping the brightness wouldn’t hand them to their pursuers.

Under the small beam, she could see that the belly of Katya’s shirt and the front of her shorts were soaked with blood. Aili lifted the shirt and fought the urge to scream out an overwhelming mix of guilt, anger, and sorrow.

That is a bad case of lead poisoning.

Aili knew a critical gunshot wound when she saw one. If she hadn’t believed in miracles before, she believed now. Because it was a miracle Katya had made it this far. It was a miracle she was still alive at all.

“Oh, sweetie,” Aili murmured. “Oh, poor baby.” She glanced at the bundle and thought she saw it stir, which alarmed her even more. They couldn’t have the noise giving away their location; they didn’t have much time. When she looked back at Katya, there was a small smile on the young girl’s face. She was at peace. She was dying. “I thank you, Alice.”

Aili leaned her face down to the young girl’s ear. “Katya, no,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

Katya shook her head slightly. The smile didn’t leave her face. “Take what you need from me. I am safe now. Take care of Anya.” Her voice rode like a feather on her last breath.

“I will,” Aili promised. “I swear to you I will keep her safe, no matter what.”

The young girl was already gone.

Aili wanted to scream again but knew she couldn’t, so she put her own right hand in her mouth and bit down as hard as she could. Then she took a breath. She closed Katya’s lovely blue eyes, covered the gaping wound as best she could with the bloody shirt, and smoothed the thick, tangled, auburn curls. She took Koli’s prized hunting knife out of her back pocket. He had thrown the knife to her just before she ran (and minutes before he died). She gritted her teeth, looked away, and used it to cut off Katya’s right thumb. She wrapped the severed digit in the designer scarf that kept back her hair.

When she finally stood, her knees were jello. She wasn’t used to losing her objectivity like this. This whole thing, this one girl, had affected her more than anything else she’d ever seen. Maybe she wasn’t even cut out for the field. Part of her wanted to sit and wait for certain death. Before he sent her and the girls out with Koli, Ivanovich had taken the expensive watch Aili had been wearing. She had only the vaguest idea how much time had passed while they stumbled through the jungle; she might have missed her last extraction point already. It was close even before he stole her watch.

She shook her head to clear it. She had to move. She had to keep her promise to Katya. Or at least try. She picked up her burden again and took off once more through the jungle.

It seemed to take forever to get to the man-made clearing, but when she broke through the trees, she heard Benedict Beck’s voice holler into the silence, “Start ’er up.”

“MacIntire! Here!” he shouted then. His footsteps rushed toward her in the dark but were almost immediately drowned out by the whoosh and chop of the heavy rotor blades. Aili was so tired. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Suddenly blind and deaf, she had nothing left. With one arm, Beck took the bundle she carried, and wrapped the other around her shoulders as they ran toward the chopper.

A man with body armor, infrared goggles, and an assault rifle gave her a hand into the vehicle, and Benedict clambered in after her. She collapsed into a seat and fumbled with the buckle while the man with the rifle started to take shots at the edge of the clearing. Muzzle flash sparked from the jungle’s edge too, but Aili could hear almost nothing over the sound of the chopper and her own heart’s pulse pounding in her ears. Strange hands shoved clunky military headphones down on her ears while Beck bounced her parcel a few times then shoved it, without ceremony or preamble, back into her arms. She traded it for her scarf with Katya’s severed thumb and told him through the headset that he needed to get it on ice ASAP.

Ivanovich had drugged Anya, hoping that would make it easier for Koli to execute her. Still Koli hadn’t been able to follow Ivanovich’s heartless orders and had paid for that “weakness” with his life. The drugs, with the gift of Anya’s silence they offered, probably kept Aili and the girls safe on their frenzied flight through the jungle, and just as it was over, they wore off. Aili couldn’t hear the baby’s screams but her lovely face was twisted in terror and rage, and her perfect pink mouth was open wide, showing off her five tiny teeth.

As the helicopter demonstrated its vertical takeoff abilities for Ivanovich’s men on the ground, Aili held Anya close and covered her head, but still the toddler cried. There wasn’t much Aili could do about that; it couldn’t be helped. Eventually, Anya would wear herself out and sleep again. Then, later, she would wake, and when her mother didn’t come, it would probably start all over. Aili couldn’t do anything about that either. It couldn’t be helped. Katya was as dead as Koli, who had tried to spare her life.

Heck, Alice Carroll had died, as well, the second the chopper had lifted out of the Shangku jungle. And soon Aili MacIntire and baby Anya would be “dead” too, one way or the other.

So Aili did the only logical thing she could do: took one breath and, along with the baby, she wept.

Three years later…

Chapter One

Silver Lake, Los Angeles, CA

Alexandra Adelaide bit back a smirk as she watched the man approach. She had read about “hipsters” before she moved here, and this guy had it written all over him. Mid-thirties, she guessed. He was six feet tall with a slender but muscled build. Alex realized suddenly that she was chewing on her bottom lip, and quickly shifted her attention. His dark hair—longish on top and short on the sides—was gelled back from his forehead, and he obviously hadn’t shaved in five or six days. Thick, large glasses partially obscured a face that would have been quite attractive without them. A light blue fitted designer oxford shirt, two buttons undone, showed elaborate black ink sleeves beneath the fabric ones which were rolled up to just below his elbows. He also wore fashionably unfashionable khaki pants with a black clip-buckle belt that held them not-quite-high-enough. And he had on bright kelly green canvas high-top sneakers.

He flashed Alex a smile full of the results of expensive orthodontia. “Hey, there. It’s not often we see beautiful brunettes sans children in the children’s clothing department.”

Alex forced herself not to finger her dark hair in that self-conscious way that women had when they received indirect compliments from strange, attractive men. She didn’t giggle either. She pursed her lips and knit her eyebrows. “How do you know I’m not with a child?”

He laughed and stuck out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Matt Gold.”

She saved a mental surveillance photograph of Matt Gold, attaching the words “Matthew Gold. Works in family store. Tool. Flirt. Entitled. Probably harmless” to the image. Only then did she smile and offer her hand. “Alex Adelaide.”

“So what strange occurrence brings you to this corner of the world, Alex?”

“Well, I appreciate that the children’s clothing here looks like it should be worn by kids that are playing in a park, not ones that are turning tricks in a dark alley.”

He chuckled. “My sister-in-law does the buying for our children’s department. She is a wise and modest woman, and she won’t let us sell anything that she wouldn’t put on my five nieces and nephews.”

“Getting back to strange occurrences, aren’t you a rather unusual salesperson for little girls’ clothing?”

Incredibly, he laughed again. Alex was not accustomed to such frequent laughter. This man was either really happy or really nervous. He explained, “Technically my job in this business is as the L.A. County Regional Manager and the Vendor Liaison for the young men’s department, but my father owns the company. When someone calls off their shift, it’s my job as his first-born son to step up and cover the gap.”

Alex bit back another smirk—she probably looked flirtatious, chewing on her bottom lip so much. Her profile of him proved accurate so far. His guesses of her… well, he was wrong on one thing, at least.

In the corner of Alex’s field of vision, a four-year-old strawberry blonde tried to climb onto the shoulders of a girl-shaped mannequin in a blue and pink Easter dress.

Alex’s tone was the perfect execution of calm-but-firm. “Aglaya, no, thank you.”

Aggie slid down the mannequin’s back and rematerialized at Alex’s left hip. She tossed her long, loose curls, and her wide, blue eyes peered suspiciously at Matthew Gold. “Mama, who’s that?”

“Mr. Gold works here.”

Matt Gold faltered a bit. “Aglaya. What an interesting name.”

“I’ve read a bit of Dostoevsky,” Alex told him.

“Oh! Do you like Tolstoy as well?”

Alex added “Prep School Education”—not a surprise—to her mental photo of Matthew Gold and shook her head. “I don’t have the patience for Tolstoy’s lengthy, moral epics. From the start, the resolution seems too impossibly remote to attempt the journey. Dostoevsky resolved enough in each plot turn to give the reader momentum to continue. Besides, Tolstoy was much too preoccupied with judgment; Dostoevsky understood Grace.”

“Well, I’m just not sure I appreciated his style as much, you know. His rambling ‘teaching moments’ always set my teeth on edge.”

“You’re a rare one then, to be capable of being bored to the point of anxiety. I understand, though; I’m the same way. Admittedly, those sections are not my favorite pieces of his writing, but I let myself skim them. What else, though?”

“His descriptions could use a bit more clarity. He tended to stray into the esoteric before he gave a good visual impression. I couldn’t accept the implication that one could understand the spirit of a thing or person so deeply with the first glance at it. But, of course, Grace can be a valuable literary theme.”

“It’s not often well described,” Alex explained. “But living through one’s own execution can give one a keen understanding of it.”

His eyes widened briefly; then he looked at Aglaya, smiled, nodded, and entirely changed the subject. “You have a beautiful daughter, Ms. Adelaide. Forgive me for assuming you were alone. It’s just that she looks nothing like you.”

Alex knit her eyebrows again. “Um… thank you?”

“You’re beautiful too, of course, as I said at first. Just in a different way. She’s all bubbly, and you are… intense.”

A direct compliment now. Very direct. And maybe his observational skills were better than she’d first realized… But Alex’s eyes had been returning his gaze too long now; that wasn’t good. She looked down, pulled her smartphone from her hoodie’s pocket, and clicked the home button, making as if distressed by the time it showed her. “Of course. You know, Mr. Gold, I just need to get some clothes… for my daughter.”

“Matt. Please.”

“Matt.”

“I should start over, I think. Welcome to the Sunset Coast Department Store.”

“Yeah, thanks. It’s a nice place.”

“We have eleven of them now, I think, but this is the flagship, so our most comprehensive collections are right here in this building.”

“Then I came to the right place.”

“So what can I help you find?”

“Well, we moved from Maine a few weeks ago. As you can imagine, the climate and the sense of style are somewhat different there.” It would do Alex and Aglaya no good at all to stand out here in their new home.

He nodded.

“So we need almost everything.”

He brightened all at once. Whether from the prospect of a big sale to impress his father…or of the opportunity to try to impress a “beautiful” woman, she couldn’t really tell. If it was the latter… she bit back another smirk. Good luck, buddy. Alex couldn’t remember the last time she accepted an invitation for a date.

Matthew Gold, “Matt,” actually turned out to be a knowledgeable and low-pressure salesman, and from then on, the trip proceeded most efficiently for forty-five minutes, at which point they hit a little bit of a snag in the shoe department.

“I’m sorry that we don’t have those purple sandals in Aglaya’s size right now.” Matt unself-consciously shuffled gobs of bright, frilly little girls’ clothing in his long, tattooed arms. “We will have them again in a few days. If you like, we can deliver them right to your home when they come. Because of the inconvenience and the fact you’ve proved such a good, new customer, I can throw in the delivery at no extra charge.”

Alex caught the little girl’s eyes. “Are you sure you don’t like the pink ones?”

Aggie frowned and shook her head. Unlike a lot of little girls her age, Aggie wasn’t “all about” pink. Alex frowned too. She could tell her young charge was tired and bored, but she had complained little throughout the shopping trip. Alex wasn’t so out of touch that she didn’t get most preschoolers would have thrown a hairy conniption fit at least twenty minutes ago. This was a good kid, and she did enough “settling” in her young life. “All right,” she told Matt. “Do I need to fill out any paperwork to set up the delivery?”

“There is a short form, yeah, mostly so we know where to send them, but we can do that at the register when you’re ready to check out.”

Alex patted Aggie’s shoulder and stood up from the bench. Head to toe, they’d covered it all, in order. She literally thanked God it was over; she was set to go buy this miracle child an ice cream… and put a bit of distance between herself and the good-looking salesman. Alex reached for her credit card. “I’m ready now.”

* * *

Three days later, in the evening, Alex’s doorbell on Orange Grove Avenue in Glendale rang. That in itself was unusual, her being new in town and, out of necessity (or habit, maybe), more the keeping-to-herself sort. She left Aggie playing in her room and went to see who it was. Through the leaded window and the “decorative” barred storm door, she could see a male silhouette, backlit by the sinking sun. She smiled then checked herself. It was Matthew Gold from the department store. He held a small box underneath one arm. Alex took a deep breath, checked the weapon in her nearest hiding place, and opened the front door, leaving the storm closed and locked. He carried a children’s shoe box, she saw, and she breathed a bit easier, though she stayed on guard like she always did. That was her job, she reminded herself—while wondering why she needed to remind herself.

“Mr. Gold,” she said, even though she knew he wanted her to call him by his given name, “I didn’t expect personal delivery.” She forced a playful smile. “I hope it doesn’t cost extra.”

He laughed and loosened his mismatched tie. “Ms. Adelaide, I hope you and Aglaya are well this evening. Actually I live two blocks away on Santa Maria, so bringing them by on my way home was considerably cheaper than mailing them.”

That surprised Alex. Her neighborhood was not the place you’d expect to find a successful salesman who was also heir to a considerable retail business. “You live in this neighborhood? Your father must not pay commission on your sales.”

He shrugged. “I have three bedrooms; that’s already two more than I need.” He smiled at her benignly and seemed to be waiting for something. Alex tried to imagine his face without the thick glasses and thought about suggesting he get contact lenses, but then she thought that maybe that was too presumptuous of a thing to say to such a new acquaintance. He shuffled his feet and glanced around. The lid of her mailbox was open (rookie mistake, Alex), and he absently gazed at the label the mail carrier had left inside the lid. He touched the second name on the label. “Myshkin,” he pronounced. “Your boyfriend or roommate?”

Alex looked surprised. “Uh, no, that’s Aglaya’s last name actually. There’s no boyfriend or other.”

He laughed yet again. What an easy laugh he had! “Does a four-year-old get much mail?” he asked her.

Alex forced a giggle. “Aglaya is a very special four-year-old.” Which was true, of course, just not for any reason Matthew Gold possibly could imagine.

He smiled expectantly at her again, shuffled the shoebox hand-to-hand, and finally said, “I could claim I questioned your relationships in my interest as a salesman, but the truth is I hoped to invite you to dinner… Though your agreement to that, at this point, seems extremely unlikely considering that you’ve yet to open the door even to take the shoes that your daughter wanted desperately and you’ve already paid for.”

Alex almost jumped in surprise and laughed at herself. In fact, her suspicion of him wasn’t greater than with anyone else and had lessened throughout their (albeit limited) association. His visit, for reasons she couldn’t explain, had left her a bit transfixed. She gave an awkward smile, flipped the lock, and pulled the door open. “I’m sorry. I’m distracted is all. The whole moving thing must have fried my brain.”

“That’s understandable.” He handed her the shoebox and pressed his palms together like a prayer. “Does your politeness, however, only include the delivery or will you go out with me?”

Alex cocked her head and thought a moment. “We have grown rather fond of the burgers from In-N-Out.”

He looked surprised now. “They are good, of course, but there is a really nice quiet little bistro on Yuma Drive…”

“I couldn’t possibly take a four-year-old to a quiet bistro. During the dinner hour?” She shook her head frantically. “The other diners would assassinate me.”

Of course, he hadn’t intended to ask her daughter to dinner with them, but if he stuck around long enough, he’d soon find out Alexandra didn’t go anywhere without Aglaya. He was a good sport, though, and he laughed wryly but merrily and nodded while biting his bottom lip. “In-N-Out it is. And with pleasure. Do you and Aglaya like the grilled onions?”

“Oh, naturally,” Alex replied.

“Cokes or shakes?”

“Water.”

He laughed. “Alrighty then.”

Matt waited on the stoop while Alex fetched her shoulder bag (with protection, of course, but not the kind one might usually think) and her daughter. When Alex brought Aglaya outside, the girl sized up Matt again and said, “You work at the store.”

“Yes, I do. You have a good memory, Aglaya.”

Aggie tsked and continued giving him her skeptical look.

“I brought your purple sandals,” he told her, his voice rising a bit at the end.

The preschooler only sighed.

Alex decided then. She added the word “SAFE” under her mental surveillance photo of Matthew Gold, and she used their special code to let her little girl know when she said, “I usually call her Aggie.”

Aggie glanced from Alex to Matt again. Matt said, “I like that. Aggie.”

Aggie smiled, hopped off the porch, and made for Matt’s car. She hollered back over her shoulder, “I like the purple sandals.”

They drove through the burger joint and headed to a neighborhood park to eat. While they ate, Matt entertained the little girl with talk about her hobbies and impressions of popular cartoon characters. Then Aglaya ran off to play on the playground toys while Matt tried to “get to know” Alex, which wasn’t the easiest undertaking.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked her.

She laughed. “Blue. Yours?”

“Blue too. Though I like green as well.”

“The green shoes.”

“Ah, yeah. You remember. I actually have the Chuck Taylors in several colors though.”

“Chuck Taylors?”

“That’s what the canvas Converse shoes are called.”

“I did not know that.”

“It’s little known and not particularly useful fact. I have a wealth of useless information, especially about apparel and all that. Except it’s not entirely useless to me because I do work in a department store.”

“Your dad’s department store.”

“Yes, Sunset Coast, naturally. Though I had a strange feeling that you knew that before I told you.”

“Well, I knew beforehand that a family named Gold owned the chain. When you told me your name, I assumed you were one of them.”

He made a jocular grimace and shook his head. “Are you that well-informed about every business you visit?”

She shrugged. “I too have a wealth of certain types of not particularly useful information.”

“And you have a vested interest in God’s Grace.”

She nodded slowly. It was a huge change of subject and a rather random thing to bring up on a first date. She kind of admired his nerve. Kind of, because it was definitely something that could run away with one if one weren't careful. “Don’t we all?” she asked him. “I mean, I think we’ve all done things in our lives that we wished we hadn’t.”

He nodded heartily. “Sure. I wasn’t really raised that way though.”

“Oh. Does your family practice—?”

He nodded, staring down at his hands and thinking hard. “They’re conservative too, especially for this locale. Tradition was always important, and family. And living a good life. Holiness, to honor God and the Tribe. More Tolstoy, I guess.” He smiled. “But Grace…” He paused, his brow knit tightly. “That’s something I came across later. About four and a half years ago. It was the hardest time in my life, because…well… I’m digressing. All I mean is that I needed something more.”

“I understand. It’s like a hiding place that you can run to when everything just goes south on you.”

He nodded, the introspection relaxed as his face took on a sort of naked joy and excitement. “Exactly! And when things started to feel less terrible, I found it enhanced my life in so many ways, that— Well, honestly, that’s why I wanted to ask you out. Your bringing it up with a stranger like that…I thought maybe we had something in common. It’s kept me alive these past few years, you know. I just…um, don’t exactly know how to tell my dad that yet.”

“You mean you actually converted to Christianity?”

Another nod, a wry smile. “So for now, I live in both worlds. And both have a certain beauty to them; both faiths have their own music. Very powerful music. And it’s good, I think; it’s created in me a rare balance between the passion and the respect. But my weekends are rather busy, as you can probably imagine.”

She smiled benignly, but her brain buzzed. This revelation surprised Alex more than a little; she knew how hard it was—just psychologically speaking—to change those deep-seated patterns with which one was raised. A transformation like Matt claimed would have untold practical implications as well and could generate an understandable stigma with a family to which he was obviously closely tied, both emotionally and professionally. Maybe this hipster sales guy had some hidden depths.

He didn’t let her stew on them now though. “So, Alexandra, what do you do for a living?”

“Um…” A bit of a beat while she thought. She decided to go with the honest-but-vague answer. “I used to work as a government analyst. Now I take care of Aglaya.”

“Hmm…Aglaya’s daddy must be able to afford some pretty good child support if you both can live on it.”

“He does rather well,” Alex said. Of course she didn’t get a penny from the child’s father, and it was actually the government that paid her to care for Aggie. Matt Gold didn’t need to know all that, though. Not yet, at least.

“Analyst is a rather vague career path.” Matt cocked his head and hinted that he’d like a description with a little more clarity.

“Motherhood often has clearer duties,” Alex replied, “but then again not always.”

Matt laughed softly, both amused and annoyed by her cryptic responses. He didn’t need to understand that she didn’t behave this way to flirt. She didn’t trust Matthew Gold that much yet, and she obviously was more careful now than she had been three years ago. She taught her daughter to be careful too. For a four-year-old, Aggie was well trained to be aware of her surroundings, to guard her privacy, and to be independent enough to follow that training when she thought her mother wasn’t watching (even if the little girl was never truly out of Alex’s sight).

“So, were you and he married or—?”

Alex glared at him. This was where his nerve became far less admirable and attractive. “Really?” she asked. “Already?”

“Alexandra, I’m—”

“Seriously, why would you bring that up?”

“So I get that Aglaya’s father is a bit of no-zone topic at this point, and that’s fine. I see you’re uncomfortable, and I take responsibility for that—”

Alex interrupted, “Well, how would you like it? I don’t know you well since we just met and all. So…let me see, what can I ask? Have you ever been married?”

“I have, briefly,” Matt responded matter-of-factly as if there was nothing at all strange about having this conversation on a first date.

But Alex still tried to make her point. “So how bad, exactly, was your divorce?”

“She died actually. It was pretty terrible, though.” His tone was mostly matter-of-fact, but it held the barest hint of something sore, like broken glass embedded underneath the skin. Alex’s stomach turned, and she looked around briefly for the source of the arrow that had just gone through her heart.

He lost his wife about four and a half years ago, she realized suddenly. That had been “the hardest time” he’d mentioned. She wanted to cry, scream, hang her head, and slap his face all at the same time. She sighed heavily and said to him, “How is it that you question all of my boundaries, but leave me feeling like the criminal?”

“I don’t mean you to feel that way. As I said, I take responsibility for that. I’ve been told by many people that I’m too direct and grow too familiar too quickly, but I don’t know any other way to be. In my line of work, it helps build rapport with my vendors, employees, and customers. That said, it doesn’t bother me in the least that you deny answers to some of my questions, though I must say you are even much less forthcoming than almost all of the people I know.”

“Okay. Can I say then that Aglaya’s father is not a good person and leave it at that for now?”

“That’s absolutely okay. Saying nothing would’ve been fine. And I can say, to be supportive, as a friend, that I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for you to be involved in that situation, whatever nature it took.”

Alex laughed a bit, wryly. “So we’re friends now, are we?”

“Well, yes, unless you have a particularly convincing argument against it.” He grinned at her, but not to mock, she sensed, at least not in a cruel way. He was just teasing her.

And, yes, she realized that she was being rather ridiculous—but if he knew! She sighed and shook her head. “I guess I don’t.”

“Okay, so what would you like to discuss? More nineteenth-century Russian literature?”

“I’m afraid we rather exhausted my conversational scope of that particular topic during our first meeting.” Alex thought a second, clicking her tongue repeatedly to fill the silence. “Hmm… What about the law?”

“What about it?”

“Oh, anything. Nothing in particular. As a law school graduate, I can converse at length on related topics.”

“You went to law school?”

She nodded, lips pursed.

“Does that come in handy for government analysts?”

“It depends, of course. Where I worked, it was an almost-firm prerequisite for employment.”

He didn’t ask her where she’d worked. So maybe he was learning a little something about how to deal with her. He told her, “I, on the other hand, did the whole big business school thing.”

“MBA?” she asked, admittedly a tad surprised.

He nodded. “I know I don’t look it.”

She shrugged. “Though you are articulate enough to be well educated.”

The shortest, barest chuckle. “Well, thank you, Alexandra. You are rather articulate as well.”

Alex gave him a sheepish smile. She hadn’t meant that to sound like the most awkward and back-handed compliment ever spoken on a bad date, and she was grateful he responded with a subtle, good-natured rib instead of an awkward stare. She too could make witty, self-deprecating repartee; it was time to get in the game, so to speak. “An MBA, though.” She mock-frowned and shook her head. “It’s an unfortunate divergence of interest and aptitude. As a career government worker, I know absolutely zilch about business.”

Another laugh, lighter than the last time. “What about music, huh? That’s generally a safe topic, don’t you think?”

She nodded and pursed her lips thoughtfully for a second. “Hmm…What do you think of the Beach Boys?”

“Awesome!” And with that, he launched into the first verse of “Good Vibrations” and delivered the melody with good pitch and perfect falsetto. Within seconds, Alex laughed in spite of herself. After the first chorus, he stopped and said, “See, you seem uptight, but I don’t think it’s because you’re not a fun person. What, exactly, are you afraid of, Alex? Aglaya’s father?”

Alex’s jaw dropped, and she glared at him. How could he change pace just like that and head off so suddenly in such a completely different and—hello!—inappropriate direction?

Matt face-palmed even before he had a second to read the look on her face. “Agh,” he groaned. “There I go again. Getting too familiar too fast.”

Alex said nothing to that, and they sat in silence a moment.

A young girl who had been passing on the walking path stopped and said, “Mr. Gold, is that you?” in a voice and accent that shook Alex even more.

Matt looked up and smiled thoughtfully at the lovely young woman who had greeted him. “Elena, right? How are you?”

“Wonderful,” the girl said.

“Elena, this is Alexandra. Alex, Elena did some catalog work for us a year or two ago, but since has moved on to bigger and better things.”

As if this date could get any worse, the minute Alex let her guard down, she got a reminder of why it needed to be up. She smiled stiffly and shook the girl’s hand.

“I will leave you two alone,” Elena said, after a moment, probably sensing Alex’s discomfort. “It was nice to see you again, Mr. Gold.”

Matt nodded, and the girl left. He turned to Alex with concern on his face. “Are you okay?” Attempting to lighten the mood, he said in a mock-arrogant tone, “There’s no need to be jealous, really. The girl is all of eighteen years old, I bet. And, after all, I’m not exactly Hugh Hefner.”

“It’s not her, really. It’s just…” Alex struggled to explain without giving too much away. “For every beautiful little girl who is taken from Russia actually to become a model, there are dozens who end up captive in filthy brothels around the world.”

Matt watched her carefully, taking a deep breath. Finally he said, “I’ve heard that, but—”

“You know, I really need to get Aglaya home for her bath. Do you mind if we headed out?”

He shook his head quickly, stood up from the blanket, and called toward the playground for Aggie.

Aili stared down into the putrid sewage ditch that would be her final resting place. Koli, at her back, held the old pistol that Ivanovich had given him. To her right, Katya cuddled her sleeping baby and whispered softly in Russian. Aili caught phrases: “Gracious God…” “Loving Father…” “Your will be done…” “Protect sweet Anya…” “Your will be done…” “I love You…” “Amen. Amen. Amen.”

Aili’s musings soared on a much lower plane. Too smart, she thought. Too smart. I was always too smart. It had to catch up with me. And where? Just where I’ve always belonged: rotting in sewage. Too smart. Always too smart.

A fit of hysterical laughter began to form in her chest. Then she heard the gun cock, and she almost wet her pants. Which was ridiculous. She’d been trained. Why was she suddenly no longer desensitized to that sound? Suddenly the cold muzzle kissed the back of her head, and her thoughts stopped altogether. It was like her brain rebooted, and she saw or knew nothing but a blank screen while it tried to restart again.

Then the gun was gone. Koli pressed the gun to Katya’s head, and Aili cried from a bizarre confused mixture of guilt and relief. Still no shot. Koli was pointing the gun at the wrapped bundle in Kati’s arms. Aili stopped breathing, and for the first time, Katya actually looked afraid. Her whispers became inaudible, but her mouth still moved. “Amen, amen, amen…”

So be it, Aili thought. Oh, heck, no.

Then Koli stepped—or more, bolted—behind them again, and Aili could no longer see what he was doing. She heard noises, and Katya looked at her in wonder. Katya clutched the baby and took one step, then two, away from the ditch toward the jungle. It suddenly occurred to Aili that Koli was vomiting. Aili froze. She stopped breathing. Her heart skipped a few beats.

Out of the blue, Koli’s hunting knife, the knife that had featured so highly in her recordings of him, the knife he loved, the only thing of value that the dirt-poor tribesman owned, landed next to her feet. Confused, she bent and picked it up. He said something then, a single syllable in his tribal language. Aili didn’t know even what his language was called exactly, let alone what he told her. She looked over at Katya, but the young girl was gone. She looked further and saw her running, making for the trees.

“Go!” The word echoed in her head. “Go!”

Aili heard shouts from the buildings. Finally, the monitor in her brain lit up again. And she ran. Near the edge of the trees, she caught up with Katya. “Kati! Let me take Anya!” she said.

Kati stopped, turned, and carefully—too slowly, Aili thought —transferred the sleeping baby to Aili’s arms. Out of the corner of her eye, Aili saw Koli crumple to the ground as Ivanovich put a bullet in his head. Ivanovich’s men, with their rusty AK-47s cradled at the ready, fanned out across the back side of their compound. Aili and Katya were turning toward the jungle again when Katya jerked suddenly and stumbled. A circle of blood appeared low on her shirt. Aili screamed her name.

“I’m okay, Alice,” Kati said. “We go.”

And what else were they to do? It couldn’t be helped. They kept running.

Chapter Two

As badly as that first date had gone, Matt Gold still asked for Alex’s phone number. As badly as it had gone, she still gave it to him. She wasn’t sure why. Yeah, he seemed like a nice, respectful guy, which was rare enough. He was attractive, owned his own home, and had a great career. He wasn’t arrogant about his looks or flashy with his money. Plus, the background check “they” had done came back without any cause for concern at all. In spite of certain oddities in his personality, lots of women would have been glad for his attention. It was just that, since Free Bird and Aglaya, Alex had never really looked for a guy.

None of “them” ever told her that she shouldn’t get into a romantic relationship, even get married if she so chose. Under the right circumstances, it actually would add to her security and Aglaya’s as well. And they weren’t in witness protection exactly; it was more like evidence lock-up. Haha (without any shred of true humor, of course). But Alex had always been afraid. And she’d always kept busy.

When they had first set her up housekeeping with Aggie, she had chosen a farm in rural Maine as the place to live. Private, secure, away from people. More acres of trees than buildings. And they had lived there pretty happily for three years, but toward the end, Alex had started to feel more like she was isolated and trapped than comfortably hidden.

So she had made a few calls and Voila! Greater Los Angeles. Specifically Glendale, and a friendly neighborhood there, considered safe, but not upscale by any means. A normal place. After local emergency response times had been analyzed, a house had been chosen for them and a few minor upgrades (like the state-of-the-art alarm system, the bulletproof window glass in the bedrooms, and the “decorative,” barred storm doors) had been made. Alexandra and Aggie were back among people again…well, sort of, anyway. After almost four weeks in the metro, Mr. Matthew Gold was the only thing even close to a friend that they had made.

Well, to clarify, the only friend Alex had made. Aggie had chatted up several kids in the neighborhood already and a few more from the park. And Alex was glad. She wanted Aggie to be social, and she wished to be social herself. It was just that she was always so busy keeping an eye on Aggie. Or maybe she just wasn’t sure how anymore. But she hadn’t moved to L.A. so she could be just as isolated and remote as she had been in Maine. Considering this, Alexandra created a mental resolution to get Aggie to introduce her to some of those kids’ parents. She had their background checks with full names and social security numbers; she might as well learn how they drank their coffee too.

She was looking up Aggie’s forthcoming play dates in her phone’s calendar when the device rang. Matthew Gold. The phone slipped from Alex’s suddenly sweaty hands. Even so she felt herself smiling and tried for a second to stop, then (what the heck, right?) gave up and grinned big as she scrambled to retrieve her mobile and answer the man’s call.

“Hey, are you feeling better?” he asked her.

“Um, yeah.” She was still a bit mired in her memories, even though the incident (that wasn’t an incident at all, really) had occurred a full twenty-four hours before. “I have a tendency to get stuck in my own head sometimes.”

“I’ve noticed that actually.”

“You have?”

He laughed. “I’ve been told I’m perceptive. So I know something about you from observation even if you won’t give me a straight answer on anything.”

She tried to laugh.

“I’m not sure exactly what’s going on with you, but I can guess that something about me or maybe our relationship, as it is, not that you have any commitment to me, or any feelings for me, at least fully formed ones, but, I mean… Well, as you can see I get lost in my words the same way you get lost in your thoughts...”

His conclusion came out of nowhere in such a deadpan tone that it caught her by surprise. This time her laugh had a bit of real humor. “I can see that. But I get what you’re saying. That there is a certain level of vulnerability involved in a romantic relationship—even a potential one, and my anxiety about it is probably sneaking out the back door of my brain, because I refuse to confront it directly.”

He was silent a second before saying, with surprised humor, “Either you’ve already figured that out for yourself or you also have a doctorate in psychology in addition to your law degree.”

“A little bit of both, I guess.”

“Huh?”

“The psychology degree is undergrad. And I hadn’t quite arrived at the conclusion fully, but I am out of practice socially, and the hypervigilance that is my life does work in tandem with heightened anxiety.”

“And is that something you feel is necessary?”

“To a certain degree, yes.”

“Because of Aglaya.”

“Naturally. My life is devoted to her protection.” Her jaw clenched. This sounded so much like something she had memorized, and even if it sort of was, she didn’t want him to see her that way.

“But you’re not one of those helicopter parents. In fact, Aggie has a considerably longer leash, metaphorically speaking, than most four-year-olds I know. So either your cool-headed, psychological training wins over your anxiety or you think she’ll be safer if you teach her to make sensible choices on her own. If the latter is the case, you must believe, perhaps correctly, I don’t know, that the threats to Aggie’s safety are greater than to any quote-unquote normal child.”

Alex took a deep breath and thought about how to proceed. Because he obviously had deduced as much, she said, “You are perceptive. As you probably have also guessed, those threats are connected with her father, both directly and indirectly.”

“I had assumed.”

“Look, I can’t tell you much more than that at this point. But I know you’ve already lost a wife, and that was understandably difficult to deal with. I’ve developed a certain amount of respect for you, and if you continue to pursue an interest in me, I want you to be able to do so with open eyes.”

“I’m not that worried about myself—”

“There would only be a threat to you if you placed yourself between the threat and Aglaya, and it is much more likely the threat would choose an opportunity when you were unable to do that. And to be clear, I would not ask or even want you to do that. That’s why I’m here. Her security is my express responsibility.”

He was understandably upset when he rejoined, “Are you saying I could come over some day and find out that something terrible had happened? Like, I don’t know, find you two lying in a pool of blood?”

“I’m actually not saying that. That wouldn’t serve the threat’s purposed in the least. What would happen is that one day we wouldn’t be here, and it would be a lot like we never had been at all.”

“Aglaya’s father could make two people disappear? What kind of crap is he involved in?”

“I can’t—”

“Right, you can’t say that. Look, I don’t care, Alex. Why don’t you and Aggie come—?”

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see. “No, Matt. You need to think seriously about this, consider whether or not you can deal with it, if it’s what you want. Because Aggie and I don’t need some guy with a misplaced sense of heroism. If we let someone into our mess, we need someone who actually believes we’re worth all of it. That’s the only way it will work. And if you make that decision too quickly, it’s the wrong decision for sure.”

He was silent for several very long seconds. Finally, “You’re right. I’ll give you a call in a few days.”

* * *

Three days later, Alexandra lost Aglaya. It was just one of those things. Every parent, probably, has experienced it. They were out in the yard, and Aggie ran around everywhere like always, and Alex moved the sprinkler and pulled a few weeds from one of the flower beds. (And she was probably a little distracted because she was wondering if she’d ever hear from Matthew Gold again.) Then she looked up, knowing exactly where Aggie was, except Aggie wasn’t there, but instead she saw a large, blonde dog that lived across the street and three doors to the north. Aggie was nowhere in sight.

Every parent has these moments, of course. Only with most parents, this probably occurs first about the time the child starts to walk, and reoccurs frequently enough that by the time the child is four, the parent is used to him or her disappearing briefly and reappearing quickly without too much drama. But for Alex, this was the first time since she had a daughter that she didn’t know with certainty exactly where her daughter was.

With all her training, fighting the panic was still hard for Alex. Her “calm” calling of the girl’s name had a twinge of shake to it. The blonde dog that was where Aggie was meant to be simply woofed at Alex then trotted away.

Alex stepped out to the sidewalk and slowly scanned her view down Orange Grove Avenue. No Aggie in sight. She tried to manage her breathing. She kept herself from hyperventilating, but her breath shook, and her chest even hitched a couple of times. No flash of strawberry curls; no tiny green overalls. She held her breath a second and listened. She heard a child’s laughter—faint—from her right, the north, and she started toward the sound. If it wasn’t her Aggie, it was at least someone who might have seen her.

And two doors down, there she was. In the front yard, Aggie sat in the shade of an orange tree, played with a calico kitten, and chatted with an elderly woman who was sitting in a lawn chair. Alex exhaled and looked down at her hands. They were trembling. “Don’t go off on her,” Alex told herself. “If you do, you’ll scare her, and if you scare her, she will learn to be panicky and unstable, not sharp and vigilant.”

So she took another breath and stepped onto the lawn toward the little girl. “Hey, Aglaya. What’s up?”

“Hi, Mommy!” Aggie didn’t even look up from the kitten, who batted at the ribbon that had formerly been in the little girl’s hair. “Do you see this kitty? This is Ginger. Isn’t she cute?”

“She’s adorable, sweetie. But can you do me a favor? Remember I asked you to tell me before you leave the yard?”

Aggie looked at Alex then, startled. Aggie was a good girl, and she took her mama’s rules seriously. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I forgot when I saw the kitty, and I followed her here.”

“I understand, sweetie. It is a cute kitty. But it’s very important you remember our rules next time, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good girl.”

“Do I have to come home now?”

Alex looked at the lady in the chair. “Hi, I’m Alexandra.”

The lady smiled apologetically and shifted a little in her seat. “Nice to meet you, Alexandra. I’m Fern. I’m sorry, dear; I didn’t realize you didn’t know where she was.”

“Well, she’s okay. That’s all I care about. Do you mind if she stays and plays with your kitten a little while?”

“No, not at all. I’m glad of her company.”

“Okay, Aggie, you can stay for a little bit, but I want you to help me get dinner together, so I’ll come get you soon.”

“Okay, Mama. Mommy, can we get a kitty?”

“I don’t think so, sweetie.” But maybe a dog, a big dog. A dog that will follow you everywhere and kill anyone who tries to touch you.

Aggie sighed and frowned about the denied request for a pet kitten but said, “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

Alex turned around and walked back to her own yard. She could keep an eye on the girl from there, but it was still hard to leave. It was better, though, because she needed to vent a bit without her daughter watching. She sat down on her front stoop and put her face in her hands. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “oh, God, oh, God.”

Her phone rang.

“Matt!” she said.

“Are you okay?”

“I just…I lost Aggie.”

He sounded alarmed. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s playing with a neighbor’s kitten.”

“Oh, sweetie. Yeah, my brother’s kids do that to us all the time. It’s scary, but they’re always fine.”

“This has never happened to me before.” It came out all sobby-like, overly dramatic. Alex knew it was foolish, but she couldn’t help it.

“You’ll be okay. Look, why don’t I come, walk you two to my house, and make you some dinner. Aggie can play with my iPad, and you and I can talk.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we just should stay home tonight…”

“No, honey, I think you need to get out of that house for a while.”

He was right. But was he asking her over out of pity because she was so upset about this little non-incident? Or did he really want her and Aglaya in his life?

He was saying, “Look, I’m already halfway there. Please don’t say no.” His voice was jumpy and breathless, and she figured he was running to her. She could hardly imagine a man running to see her.

She had to be sure. “Matt, why did you call?”

“To invite you over for dinner.”

Was it true? Alex took a slow, deep breath. She was afraid to hope. “Really?” she asked. “You mean, even before…?”

“Really.” There was an echo, and she looked up. He stood on the sidewalk in front of her house. They both hung up their phones.

She stood, and he walked over to her, gathered her into his arms, and held her close. All at once, she understood exactly why Aggie always climbed into her lap when she was hurt or afraid. Alex grabbed a hold of the sides of Matt’s T-shirt, pressing both fists into his lower ribs, and she cried for the first time in three years. He kissed the top of her head and let her cry. She’d saved back quite a few tears.

A couple hours later, with grilled salmon and spring vegetables (both fresh) in their stomachs and Aggie dozing on the floor over a picture painting app on Matt’s iPad, he and Alexandra sat on his couch facing each other. Alex took a sip of some kind of sweet berry wine he’d had in his fridge (it was for Jewish holidays, he told her) and set her glass down on his coffee table. She caught his eyes and held them. He let her.

“You really want to date me?”

“I really do.”

If he was lying, he was the best she’d ever seen. And she’d seen some good liars in her time, for sure, so he probably wasn’t lying at all. “And you don’t mind my daughter?” she checked.

He smiled. “Quite the opposite. She is such a cool little kid.”

“And you thought seriously about this?”

He looked down at the wine glass he held, then set it aside. He played with his fingers a second, then looked up at her again. He held her eyes now. “My wife Sarah died because of an ectopic pregnancy. And I wasn’t there. Nothing weird, you know; I was working. It was just another day. She wasn’t feeling good in the morning, but I told her she was probably just premenstrual. It would get bad for her sometimes, you know, so she took some painkillers she’d been prescribed and went back to sleep. When she woke up, I guess she called 9-1-1, but that was hours later, and it didn’t help that the medicine I had advised her to take were strong NSAIDs which, of course, are blood thinners. By the time they tried to treat her, it was too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex said, not knowing what else to say.

“I can tell you know what it’s like to lose someone. I felt a lot of responsibility for it, for her condition, because I was her husband, for the bad advice I’d given, for going to work when she was so sick. I can tell you know what it’s like to feel guilty too.” He gave her a sad smile and gently wiped a tear off her cheek. “I found Grace there. I’ve told you that, and you know how that saved me, and that’s part of the reason I’m here with you now, I guess. But it wasn’t the clincher for you and me.”

Alex nibbled her bottom lip. “No?”

He shook his head, his eyes looking far off.

“What then?”

He swallowed hard and used his right thumb to pop his index finger. “Well, I experienced a lot of different emotions after I lost Sarah. In addition to guilt, there was a lot of grief, obviously. I was heartbroken and half-dead. I had moments where I wished I had died with her and moments where I wished I had died instead. I prayed and begged God to let me live that day over again, so I could do it right, think of my wife first instead of my job. I would scream at God about how unfair the whole thing was. I desperately wished I’d had a chance to know the child that had died with her. But there was one thing that I never, ever wished.”

Any words seemed out of place to Alex, so she just waited for him to continue.

“I never wished I hadn’t met her, never wished we hadn’t fallen in love. I never, ever regretted the two incredible years that I was her husband, that I got to wake up mornings to her tangled hair and morning breath. I never thought that knowing her wasn’t worth the pain of losing her.”

Laughter and tears at the same time, for both of them. Matt searched Alex’s face and smiled. He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I may lose you someday, Alexandra. Maybe you and that little girl will disappear, though I have a lot of hope in my heart that it won’t ever come to that. Hey, maybe we’ll even break up. Maybe you’ll lose me instead. Anything could happen, and my heart could break again. But I survived losing Sarah, so I know that isn’t the end of the world. And I am convinced that whatever does happen in the end, having you, and little Aggie, in my life, however long, will be worth it.”

Alex smiled, and he wiped away another of her tears. Then he leaned toward her. Alex caught the clean, fresh scent of him (not cologne, but maybe soap, or shaving cream, because his cheeks and chin were smooth tonight). She breathed in deep and had this half second of so much raw feeling, overwhelming and too unrefined even to be called by the name emotion. It was tangled—desire, nervousness, uncertainty. And he kissed her on the forehead. Just that. Then he stood and reached for her hand. “I will carry Aggie and walk you home if you would like.”

She nodded and let him help her up off the sofa.

Pain exploded in Aili’s knees and shot through her thigh muscles to her hip joints. They had been kneeling on this concrete floor a long time.

Ivanovich had ranted for a long time.

Ivanovich. Who was this creep anyway? It wasn’t even a name, just a detached patronymic that probably had nothing to do with the man’s legal identity. Aili had chased this “son of John” through the code for several years and, even looking in his eyes awhile ago, she knew so little, too little. She only knew what he was capable of, and that didn’t help. That only terrified her.

In her panic, she was forgetting her Russian, but even if she only caught a phrase here and there, she got the point. No one could cross him. No one could beat him. He couldn’t be killed. He’d never die. He was God, and he’d own all these sorry, filthy, little girls and boys, control every moment of their lives, forever. Or until he decided to kill them. And if they even thought—even dreamed in their sleep —of crossing him, that decision would come sooner rather than later.

Aili got it. She did. Enough already, thank you very much. He didn’t need to go on so. He would make an example of them. Of her. Of Katya, Anya, and Aili.

Oh, Katya… Aili looked at the girl, and sweet Kati looked back, held her eyes. Incredibly, she smiled. She still smiled. Aili bit back a scream. This child was either crazy (and maybe Ivanovich and this terrifying, despairing life had led to just that) or…or, she was an angel. Or something at least not entirely of this earth. Aili watched Katya’s face, watched her hold her baby firmly but without a shiver, watched her try to catch the eyes of the other children so she could smile at them. She tried to give them back a bit of the hope that Ivanovich always stripped away from them like so many rags.

Who was this girl? And how could Aili have done this? Aili was glad that she was dying because she would never have been able to live with causing this girl’s death. She shivered violently and heard Ivanovich laugh at her. He took a revolver out of his jacket and loaded it, one bullet at a time. He pointed it at Aili’s head, at Kati’s (Katya, who didn’t flinch), and at Anya’s (Anya, who slept on in her drugged stupor). But then, to show just how godlike he was, just how much the lives of these kids, and even revenge on them, were so beneath him, he tossed the gun to Koli, his Shangku lackey, only one step higher in his organization than all these abused, tearful children.

He shrugged, told Koli something in the henchman’s nameless tribal language, and left the garage where it all was going down.

Aili looked into the dark eyes of her executioner and found them unreadable. And at that moment she remembered her father. That man, the big, unhappy, monster man, the one she loved and hated and needed and feared all at once. He had always said that she was too smart for her own good.

Chapter Three

“How are you doing?”

Alex startled and turned to Matt. She’d been a bit lost in thought again.

Okay, she was actually in a state of mild panic.

Matt’s posture was relaxed, and he tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the music on the radio. Aggie was happy too. The little girl sat in the back of Matt’s car in her booster seat, bouncing her little legs in the air and singing a song of her own composition, something about rainbows and cotton candy. Alex wished she could relax too, but that wasn’t going to happen.

She never relaxed about anything. And about where they were headed right now? So much the less.

Matt looked at her from the corner of his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose. He was nearsighted, he’d told her. When she asked about contacts, he said he did have them; he just rarely bothered to put them in his eyes. It amused her that while she obviously was the nerd in this relationship, he was the one wearing those nerdy glasses. Alex gazed at him wistfully for a moment then remembered that he waited for her to say something. She had no recollection of what he’d asked.

“What did you say?” she asked her boyfriend. Her boyfriend! She didn’t get how he could remain so calm even while he drove her crazy.

The handsome hell-raiser smiled and reached down to the center console to squeeze her trembling hand that rested there. “Oh, my lovely daydreamer, stop worrying. Don’t look at it as anything like a test or a job interview. They’re just people, and they’re meeting you as a person. They’ll love you. For over two years, they’ve been worried that I hadn’t started dating again.”

“But when they started worrying about you not dating, I’m sure they weren’t expecting you to date a gentile.”

He dismissed her argument with a wave. “Remember, I talked to them two months ago, right after we got together. I told them everything. I was open about my beliefs too and how they changed long before I met you. Your ethnic background could hardly be as big a concern as my conversion. If they still love me after all that, their issues with you could only be minor.”

Alex wrinkled her nose at the twinkle in his eye. “I can’t believe you’re teasing me when you know how nervous I am.”

“That’s why I’m teasing you, my darling. Because you need to relax.”

They stopped at a traffic signal, and he leaned over to plant a kiss on her lips. From the backseat, Aglaya paused her song long enough to giggle about their canoodling. The light turned green, and they took off again.

After a moment of quiet, Alex said, “Even if they are just people, you’ve got to understand that I’m terribly out of practice socially. I spent three years on a farm in Maine where I’d go days seeing no one but my preschool-aged daughter.”

“But you’re getting back into things. You’ve made friends here. And you have me; we socialize all the time.”

Alexandra had developed friendly acquaintanceships with the parents of several of Aggie’s friends. She made regular “play dates” of her own with her neighbor Fern and a few women from the church she and Aggie attended with Matthew. And, of course, she had lots of social interaction with Matt himself. Alex wasn’t convinced any of this prepared her to meet a boyfriend’s family, something she hadn’t done since college. “Still, I spend the majority of my time with Aggie and her pint-sized compatriots.”

“Then you and Wendy will have a lot in common. My sister-in-law spends most of her time with her kids. She and Jacob have five of them, remember, so she can’t be any less crazy than you are.”

Alex had memorized names, photos, and several random facts about Matt’s grandmother, parents, brother, sister-in-law, and each of his three nieces and two nephews. Preparation was supposed to reduce anxiety. It didn’t work. Even now, Alex’s stomach turned several somersaults, and her palms grew slick with sweat. But meeting Matt’s family wasn’t something she could put off any longer. He’d become a huge part of Alex’s life, and Aggie had grown attached to him too.

Their present relationship was great, but if they were to have a future, it would have to include his family as well. Obviously, that couldn’t happen if she and Aglaya never met them.

Not that she worried about Aglaya. Aggie would do fine. She was a social genius. She’d probably gotten that from her birth mother.

Alex sighed. That thought didn’t help, because it reminded her of something else she’d have to do if she and Matt were to have a future. She had a lot of history to tell him in a lot more detail than she had before. If she and the little girl passed inspection with his family, at least a bit of that would have to be next on the agenda.

“How much have you told them?” she asked Matt suddenly.

“I’ve told them how sweet you are and what a good mom. How clever and active Aggie is. About your amazing cheesecake. I’ve—”

“Matthew. You know what I mean.”

“I’ve told them that you’re afraid of your daughter’s father, but you haven’t told me exactly why yet or who he is.”

“And they were okay with that?”

“They’ll form their opinions on the kind of person you are. Not the kind of person your ex is.”

My ex... Um, yeah, about that… But this wasn’t the time for that conversation, not quite.

* * *

That night, they left Aglaya’s room, quietly shutting the little girl’s sticker-decorated door behind them.

“It went well today.” Matt’s voice was soft but cheerful as they made their way to the living room. “Don’t you think it went well, babe?”

“It did,” Alex agreed. Aglaya played tag and make-believe with her potential cousins, especially Rachel, age six, and Micah, four. Three-year-old Haddassah hadn’t quite been able to keep up with the older kids but had made a courageous attempt for a long time before she crawled into Jacob’s lap and fell asleep. The children had taken to Alex as well, and she also had enjoyed interesting and entertaining conversations with each adult member of Matthew’s family. “Your family is friendly, my dear.”

“I told you.”

“Yes, you’re right. I wasted my worry.”

He positioned himself to face her, and gently ran his index finger down the knittings in her brow and the bridge of her nose. “Then why, my angel, do you still look worried?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Is that all? Look, I already know there’s a lot I don’t know. I care about you. I want to be with you. And I’m willing to wait to learn things until you’re ready to tell me—until you’re safe telling me.”

“This is something you think you know, but what you believe is wrong, and I’ve let you believe it.”

“What?” He looked alarmed. “Are you still married?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never been married.”

“So Aglaya was born out of wedlock.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I knew that was a possibility, even likely. It doesn’t bother me. That’s not the way you and I are doing things, and that’s enough to make me happy.”

Alex shook her head. A tear got away from her. He caught her chin and kissed her. First softly, then not quite so. After a minute, he pulled his lips away from hers, tucked her head under his chin, and held her gently around the waist. They swayed side to side, almost like they were dancing.

“Whatever you need to say,” he said after several moments of silence.

She blurted it out, tripping over her own tongue several times. “Aglaya’s not really, I mean, technically, mine. She’s not my daughter.”

He said nothing.

“Matt?”

He cleared his throat, but he still seemed to have a frog in it when he said, “Please. Give me a minute.”

She got scared, so she got angry. She pushed against his chest, trying to get away. He loosened his grip but refused to let her go completely. He stood still and silent, looking down into her face.

“I knew you’d hate me,” she said.

“Calm down. I need you to tell me exactly what you mean. Is she adopted?”

“Not completely. I’m her legal guardian.”

“So you haven’t, like, kidnapped her or anything?”

Her eyes widened. “No!”

“I didn’t think you would. Or, I mean, if you did, you would have had a very good reason. But it is much easier that you haven’t.”

“Well, it’s more complicated than that.”

“Is there a chance you might lose her?”

“No. Her mother is dead, and her father could never seek custody. Everyone else agrees that she’s safer with me.”

“And if the threat went away?”

“Her mother’s family and I agreed they would have contact with her as soon as it was safe, but none of them think it’s in her best interest to leave me when I’m the only mother she remembers.”

“Well, then she is your daughter. And if I married you, she could be mine.”

Alex peered at him in shock.

“What? Maybe I haven’t said so before in so many words, but I wouldn’t still be with you if I couldn’t consider you as a potential wife. Does that bother you?”

Alex shook her head slowly.

“Then this doesn’t change anything about my intentions or my hopes. Aglaya is the same little girl I love whether she has your DNA or not. And I know you don’t love her any less.”

“She’s my sunshine.”

“So nothing’s changed for me, Alexandra. We’re okay. You understand?”

She nodded through her tears.

“What’s wrong, though? Is there anything else you still really need to tell me?”

My name, maybe?

The thought appeared in her head, but she shook it away.

“There’s not?”

“Well, I still can’t discuss the specifics of the situation, of course. It’s need to know.”

“Then we’re good. All right? We’re fine.”

She nodded again, and he pulled her back into his arms.

“No,” Ivanovich told her. “I don’t care what your boss pays me. I can’t send all of my girls out like that. I have other customers to keep happy. Your boss couldn’t pay me enough to ruin my business for the next three or four years.”

“Well, you might at least think about it,” said Alice Carroll, Aili’s cover identity. “We’re only talking about a couple hours after all. And my boss may not be quite as rich as Secretary Tokan, but he might be able to afford more than you think.”

“What did you say?” he asked Alice, his eyes narrowed, like something had just occurred to him.

“What do you mean?”

“What? Did? You? Just? Say?”

The look on his face scared her. The suspicion, the anger, the hate. Had he made her as an undercover agent? Only then, she thought back over what she had said. No, she realized, suddenly queasy. She hadn’t been made, not exactly. She had given herself away. She should’ve just put a gun to her head.

“Katya!” Ivanovich screamed. He grabbed Aili by the neck. “What has that little witch told you?”

“Nothing,” she rasped.

“Who are you?” He shook her and looked away. “Katya!” he shouted again.

One of his armed henchmen appeared in the corridor, pushing Katya ahead of him. Ivanovich dropped Aili, grabbed Katya by the arm, and pushed her to the floor in front of the woman she knew as Alice. More of the criminal guards appeared, ready to defend their boss if he needed them. Ivanovich loomed over the young girl and held a gun to her head. He fumed, “What have you told her, you stupid, worthless girl?!”

“She’s told me nothing!” Aili screamed. “I already knew!”

All sound ceased. Aili realized she had made yet another deadly mistake.

“So you realize then,” Ivanovich said with a scary calm, “what a bad position I’m in now? And you surely must realize the only way—the only way—that I can get out of it?”

Aili’s heart pounded out to her shaky fingertips. No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. This is not happening.

Ivanovich looked at his men. “Sergei, get Timofei and assemble the girls in the old barn. Arkady, you, get the baby.”

Aili fell to her knees. What had she done? Twelve hours ago, she’d been confident that she could rescue all of the girls here. Now, with a careless word, she had killed the two she’d been sent to save.

Ivanovich hauled Katya off the floor like a rag doll. He glanced from Aili to his Shangku errand boy. “Koli,” he said.

The man grabbed Aili by the hair and dragged her to her feet. They followed Ivanovich out of the corridor, through the yard, and to the garage.

Chapter Four

Wendy leafed through the racks of winter- and holiday-themed pajamas. “So what did Aglaya ask for this year?”

Alex tapped the handle of her cart and smiled as she recited her daughter’s Christmas list. “Oh, a kitty, a puppy, a monkey, a pony, and a baby elephant. Specifically, a purple elephant with green spots and orange hair on its head. Each with the same specific proviso.”

“What’s that?”

Alex quoted, “‘And it has to be a live one, Mommy, not a toy.’”

Wendy chuckled. “Well, you should get right on that.”

Alex shook her head and sighed. “She likes Matt’s iPad, but I’m not sure how I feel about getting her one of those.”

“Jacob and I have one that all of our kids share. We do monitor it quite heavily though.”

Alex nodded then bugged her eyes. “It’s a lot of money for a single gift for one little girl.”

Alex could hardly believe they were having this discussion right now. Where had the time gone? It seemed like five seconds ago, she was celebrating Easter with her daughter, then she and Matt started dating soon after. Next thing she knew they were taking her little kitten trick-or-treating in the calico costume Alex clumsily stitched for her. This flustered mama needed to stop blinking or sleeping or something.

Sometimes… Alex almost felt like a normal mom. Sometimes she almost forgot that her life and her daughter’s were under constant threat. Then she’d remember and the moments of forgetting scared her, but moments before she remembered… she was almost at peace.

It was now the first Saturday in November. Jacob and Matt had taken the kids for a picnic, one that probably included Chicken McNuggets, at Fremont Park so she and Wendy could do their holiday shopping—Wendy for Chanukah and Alex for Christmas. Wendy had already loaded her cart with a toy, book, and candy treat for each of her five children and now selected a special set of pajamas for every one of them.

Alex’s cart, however, held only a box of rainbow-colored, cherry candy canes for the tree, some flavored lip balm for Aggie’s stocking, and a new protective case for Matt’s smartphone.

“Why don’t you order one of those eReaders that will also run apps and stuff?” Wendy suggested. “It would be a lot cheaper than an actual tablet computer, and now you can even set limits on how long your kid plays with it each day.”

Alex thought about it. “That’s a good idea, Wen.”

“I know. I’m a genius.”

Alex laughed. “Can you get kids books for those things?”

Wendy laughed. “Yeah, of course.”

Okay, dumb question. “Because Aggie loves when I read to her, and now that she’s learning phonics, it would be great to have something like that. And easier than what I’m doing now, which is hauling a stack of oversized children’s story books practically everywhere we go.”

Wendy grinned. “Well, there you go: it’s a gift for both of you.”

“I will order it online tonight.”

“So that’s decided. What else do you need to buy?”

“A few more stocking stuffers, because stockings are what Santa does in our house. I also need at least one actual book, a Hallmark tree ornament in a series I get her, and some kind of stuffed animal. Every year, I give her a ‘stufftie’ on Christmas Eve, so she can sleep with it while she waits for Christmas morning.”

“Oh, that’s a nice tradition.”

“We like it. What kind of traditions do you guys have at Casa de Oro?”

“Well, our faith is pretty big on tradition, so a lot of the stuff is built in to our holidays already. The candles, the latkes, the prayers. But we do have a different gift theme each night. We usually have extended family over on the first night, so that night is always a really big deal, and the kids love it.”

“It sounds like a lot of fun.”

“You and Aggie should come this year.”

Alex’s eyes widened, and a bit of guilt nipped at her. “Oh, no, Wendy. I wasn’t angling for an invite. Seriously. That’s family time.”

“No, Alex, it didn’t even occur to me that you were trying to invite yourself. Actually Jacob and I have talked about it for weeks. We just haven’t been sure how to bring it up. I mean…Well, you must know that my brother-in-law is serious about you and your relationship.”

He was, of course. Though the scared, commitment-phobic part of Alex sometimes still liked to pretend he wasn’t. “I guess.”

“Well, if you and Aggie want to be part of our family, if only for an evening, we would love to have you.”

Alex wiped away a tear. It had been a long while since she’d had an extended family… well, unless you counted “them,” but they didn’t do holidays or anything. Really not the same. Aggie and Alex had been on their lonesome so long that she wasn’t even sure she knew how to do “family” anymore. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Wendy smiled and nodded. Alex could tell she wanted to welcome her but not pressure her, which was nice. All the same, Alex was glad when she changed the subject. She held up some fuzzy footie pajamas that were printed with little yellow ducks wearing colorful knit caps. “These are perfect for baby Sarah, don’t you think?” Jacob and Wendy’s youngest child was named after Matt’s late wife.

Alex smiled and nodded.

“Then we should check out and head to the Hallmark store. You can get your ornament, and they have some cute stuffed animals there too. They actually have some adorable ones that come with their own books.”

“Hey!” Alex cheered. “Three birds with one stone! Boo. Yah.”

“A mother of five learns efficiency, let me tell you,” Wendy declared as they pushed their baskets toward the checkout. “Or if she doesn’t, she just loses her mind entirely.”

Alex giggled and popped a wheelie on her cart. “Race ya?”

* * *

“It needs more green sprinkles,” Aggie told Matt with wide eyes, a set jaw, and a rather serious tone.

“You think so?” He sounded as though he believed the fate of the world hinged on this particular Christmas cookie looking “just right”—according to Aglaya’s inscrutable standards, which much more resembled childish whims than actual guidelines—when it came out of the oven. Over Aglaya’s bent head, Matt grinned and winked at Alex. Alex had to smile too; her little girl was rather adorable. Her rosy, cherubic face belied her intense, heartfelt, uncompromising opinions about absolutely everything.

“Yes, Mattie,” Aggie said, in her best I’m-being-patient-with-you tone.

“Well, we should take measures to remedy that oversight immediately.” He beautifully stressed the word “immediately,” much to the abject pleasure of his young baking partner.

He handed Aglaya the green sprinkles and left her to it so he could step around the island. He came up behind Alex and put his arms around her waist. “Hey,” he whispered into her ear.

“Hey, I’m busy,” she responded, as she used a spatula to carefully lift her cut-out snowmen, angels, and stars from the rolled out dough on the counter.

He kissed along her jaw, and she giggled. Aggie looked at them, sighed dramatically, and went back to placing the forest green sprinkles—one at a time, mind you—onto the raw cookie Christmas tree. Alex said, “Aglaya, please tell Mattie that Mommy needs to finish her project.”

“Well, it is in-port-tant,” Aggie declared, giving Matt a disapproving look.

“I know,” Matt said. “But hugs are important too, don’t you think?”

The little girl thought a second, and Alex’s plan to recruit her four-and-a-half-year-old’s support backfired. “He’s right, Mommy. You better hug him.”

“You two are ganging up on me. That’s not fair!” But Alex still laughed and turned around in Matt’s arms. She wrapped her arms—tight—around his ribs then stood on tiptoe to give him a peck on the mouth. She left flour from her hands all over his bright blue shirt, then tapped his nose with her left index finger to make it good. Aggie pointed at his powdery white nose and dissolved into fits of laughter. He let Alex go, dashed around the counter, lifted Aggie in his arms, and tickled her until her giggles stole her breath.

Alex watched the scene; her heart welled with an ache of joy, fear, and desire. She wondered for half a second—if that—what it would be like to have a new baby with Matthew Gold. Not a baby she carried out of the jungle in her arms, but one she carried inside of herself. Immediately embarrassed at her own musings, she pushed the thought back far into her mind, wanting to hide it there forever. She turned to the sink to wash her hands and hoped he didn’t notice the red flush that was sure to be on her burning cheeks and neck.

Hours later, after the cookies all had been cut, decorated, baked, and boxed; and the little girl had been bathed, lullabyed, and tucked into bed, the two lovers sat face to face on Alex’s couch listening to Celtic Christmas chamber music and drinking eggnog-flavored Christmas tea. Matt—who had only sort of celebrated Christmas, only at church, and only the last few years—was rather a good sport about all of Alex’s sappy bits of holiday atmosphere. They sat close enough that he could see her clearly with his own eyes, so he’d taken off his glasses and put them in his shirt pocket. For the most part, he seemed content to gaze at her and, every so often, give her a kiss, but as fun as all of that was, Alex soon felt compelled to begin a conversation.

“So how did the big family Chanukah party go?”

“Great,” he said. “The kids all loved the gifts you helped me pick out for them, by the way. And I had a nice, long talk with my grandmother.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“She has a lot of stories, you know. Old people are great for stuff like that. She was a young girl back during the war, so it was interesting, if a little terrifying, to hear about it. And she has some funny stories too. Apparently my dad was a pretty crazy kid, growing up in the fifties. Grandma tells me these tales, and Dad overhears and gets all blustery, ‘You shouldn’t tell the boys that, Mama; they’ll get ideas!’”

Alex chuckled and asked, “And how were all the traditions this year? The candle-lighting and what not?”

“You know, it was really nice. That was a good surprise for me. After my Sarah died, a lot of that sucked honestly, because it was all so full of the past, full of her. And I only ever watched the stuff at these family functions that I had to go to for everyone else. At home, on my own, I didn’t do any of it, because I couldn’t do it without her. None of it was right, you know, because it wasn’t the same as it was with her. But this time was different, because suddenly it was okay that it wasn’t the same. This was the first time since I lost her that the memories and all of it didn’t break my heart.”

She patted his hand and kissed his cheek. He received her comfort with relish, not the closed-off, semi-resistance she often gave him. She loved him for that, for his openness, his being so unlike her. And a big part of her wished she could give him that same satisfaction. They lapsed back into silence a moment. Matthew broke it this time. “You could have come. You and Aggie both would have been welcome.”

Alex cringed a bit involuntarily. “Um…”

When she faltered, Matt continued, “Wendy said she mentioned it to you, but I should have said something myself. I should have made it clear that I really care about you two, and I want you to feel welcome in my family. I want you to want be a part of it. I mean, I know we’ve only been together eight months, but like I said months ago, I wouldn’t waste your time. I wouldn’t be with you if I weren't serious. And that’s still true.”

“Well, I appreciate that. It’s okay though. Maybe I can come to the next one, if we’re still together then, you know.”

He ignored her “if” comment, and she was glad, because she’d felt like kicking herself the second after she said it. He said, “My folks usually have the Pesach Seder at their house. Passover, I mean. I’m sure they’d love it if you came then.”

“Oh, right.” That was in a few months; Alex had been thinking about next Chanukah. She fought a bit of panic, but at least she had some time (as long as she stayed on top of things better than she had in recent months) to think about how to handle that, some time to… To what? To jilt this man who loved her deeply, wanted to take care of her, and doted on her little daughter? What was her plan there, exactly?

Matt narrowed eyes to peer at Alex. His mouth hung open slightly, and his tongue pushed at his bottom molars. “What is going in your brain right now, Lex? Because I may not have a psychology degree, but I see all kinds of mess at war in your face.”

“I don’t know. I think that’s a long time away, you know. I’m not sure I want to make plans right now.”

“Well, we don’t have to make plans, of course. It’s just a general state of mind that you should feel welcome at my family functions.”

“Sure, I know. But a lot could happen between now and then.”

“Like what? That I could suddenly decide I don’t actually love you? I don’t really work that way, sweetheart. I mean, there’s a part of me that still loves Sarah, and she’s been gone over five years.”

“I know, and I respect that about you. That’s not what I mean. Well, I told you how our life is, mine and Aglaya’s, that something could happen to us.”

“So you don’t want to talk about Pesach because you’re planning for some scary criminal to come out of the woodwork after four years and murder you and your daughter? Is that more likely than you being able to eat with us? Baby, seriously, you cannot plan your life around those freaky possibilities.”

“Maybe that’s not what I mean…”

“‘Maybe?’” He almost never got sarcastic with her, and then only playfully, flirting and gentle teasing. But with that one word, his voice dripped a frustrated brand of incredulity. “But what do you mean?”

I mean that I don’t deserve you. I mean that there is no way after what I’ve done, what I caused, that God could possibly let me build a life with you and be happy. I mean that I have been so sad and so afraid for so long that I couldn’t believe it would ever turn around, so now that it has, I’m just waiting for the moment when it all disappears like smoke in the wind and I’m left with nothing but a seriously broken heart. But she didn’t say any of that. What she said was, “I don’t know.”

Matt sighed. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. After a moment, it suddenly occurred to her that he was praying, which for him involved as least as much listening as it did talking. She closed her eyes too and waited silently, awkward and unsure. After a few more minutes, he stood. She thought he was going to leave her and go home, but instead he took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and set them on her coffee table. Then he sat down again, behind her this time. He tucked her head under his chin and folded his body tightly around hers. He covered her, giving her a place to hide from all of her demons. His arms held her snugly around the ribs while her face collapsed in on itself and silent tears streamed down her cheeks and chin and landed in large, dark drops on her jeans.

Her face grew hot, her eyes almost exploded with the pressure of her sorrow, and that all sucked. She’d have the petechial hemorrhaging, the tiny bruises from broken capillaries, around her eyes in the morning. She knew that she should have just wept, sobbed, wailed, anything. She should’ve said to heck with it and made some noise.

But she couldn’t. Like always, she just couldn’t let go.

Aili lost her cool. She was already upset that she couldn’t think of a plan to help the boys, but she knew she could save the girls, and Beck didn’t even want her to try. “But you don’t get it, Agent Beck,” she said, her voice dripping passion and urgency. “It’s not just Katya. It’s all of them. I can’t sleep at night. They haunt me. They’re just scared little girls, and I can’t stand the idea of them stuck in that filthy, stinking hell another day, let alone another twelve to eighteen months. Do you know how many of them will be dead by then? And what if our best estimates are wrong? What if it’s longer?”

He shook his head. “Agent MacIntire, I understand more than you give me credit for. Why do you think I risk my life to do this job if I wasn’t hoping to save these little girls? I mean, I have a ten-year-old daughter of my own back in Devonshire; I don’t relish the idea of letting children suffer. But I also have a lot more experience than you do, and I’m telling you this is already an extremely risky operation. Ivanovich may look like a big, stupid oaf, and he’s certainly not as well-read as you are, I’ll give you that. However, he is not an idiot. He’s spent the last two decades ghosting hundreds, maybe thousands, of girls around the planet, and he’s avoided prison terms in all of these countries. He won’t be easy to fool.”

Aili rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking you to sell him the Brooklyn Bridge, sir. I’m just asking if you and your team could arrange transport for these abused, enslaved children if I did convince him to let them out.”

“My team, Agent? Is that it now? Since when are you not part of this team, MacIntire?”

“You know what I mean, Benedict. The armed guys, the strong men. The guys with the helicopters and the big guns.”

“The problem is not on our end, Aili.” He stressed her first name to bring attention to her use of his. “We’ll ghost any girl who shows up at an extraction point, you know that. But I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter how rich he thinks your boss is, or how much you promise to pay for the look, he will not loan out his entire inventory of girls for even an hour. He’s a businessman, not a high-stakes gambler. Feel him out if you want to, but I would bet my Devon cottage that you’ll find I’m right. And if you push him too hard, you might blow the whole operation.”

Aili stomped her right shoe on the cheap aged dirty linoleum of this rotten third world government building. “Experience, my foot! You’ve gotten cold and scared and—and weak in your old age, Beck. I know Ivanovich is smart, but I am too. I deserve a little credit for being willing to take this risk. I don’t need you to lecture me. And you’re not my father, either, so why don’t you stop telling me what I can’t pull off?”

Beck put his hands on her shoulders and peered into her eyes. She wouldn’t hold his gaze, staring instead at the third button on his shirt. “Ms. MacIntire, I know you’re smart. You’ve done things with data that I’ve never seen. We wouldn’t be here, we wouldn’t have this chance, without you. I’m not trying to drown the passion that put this case together. That’s the last thing I want. But you have to remember that field work is a little different than analysis. Out in the field, running operations, every decision has stakes that are much higher and much more urgent. You need to be able to weigh the options and make prudent decisions, and no matter what, you need to keep your head. If you go in there with too much to prove, you may lose it in more ways than one.”

When he finished, Aili sighed dramatically. “Is that all, sir?”

He shook his head sadly, but he let her go and waved his hand. “You’re dismissed.”

She turned on her heels and marched down the hall. After a few steps, she turned back and said, “You know, after all that she’s been through, Katya still believes in miracles. What’s your excuse?”

Beck responded, “That poor girl may yet believe in miracles, Agent MacIntire, but I doubt very much she believes that arrogance causes them.”

Aili didn’t have a smart response for that, so she turned again and ran away.

Chapter Five

It was like a circus. Literally. The backyard of the house on Orange Grove Avenue was transformed into a Big Top. Or as much like a Big Top as a single mom on a budget could put on in her own backyard with a little bit of logistical help from her boyfriend and her possible, future sister-in-law.

Aggie’s mother couldn’t have known the little girl’s birth date exactly, but she knew it was sometime in February, and neither early nor late. As the hopeful young romantic that she was, she decided to call the birthday on St. Valentine’s Day. So when a birth certificate for the little girl finally was made, that’s what Alexandra had put on it. Not that it mattered much, as what bits of information on the aforementioned document that weren’t guessed were outright lies.

Aggie’s fifth birthday party was the first party she’d had with more guests than herself and her mother, and it was scheduled on a Sunday afternoon. Alex had never thrown a children’s party before (come to think of it, she hadn’t thrown that many grown-up parties either), and she was glad of Wendy’s help. Though Wendy did run a couple errands for her, her advice, direction, and Rolodex were much more critical. In the end, Alexandra managed to find a pavilion with red and yellow stripes like a circus tent, a clown to twist up balloon animals, cotton candy and snow cone makers, an extreme amount of circus-themed decorations and games, and cute themed paper baggies to fill with the peanuts and popcorn she’d gotten at Costco.

All the kids dressed as acrobats, animals, and the like, and one little boy in a black top hat and cape even brought his pet rabbit as a prop. Alex wore a rainbow-colored wig, much to her daughter’s chronic amusement; and Matt, in jeans and a T-shirt, claimed to be dressed as “The Tattooed Freak.”

Not only did Alex have to play mother and hostess, but she constantly scanned the crowd for anyone who wasn’t on the approved, background-checked guest list or anyone who simply behaved in an unusual manner. That was a bit of a nightmare.

But it went well. There was an incident early on when Aggie, saying, “It’s my party!” rather loudly, had attempted to cut in the cotton candy line. Matthew quickly put the kibosh on Aggie’s rudeness… and on the tantrum that immediately followed his discipline. After hating him with astonishing resolve for an entire three and a half minutes (which he purposefully ignored), the “big” girl ran back to him, lifted her arms to be picked up, and covered his cheeks in sloppy, sticky, salty kisses.

“Your husband is certainly a good sport, isn’t he?” one of the church moms observed to Alex, who was on the patio topping off the punch and snack bowls.

“Oh, no,” Alex said, quickly.

The woman looked surprised or, more, confused. “Well, I just mean, he handled that situation well, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, of course, he’s an excellent sport. He’s great with her, and she trusts him very much. What I mean is that Matt and I are not married or anything. He’s kinda my boyfriend, I guess.” Then Alex felt heat rising in her cheeks and neck. The woman—whose name was Darcy, Alex thought—had a tall accountant husband and three soccer-playing little boys. Darcy must be painting the words “Living in Sin” under her mental surveillance photo of Alex. (Not that normal people had mental surveillance photos of people they met, but whatever was the normal person’s equivalent thereof.) Alex rushed to add, “But he doesn’t live here, you know. He has his own house.”

“I’m sorry, I assumed, just because you’re always together at church. You look like such a stable family. Well, it is wonderful, really, that he’s so hands-on with her. A lot of nonresident fathers are quite distant from their children as far as events, affection, discipline, and, oh, many other ways.”

“Oh, well, see, he’s actually not her father. He’s just, I mean, he and I are dating. Or in an actual relationship, I guess. About ten months now.”

“Oh…” Darcy (or Mrs. Darcy, maybe?) faltered a bit then.

Could I possibly have made that whole thing any more awkward? “I’m sorry,” Alex blurted. “I know it’s not the usual situation.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s even more amazing, then, how good he is at filling that role.”

“Well, several of the other kids here are his nieces and nephews, so that helps, I guess, him being used to kids.”

The woman nodded. “Well, he’s a good choice for you, anyway.”

“Thank you. I do feel fortunate with him.” And Alex grinned to herself for more than one reason. Because one could have made note of the fact that Matt Gold attended that church a couple years before he even met Alexandra and Aglaya. And one could have made note of the long genetic odds on two people with dark hair and dark eyes and ivory skin producing a daughter who was blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and rosy. Or the fact that of the three people involved, there were three completely separate surnames. But, in spite of all these facts, there was something in their relationship that a woman who seemed perceptive enough and perfectly functionally intelligent had mistaken them for an actual family. Alex watched her fella chat with a dad from the neighborhood and thought about how much she loved him and tried not to think about how terrified she was of losing him.

After a few moments, he glanced in Alex’s direction and caught her watching him. He grinned, wrapped up his conversation with the neighbor, and drifted over to her, to Alex, his girlfriend, the one he loved. He hugged her, kissed her. He took his place behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders while they watched Aggie’s party happen all around, with all the bright colors, fun games, and happy people. He said, “I think you’re officially a pro at children’s party planning now.”

“Mmm…” she hummed her response, a bit lost in her thoughts as usual.

“Ah, my lovely daydream believer. Are you all right, Lex?”

She giggled and leaned back against his chest. “I’m great. I’m really, truly, sincerely wonderful.”

“Well, that’s what I like to hear.”

* * *

For just a few minutes, she had him all to herself. Not that they didn’t have time together, but it seemed like they were always doing something else too or running to some distraction. But not in these few precious moments. The busy holidays with his long and crazy hours at Sunset Coast had ended at last, and his January business trip to a supplier in Utah had gone off too, and quite well, he had told her. They had taken weeks to plan and pull off Aggie’s fifth birthday extravaganza. And now, now that all the party goers had gone home, all the decorations and gifts were put away, and he had just gotten back inside from leaving all the trash along the curb of Orange Grove Avenue, now… she had him.

Soon he’d go home to bed to be rested for work tomorrow, and in a day or two, he’d come up with some charitable project or educational ambition, and all that life would begin again. But for just a few minutes, there was no place to go and nothing to do, and he was hers completely.

After washing his hands in the kitchen sink, he took off his glasses and laid them down on the counter. He came over to where she stood near the island and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. They swayed a bit, like they were dancing.

He always had music, Alex thought; if it wasn’t on his stereo or phone, it was humming in his head. He had music in his soul, and he was always happy. It was a beautiful thing, and he was amazing. She reached up and kissed him. He smiled, tasted her lips. “Mmm,” he muttered. She kissed him again, a little bit harder. And again. After a few minutes, he broke from her lips, laughing softly, and leaned his forehead against hers.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he said.

“Hmm…” She seemed to consider. “I’m guessing you love me about as much as I love you,” she told him.

And he held her. He sang some sweet, pure, love song into her ear in a voice just above a whisper. She tucked her head against his chest and put a death grip on his T-shirt, just by his lower ribs, like she loved to do and did almost always and seemed to have been doing her whole life so far and wanted to do for the rest of it.

And they danced slowly, barely, just rocking side to side an inch or two. She was dizzy, even though they were almost standing still. “Head rush,” she mumbled, giggling and lifting up her chin. He bent and planted a firm kiss on her mouth. “That didn’t help my head,” she said when his lips broke from hers.

“I know. I don’t care.”

They danced a few more minutes, and she slipped her head beneath his chin again, hid in his arms, and mumbled against his chest. “I don’t deserve you, Matthew Gold.”

He laughed, surprised. “I don’t deserve you, either, Alexandra. But when Grace starts to be about getting only what you deserve, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

He leaned her head back against his chest and started to sing again. She thought, But I really, really, REALLY don’t deserve you.

A young girl appeared in the room before them, and Ivanovich gestured at her with a mix of salesmanship and frustration, like a real estate agent who had hauled his persnickety client to one too many houses.

“This is her,” Ivanovich told the woman he knew as “Alice Carroll.”

He was right. It was her, Aili knew at once. This was the third girl to whom Ivanovich had introduced her, and she had run out of convincing excuses. She was relieved because this was the girl they’d heard so much about. Five-foot-tall, 105 pounds. Long, auburn curls. Thin, rosy cheeks. Sharp blue eyes. This was the girl they needed.

“Katya, say hi to the nice lady,” Ivanovich said in Russian. “This is Alice Carroll, Katya; be good now.”

Aili listened to their exchange while she showed Ivanovich a blank stare. Unlike Agent Aili MacIntire, American businesswoman “Alice Carroll” did not speak Russian.

Katya smiled at Aili. “Dobre diem,” she greeted.

Aili gave a curt nod. “Do you speak any English?”

“Yes, I speak little.”

“Your boss wants redhead, yes?” Ivanovich asked, and Aili nodded. “Katya is very good girl. If he likes smiley girl, Katya is good. If he doesn’t like smiley girl, don’t take Katya.”

“Mr. Rosman appreciates a smiling face, Mr. Ivanovich. How old are you, Katya?”

“Fifteen years.”

“You look younger. That’s good.” Aili hated herself for saying stuff like that, but how else would she build trust with the monster that owned this little girl? “My boss likes a girl who’s put together, though, and I don’t like to be the one to put her together, because I’ve got better things to worry about. Can you do your own makeup, Katya?”

The girl glanced at Ivanovich, and he explained the question in Russian. “Oh, yes,” she told Aili.

Aili, hoping this girl was as sharp as her eyes, began the most dangerous part of her visit today. If Ivanovich got suspicious, he might intercept their communication, and Aili would die. If he decided that keeping Katya and her child around had become too risky for the potential reward, they would die too. Aili took a compact out of her purse and held it out to Katya. “Let me see you try. I brought some of Mr. Rosman’s favorite things. Show me how you would put them on.”

Again Katya looked at Ivanovich. He nodded and gestured for her to take it. His greed clouded his suspicion, thank God. Katya opened the compact and immediately glanced at Aili, her eyes wide and quizzical. Aili concealed Katya’s slight hesitation by giving specific instructions on how the soon-to-be-arriving “Mr. Rosman” liked the makeup applied.

Listening to Ivanovich’s interpretations of what she didn’t understand, Katya followed the instructions well. When she finished with the product, Aili took it back and handed her the next, with more detailed instructions—two sets of them. Ivanovich was distracted enough translating the first set of instructions he didn’t know about the second set the Interpol team had concealed inside the items that “Alice” handed Katya. If he had found those instructions, even one piece, he’d have killed both Aili and Katya on the spot.

After all the products had come out of and been returned to Aili’s designer shoulder bag, in the right order, Katya’s face looked like that of a porcelain doll child. Aili could only imagine what the young girl thought about the secret message in the makeup. It explained who Aili represented and what they offered Katya in exchange for the evidence printed in her child’s DNA. Finally, it asked if she could, when they came to take her to the fictional Mr. Rosman, smuggle her child out with her.

Katya blotted the bubble-gum pink lipstick and gave it back. She gestured to her make-up. “It is nice, Ms. Carroll, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “I know I can do everything you ask me.”

“Well, good.”

“Do you have any other questions?” Ivanovich asked Ms. Carroll.

Aili nodded and looked at Katya, “Why are you smiling?” This had nothing to do with her job; she just wanted to understand it.

Ivanovich answered for her, “Katya has an imaginary friend, and she thinks he will come take her from here. But I am god here, and if anyone comes, I will kill them.” He repeated the same in Russian to Katya.

In Russian, Katya said, “My Friend is hard to kill. He died once, but he killed Death in the process.”

It was a strange thing for the girl to say, but Aili couldn’t afford to react. Briefly, Ivanovich looked alarmed, then he laughed and glared at Katya. “Crazy girl. But my crazy girl. You are mine forever. Remember that.”

Katya replied to his cruel gaze with a smile and said that her Friend would come get her, one way or another.

Aili filed that conversation in the way back of her brain. She looked at Katya and held her eyes. “Make sure you bring your pajamas and anything else you need.” She was giving the girl an excuse to carry a bundle out of the brothel. “You’ll be staying the night.”

The girl nodded.

Aili looked at Ivanovich. “Let’s make a deal.”

Ivanovich grinned and laughed. “‘Let’s make a deal!’ I love you Americans.” His voice hammered his perverse excitement against Aili’s eardrums. He craned his head to try to gaze down her neckline and picked at a button on her Burberry suit. “If you are going to spend much time in our jungle, you must change your clothes. These things belong in offices; you will ruin them here.”

Aili wanted to gag, but she refrained from punching him in the nose and even held her tone steady. “I’ll make a note.”

Katya vanished into the walls, and Aili smiled and made nice with Ivanovich while they worked out the details. She put on a relaxed demeanor as they discussed their “business,” but she wanted to throw up. She wouldn’t be able to breathe right until she was miles away from this strange, creepy brothel/militia compound… and all of her secret messages safe with her.

Chapter Six

Alex sat at the buffet drinking coffee and reading the Wall Street Journal when Matt knocked on her front door. He was working a closing shift at the Newbury Park store today, so they’d made plans to have some time together in the morning. She let him inside, and he greeted her with a kiss and said, “It will always be beyond me how you are so achingly lovely when you have barely woken up, are wearing no makeup, and your hair isn’t even combed.”

She giggled as she led him toward the kitchen. “I probably am relaxed and happy because I’m still dreaming, and all the noise and anxiety of the day hasn’t made me ugly yet.”

“Stop that, you’re never ugly. But why should you let the noise make you worry? Aggie’s fine, you’re fine. Why not just enjoy the day?” He headed to the Mr. Coffee while Alex settled back into her seat.

“That is the eternal question, isn’t it?”

“Well, you certainly won’t ask it in eternity, but it does seem to define life here on earth.” He poured himself a cup of coffee (black, no sugar, all yuck) and settled into the stool beside her. “Where is Aggie, by the way?”

“In the backyard, probably digging up my grass. We’re reading the Beatrix Potter books, and now she has her heart set on planting a vegetable garden this spring. Not because she has any particular fondness for vegetables, mind you. This is planned strictly as a lure for bunnies named Flopsy, Mopsy, and Peter, puddle ducks called Jemima, and other talking wildlife of the English countryside.”

“She does know we’re not in England, right?”

“I’ve been trying to break it to her gently.”

He nuzzled her neck. She giggled and kissed his forehead.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Sorry. I’ll put it away.”

“I don’t care if you read the paper, Lex. I just wondered what you were reading about.”

“Oh, the whole thing about Senator Bennett. I don’t believe all this speculation. Will he or won’t he recommend the bill from the subcommittee? Of course, he won’t.”

Matt chuckled. “I dare say, Alexandra, that none of the political analysts I’ve heard seem half as sure of their opinions as you are of yours.”

“Well, think about it.” She held her palms out side by side, like a scale. “Bennett was elected by a certain constituency to perform a specific function by acting and voting a certain way. This is an extreme departure from all of that, and he is never going to make that leap.”

“He has made several statements to the effect that his feelings about this particular subject may have changed, that some of the activists and lobbyists had presented him with particularly convincing arguments.”

“Regardless of his personal feelings at this point, he cannot write the recommendation. If he did, he would have to redefine his entire political career in order to get reelected, and he simply hasn’t the creativity for that. If he writes it, it’s over for him. Then what would he do with his life?” Alex tsked and shook her head. “No, the man I met was a consummate politician, not a moralist, and he never had the courage of his own convictions, let alone those of activists, who are much more passionate about issues than any politician can be.”

Matt’s coffee stopped abruptly halfway between the buffet and his mouth. “You’ve met him?”

A stab of fear convicted Alex for her “loose lips”—Matt was one thing, but what if she’d made the same comment during her Wednesday morning kaffeeklatsch? She waved her hand to dismiss the subject. “In another life.”

He set his mug down and peered at her a moment. “If you don’t mind, I might like to chat a bit about that other life of yours.” It was interesting how he said it. He didn’t push, but he was serious.

Alex peered down into her cup of sweetened café au lait and thought a moment. She trusted him as much as she could anyone. She also recognized that keeping up so many walls between them would eventually chase him away. In the past couple of months, she’d made a lot of progress toward openness with him. They talked at length about her family and the deaths of her parents. She went to the Seder his parents hosted at their home in Brentwood. She marked their first anniversary with gusto, even being grateful and happy—instead of freaked out—when he gave her a rather expensive necklace to mark the occasion, something she’d never taken off since. She could do this too.

She drew in a deep breath but tried hard not to be obvious about it. “I had to testify before a Senate subcommittee about four years ago. His office set up the particulars, and I met him, briefly, through that process.”

“Huh.”

“That was right before I left the FBI. I had to brief the committee on an operation I’d worked in Shangku with Interpol. It ended badly, and everyone from Washington to the U.N., of course, had to be involved in oversight.”

“You were in the FBI,” he said softly, still taking it in. “That actually makes a lot of sense, looking back on what you have told me.”

“I’m sorry I never told you before. I don’t know why, anymore, that I felt like I couldn’t.”

“Does the FBI usually work with Interpol though? I thought they mostly handle domestic crime.”

“There was a lot of domestic crime involved, trust me. It was—”

“Human trafficking? Specifically, I’m guessing, forced prostitution.”

Alex was surprised. “How did you figure that?”

He shrugged. “Just something you said a year ago. On our first date.”

She laughed. “You should’ve been in the FBI.”

“Yeah, I’ve got enough brain cells to rub together to keep warm. But you met—profiled, I guess—this politician four years ago, and you can predict the outcome of this current debate with more confidence than all the political analysts in the country.”

“Well, I was trained to know what I needed to know about people within a few minutes of meeting them.”

“But your arguments are thought out, elegant, and convincing. In this relationship, sweetheart, you are definitely the smart one.”

Alex cringed.

“What’s wrong?”

“My dad always used to say that.”

Matthew nodded. Alex had told him how she and her late father hadn’t gotten along. “Is it a bad thing to be smart?”

“Whenever I’d disagree with him, he’d say, ‘So you’re the smart one.’ All sarcastic, you know. See, I graduated high school at sixteen and college at nineteen. At twenty-two, when most people are getting their bachelor’s, I was passing the bar. Then I was at the top of my class at Quantico. My dad greeted every accomplishment with the words, ‘Watch out, honey. You’re too smart for your own good.’”

“Oh, sweetie… I’m sorry about that, but please don’t let it get to you now. He was probably insecure about you being so bright and having so many of your own opinions. Some of the most macho men in this world feel threatened by women who have views as strong as yours.”

He was trying to lighten the mood, and Alex giggled a bit even as she brushed away a few tears. “I wouldn’t let it bother me now, except he was right.”

“What are you talking about?”

As hard as she’d been trying to open up, the memories of that horrible night shut her right back up tight. “I can’t tell the story now. I can’t.”

“That’s okay. Can you tell me what’s wrong without telling me the details?”

Tears streamed down Alex’s face while she tiptoed around all the memories and chose each word carefully. “I was arrogant, and my boss warned me too. But I was gonna save the world, you know, and I was gonna do it all by myself if I had to, because I was the only one smart enough and brave enough. I made a huge mistake. Just a few words, but it was over. I should’ve died, but a little girl died instead.”

She saw the light of understanding spread over his face. “You lived through your own execution. Just like Dostoevsky. And just like him, you lost something in the process.”

She nodded.

“But you gained something, too.”

“I took something she had. For a poor little girl, she was so rich, and I wanted—needed—what she had.”

“And you also live with that.”

“It makes it possible to live. But it’s still hard.”

His voice was soft but full of passion and the type of knowledge that came only from experience. “Life is always hard, my love. That’s what it is, and we live for the challenges. If we don’t have them, we invent them out of our prosperous nothingness. We are born to grow and do big things, not sit on our butts our whole lives, to receive Grace and let it birth something new in our hearts. We are born to run with Grace, to take it into every corner of the world. But you can’t receive Grace without guilt, without death. You can’t live again if you don’t die first. There’s no room for you to receive Grace if there’s nothing for it to replace.”

“But she died for my mistake, and I lived.”

He beamed into her face and held it, caressed it with both of his hands. “Am I selfish if I say that I’m glad you did?”

She sobbed then. She couldn’t help it. And he pulled her into his arms and hid her against his chest until the sobs faded and all the tears ran dry.

* * *

At night, curled up in bed, Alexandra lay awake and thought about the conversation she’d had with Matthew. He knew pretty much everything now. Almost. A lot of the details of the story were still missing, of course, but he knew that, and he seemed cool with it. Besides, a lot of those details were still, at least sort of, on a need-to-know, and there was nothing really in their relationship that put him on the list of people who needed to know. Not really.

She should be sleeping like a baby. She was holding nothing back. Except…

“Your name,” whispered that still, small voice.

He knows my name. My name is Alexandra Adelaide, legally, rightfully, and no one can say any different.

But some know different.

That’s not my name anymore.

Uh-huh.

I can’t tell him. That person is dead.

Not to Me. And not to him.

I can’t tell him.

Why not?

That was the question. If she was going to be honest with herself (which she wasn’t, really), she didn’t have a good answer. She knew the answer, but it wasn’t a good one.

She threw herself onto her back, sighed loudly, and stared at the ceiling.

No one ever had advised against telling her boyfriend her name. She wasn’t in witness protection, and the people who hunted for Aglaya had never known Alex’s birth name. She wouldn’t broadcast it, but telling someone with whom she was in a long-term serious relationship depended on her professional discretion.

Telling Matt didn’t violate her discretion. He was trustworthy. If she told him in confidence, no one else would even know that he knew. She trusted him with her life and her daughter. Her name seemed a small thing.

And it was a small thing.

Except it wasn’t.

She knew Matthew Gold well enough to know that her name (and more importantly, her ability to trust him with it) wasn’t a small thing to him.

They’d been together in an exclusive relationship for over a year, and they’d said “I love you” so long ago. She babysat his nieces and nephews, knew his whole family, and took groceries and prescriptions to his grandmother every few weeks. He was the one who replaced her garbage disposal, reset her alarm system and fixed all the little things that went wrong around her house. She’d lost track of the number of times they kissed and the number of times he held her while she cried and the number of times they tore their bodies away from each other so they didn’t go farther than they wanted.

And somewhere in all those seconds that made up all those moments that turned into all those days that added up to over a year of her life—the most magnificent, crazy, passionate, scary, incredible year of her life… there must have been a moment when it had been time to say, “By the way, I haven’t always been Alexandra Adelaide,” and she had missed it.

She twisted wads of her sheets around her fists and gritted her teeth. If she told him now, he’d never forgive her.

Too late. That was the reason. A bad reason, because it all boiled down to this: she was afraid.

But that part she knew.

Matthew Gold had been a surprise to her in many ways. He had turned out to be so very different—or so much more—than she profiled when she saw him in the children’s department of the Sunset Coast Department Store. And he loved her so much.

Fear, on the other hand, came as no surprise to her at all. She’d always been afraid, and she always would be. She was afraid of losing Matt, Aggie, and the wonderful dreamlike life she had on Orange Grove Avenue. Of having another terrible night like the one when she had watched Free Bird fall from the proverbial sky. Of the man known as Ivanovich and the man formerly known as Secretary Tokan. Of the dark and the light. She was afraid of never being able to trust, never having peace.

In short, of everything.

“What’s your boss’s name?” Beck quizzed from the other side of the screen as the hairdresser styled her expertly dyed and curled auburn hair in a professional-looking “updo” that Aili couldn’t have named if her life depended on it.

“Mr. William Rosman,” Aili answered.

“What business is he in?”

“Import-export.”

“What is he doing in Shangku?”

“Business.” Contacts made Aili’s eyes blue. Makeup made her cheeks look thinner and rosier and her eyes wider. Designer, wire-rimmed spectacles made the alterations to her face less obvious.

“What kind of business?”

“Mr. Rosman is a discreet but adventurous man who likes to spread his considerable wealth to those who understand his values.” In this game, sometimes the best answer was a deflection.

“How long have you worked for him?”

“Since I was twelve.”

“What does your boss like?”

“Young redheads.” And that was what all the changes to Aili’s appearance were about. A disguise, per se, wasn’t really necessary because Ivanovich didn’t know Aili, but they wanted her to resemble the young girl they needed to locate.

“Does he take good care of other people’s property?” Agent Beck asked her.

“The best.” Aili climbed into a tailored oxford shirt, a designer suit, and thousand-dollar high-heeled pumps. Mr. Rosman was very rich.

“Is that why you still work for him?”

“Mr. Rosman is the best boss anyone could have. And he’s great to do business with. He never goes back on a deal.” She stepped from behind the screen and looked Beck in the eye; he gave her disguise a nod.

“When does he need the merchandise and where should it be delivered?”

“He’ll send me back in his car a week from Friday, at seven thirty p.m. It will be available for pickup the next morning at the Kingdom Hotel.”

“What is he offering?”

“Mr. Rosman wants freedom in the use of the merchandise for the time he rents it and is prepared to pay ten times the usual fee, half up front.”

“And, of course, he’ll tell you the usual fee is at least twice what we already know. Be savvy about the bargaining, or he’ll get suspicious that you’re too placating. But don’t act like you know too much. If you’re too exact on his fees, he’ll suspect that you’ve been watching him somehow, and even if he believes you’re doing it to protect your boss’s interests, he won’t trust you with his business, let alone this girl.”

“I could say something like, ‘I’m making you a generous offer, Mr. Ivanovich. You wouldn’t be trying to cheat me, would you?’”

“That’s good, Agent. But take yourself out of it, you know. ‘Mr. Rosman is making you an offer. You wouldn’t cheat Mr. Rosman.’ Little girls who get constantly raped don’t tend to have the healthiest self-image, and Alice Carroll wouldn’t still be working for her abuser if she were a departure from that stereotype. He controls everything about her. All of her confidence is invested in this man, all of her self-worth is in pleasing him. And it wouldn’t hurt to show a modicum of jealousy toward the girls. Not enough to make him worry about the safety of his ‘property,’ but enough to make her back story convincing. Alice is coming to Ivanovich because she can’t please Mr. Rosman in that way now that she’s an adult. And that would sting for someone who is still so dependent on her molester.”

“That’s a good point. I’ll incorporate that into my cover.”

“And, of course, you have to be sure he introduces you to the right girl.”

Aili sighed and rolled her eyes. “Of course, Beck.”

“Don’t take it lightly. If you give a single piece of the message to the wrong girl, you’re dead. And probably the baby too. He can’t afford to keep that kid around if he realizes anyone knows it exists.”

“It,” Aili repeated.

“Well, I don’t know what it is.”

“Still. He or she.”

He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re right.”

“Beck,” she said, suddenly, “what if the baby’s a girl? And what if she’s pretty?”

“Then we will get her out before any of that can happen. Now tell me what the mother looks like.”

“Five-foot-tall, 105 pounds. Long, auburn curls. Thin, rosy cheeks. Small, upturned nose. Sharp blue eyes. And she smiles. She always smiles.”

Beck nodded at her response, then shook his head. “The smile should be enough to tell her apart.”

She swallowed hard. “You would think.”

Chapter Seven

It was happening. She was losing him. For fifteen months, things had been great, then all of a sudden, a couple weeks ago, he started to act distracted and agitated. And it got worse as the days passed. When she asked him if he was okay, he’d say, “I’m just busy.”

“With what?” she wanted to know. That kind of vague deflection wasn’t like him at all.

“I’m working on something. We’ll talk about it soon.”

Something told her it wasn’t something exactly happy, and part of her wanted to know so badly, even if it was something terrible, because waiting was no good. Jump right into the cold lake full body. Rip the bandage off all at once. Get it over with, and all that jazz.

But another part of her was too afraid to push too hard about anything. The last time she had pushed too hard on something, she’d scheduled her own execution.

The scared part won like it always did with her, and she waited. And the fear grew and bled over into other things. She looked over her shoulder at the supermarket. She drew a firearm when the mail carrier stepped onto her porch. She woke at night whenever a car backfired on the boulevard off Orange Grove Avenue.

Matt and Alex still had dates, family dates, like always, little Aglaya happily in tow. They still sat together in church. They still even kissed sometimes, and he was still the same loving, supportive, affectionate, hands-on daddy figure to Aglaya. But it wasn’t the same. He and Alex didn’t talk quite like they used to do before he’d started working on the mystery project. And he always seemed to be rushing off to work on whatever-it-was.

Then one night, she knew it was over. After they’d tucked Aglaya in bed, he settled deep into the sofa and lingered there, still and silent. She knew he was done with whatever it was. And she knew he was ready to talk about it too, because for the first time since they’d met, he was having trouble starting the conversation.

Finally, she said, “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on with you? What’s wrong with you, with us? I mean, are you trying to dump me?”

He shook his head. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. “I read The Idiot.”

Alex took the words like a hundred-mile slapshot to the solar plexus. And she knew that some part of her deep down always had wanted to be found out, or she never would’ve been so obvious with the names.

Matt watched her reaction, but he didn’t really seem to know what to do with it, so he just went on with his explanation. “I thought it would be cool, you know. I thought the book you took your daughter’s name from might give me some insight into your feelings for her, so one night, I Googled her name ‘Aglaya’ along with ‘Dostoevsky,’ and I found out which book you had gotten it from. So I ordered it, and it came, and I started reading. It’s a book, so what else would I do with it, right? And I did get insight, a lot more than I thought I would. It was funny because I quickly realized that not only was your daughter’s first name in the book, but also her surname. Weird, right? And the two sisters who were willing to sacrifice their own happiness to make young Aglaya happy? Alexandra and Adelaida. What a coincidence!” He gave Alex more of that uncharacteristic sarcasm, and it was hard for her to take.

“Matthew, you’ve got to understand—” she started, but he shook his head, and she fell silent immediately.

“So I figured, well, I’ll finish it. Maybe somewhere along the way it will start to make sense, maybe something will explain the whole confusing mess with you and me. So I read the whole thing, all six hundred plus pages, and you know what? It never did get better. In fact, at the end, it just got a whole lot worse.”

“I’m sorry, Matthew.”

“What is your name?”

“Alexandra Adelaide.”

“What is your real name?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Why can’t you just tell me? Two little words that mean nothing, but would change everything for me right now. Because I’m a bit, I don’t know, ‘freaked out’ I think is the technical term, at this moment, Alexandra Adelaide. You know? Because I realized that I don’t know what’s going on here. I’ve fallen in love with you, and I don’t even know who you are!”

Tears filled Alex’s eyes, but she was strangely hopeful. “You still love me?”

He sighed, nodded, muttered, “Yeah. Of course. I can’t just turn that off like a light switch. You know that.”

“Matt, I love you too. I do. It’s just…there are some things I’m not ready to explain right now. Can you understand that?”

He couldn’t. But he wiped away a tear and shrugged. “I actually really enjoyed the book, though.”

Alex gave an awkward laugh. “It’s a pretty good book. Too bad he didn’t give it a better ending.”

“His ending was perfect. Because life isn’t about the end. It’s about the decisions we make beforehand, the way we choose to treat people, hopefully with dignity and compassion. And the way we treat ourselves, how much Grace we choose to accept. That’s real life, right there. ‘The End’ isn’t life. Death’s not life. Grace is life.”

“Matt, I’m not allowed to share too many of the details, of course, because it is an ongoing case.”

“I’m not asking for the details; I’m just asking for your name. Your ‘bad guys’ didn’t know what it was, did they?”

“Of course not; they only knew my cover.”

He held her eyes. “And I wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I trust you, Matthew.”

He threw up his hands. “Then why are you acting like you don’t?”

“There are other reasons the whole situation is hard for me to discuss. You’ve got to understand that what happened was my fault. I went in there so confident, but I didn’t know what I was doing. I made a mistake, a stupid mistake. And I gave us away. Did you know, have you figured out it was Aggie’s mother that I got killed? Now I’m the one raising that poor girl’s beautiful daughter. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder what exactly I’d had to prove that I swam out so far over my head.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. Only you keep changing the subject. You rewrote Dostoevsky’s whole book, his perfect ending, just to change the subject! Because you will only believe that Grace is good if it doesn’t cost itself anything. But that entirely misses the point of it, the essence of what it is, of everything it exists to be. The whole point of Grace is that you don’t deserve it!”

Alex didn’t understand but only because she didn’t want to. “What are you talking about?” Her tone exploded with frustration—and with fear.

He frowned and shook his head, looking defeated. For a moment, silence reigned. “What is your real name, sweetheart?”

“Alexandra Adelaide. It’s my real, legal name, and anyone I was before is dead.”

“Not to me. And not to you either, I’m guessing, or you wouldn’t be so thoroughly terrified to tell me.”

“You know, Katya never knew my real name either.”

“Katya was Aglaya’s mother? That was her name?”

Alex nodded. “Katya called her daughter ‘Anya’ though. I took her daughter’s name away too.”

“She’d have wanted her daughter to be safe.”

“I was a stranger to her. She knew me as Alice Carroll. Through the looking glass. Funny, right? But she opened her soul to me. I knew her. She taught me what hope was. And peace. And Grace. And I thanked her by getting her killed.”

He shook his head. “Sweetie, things happen, and—”

He was cut off when her phone rang. Not the phone he’d seen a million times before, with the phone number he and all of Alex’s friends in Los Angeles had. The other phone, with the number only “they” had. There wasn’t any scheduled well-being call with her handler, and they didn’t have any issues to resolve that Alex knew about. She wasn’t waiting for any information at all, so this had to be it. The call.

The call she’d been waiting for for over four years. “I’m sorry, baby. I need to take this.”

He nodded and stood up from the couch. “If you want to talk more later, come over. It doesn’t matter what time.”

Alex turned around to answer the phone. When she turned back, he was gone.

* * *

Benedict Beck.

The caller ID had said “Restricted,” but the voice catapulted back into her memory from years gone by. From another life.

“Ms. MacIntire, we found Ivanovich.”

Just that. No “hello.” No “how are ya?”

After the botched operation in the Shangku jungle, Ivanovich had disappeared too. But not in the same way he had done for over twenty years. Before, whenever the authorities (the ones he couldn’t pay off, anyway) got close, the girls and all the men would disappear. And all their stuff too. They’d leave nothing behind but an empty brothel or compound, one that often burned as they left, sometimes to the ground.

This time, Ivanovich had left on his own, by himself, in the dark. He took with him nothing but some sort of bag that he probably always had packed for such a contingency. From the looks of it, he might have even left while his men still pursued the young FBI agent and the two little girls through the jungle.

This time, Ivanovich hadn’t “moved operations” like he always had before.

This time, he’d gone to ground.

This time, he was afraid.

“Where was he?” Aili asked Agent Beck.

“Some dirty rat hole in St. Petersburg. He was running a subsistence operation out of the back of an unregistered tattoo parlor. Seriously! His front is a place only patronized by gang members and convicts! ‘How the mighty have fallen,’ right?”

“And he’s rolling over on Tokan?”

“No canary has ever sung so sweetly or willingly.”

“So if Tokan is going to move on his daughter, it will happen now.”

“That’s why we’re here. Listen, we have to run down—”

For some reason that surprised Alex. It shouldn’t have. She’d known for over four years how things would play out when it came to it. Maybe she should break it off with Matt; he just got her feeling too… safe. She had to stop Beck’s instructions, make him go back. “Wait. Where are you?”

“We landed at LAX a few minutes ago, and they brought us a car and some supplies from your local field office. We’re headed your way right now.”Beck sat silently and stared numbly at Aili across the battered table in the tiny, musty room. He had been trying to grasp the importance of what she’d revealed for several minutes now. Finally, he said, “This is big.”

She nodded.

“Really…extremely…big.”

She nodded again.

“So you think we need to get the baby and the mother out of the brothel? They definitely will help us prove the case.”

She could only nod. What else?

“How do you want to do it then? We could get reinforcements, probably, in a couple days, organize a strike force, and—”

She shook her head adamantly. “No, we can’t. Ivanovich’s men have guns too, and about two dozen child slaves to use as human shields. Don’t think for a second that they’re not above that.”

“Oh, I know they’re not.”

“If we go that route, not only will we sustain casualties, probably heavy ones, but we are likely to cause the deaths of many unarmed, innocent kids.”

“If we got Big Fish, we’d save a lot more kids than are in this one brothel alone.”

Such pragmatism! Aili had to fight tears. She was being such a girl, and this was the wrong time, place, and situation to be a girl, but she just couldn’t think that way about it. “That can be Plan B, then. But we have to try something else first.”

Beck watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Agent, I’m all ears. What’s your Plan A?”

“We rent them.”

“Rent them?”

“The mother, she’s a prostitute, right? We hire her.”

“But we really need the baby. That’s the important thing. That baby’s DNA.”

“Ivanovich isn’t a nanny, and it sounds like he pretty much leaves the care of this child up to her. We learned about the existence of the child from a john, remember? She hid the baby in the satchel she took out with her because the child was sick, and she didn’t want to leave her sick baby alone in the compound.”

“Yeah. For a messed-up kid, she’s a pretty good mom.”

“Well, if we buy her for an out date, overnight, maybe she can somehow hide the infant in her luggage. Then we swoop in and get them both as far away as we can before he realizes that the infant is gone.”

She could tell Beck was skeptical of her plan, and that made her nervous. He wasn’t the biggest gambler in the world. “It’s risky. It’s really risky. Forget Ivanovich. How would you talk her into taking such a chance? She’d be terrified.”

“This girl would risk anything to save her child.”

“I don’t know, Aili.”

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it? Shouldn’t we at least ask her?”

He watched her silently for a moment, propped his elbow on his belly, and leaned his chin into his hand. Finally, “You can have one try. But we’ll stand by with guns in case something goes wrong.”

“It’s a deal.” Aili slammed her folder shut, gathered her stuff with one swoop of her arm, and stood up from her chair. She had some serious work to do.

Behind her, Beck said, “Well, then, let Operation Free Bird begin.”

Aili stopped, turned back, and stared at him, incredulous. “‘Free Bird’?”

Beck gave her an innocent look and nodded.

“You are such a freak.”

“Hey, now,” he said, but he was smiling.

Chapter Eight

Alex watched for the dark, nondescript SUV—because it was always a dark, nondescript SUV—from her bedroom window and made them the second they turned onto Orange Grove Avenue. She met them in the yard and instructed them to park the low-riding (which meant armored) Chevy in the garage where it couldn’t be seen from the street. Benedict Beck strode into the dining room while Melinda White, Alex’s handler from D.C., stood by the sink and gestured at the blue-eyed young man who’d accompanied them. “Ms. MacIntire, this is Agent Caplin.”

Caplin nodded his Mighty Ducks ball cap. “Ms. MacIntire.”

“Please,” Alex said. “It’s Alexandra Adelaide.”

All three agents wore street clothes, and they carried suitcases into Alex and Aggie’s house, suitcases that, in addition to their clothes and personal things, probably held stuff like semi-automatic rifles, emergency medical supplies, and night vision goggles.

Alex led White and Caplin through her kitchen into her open living-dining room area, and Beck looked around the place with a wrinkled brow and a frown.

“The floor plans haven’t changed since Agent White approved them.” Alex let the sarcasm ooze from her tone into the air. She wasn’t in a good mood, and it wasn’t just the fear.

“No, I only was wondering where your fella is. Is he hiding in the bedroom or something? Seems he’d want to meet the undercover coppers that showed up at the door.”

Alex raised her eyebrows at the Interpol man. “He’s at his house. Where else would he be at this hour of the night?”

“If my wife and daughter were in danger, I would be with them.”

“Well, I’m not his wife.”

“Fiancée, then.”

Alex glanced from Beck to Agent White, who was giving a Beck a dirty look. Beck didn’t notice, and the handler tried to act natural again when she noticed Alex looking at her.

Alex locked gazes with Beck. “What makes you think I’m that either?”

“Don’t be all secretive. I’m supposed to know these things, because I’m part of the team looking after you. Melinda told me all about how he bought that engagement ring a couple weeks ago now.”

“Did he, now?” Alex worked hard to hide her shock at Agent Beck’s careless revelation. And she thought she pulled it off well, but she was stunned. She was too shocked even to wonder if Matthew cared how little privacy he had since he’d chosen to be with Alex Adelaide… though those worries would come later, for sure.

Meanwhile, Melinda punched Agent Beck in the shoulder. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?!”

“She didn’t know yet, Benedict.”

Beck looked surprised, then for a moment, abashed. But then he pinned her with a glare. “You do know he loves you, though?”

Alex heaved a sigh, making her annoyance clear. “What of it?”

“Does he even know what’s going on right now? Does he know you’re in danger? Does he know we’re here?”

“We just had a fight, okay? So the ring is probably going back to the store, and, Benedict, you can be sure to let me know the second that happens. We were right in the middle of the argument, and when you called, he left.”

“Does he even know who called?”

“Just that it was a call I had to take.”

“He probably thought you were only blowing him off; after being with you for over a year, I’m sure he’s noticed your avoidance tendencies.”

“Don’t profile me, okay, Beck. I really don’t need that right now.”

“But you do need to tell him what’s going on.”

“I don’t want him here.”

“But now that you’ve let him into your life and made him such a big part of it, that decision might not be entirely up to you. He deserves the chance to be here for you now if he wants it.”

“He’s not your ‘fella,’ and you don’t know him, okay? So why don’t you get off what he deserves right now?”

“I know he bought a ring.”

She wanted to slap that self-righteous smirk off his face. “It’s my life. My relationship, okay? And I want him to be safe!”

“Don’t you think he wants the same for you? And does he get a choice about that? Or is your opinion the only Gospel on everything in this ‘relationship’?” He even used the finger quotes. Of all the times she had wanted to slap Benedict Beck, the urge never had been stronger than at that moment.

“Guys?” Agent Caplin stood in the entry hall, his cheeks and neck flushed red and his entire aspect tense and fidgety. The young agent probably was not accustomed to such unprofessional behavior between colleagues. Alex’s face burned as she looked at him. Beck returned his gaze mildly, business as usual; that man had no shame. “Can we, kinda, like, I don’t know, make a plan or something? I need to do a walk-through, at least, to get a 3-D idea of how to defend the place in the event of perimeter breach.”

“Yeah, of course, Caplin,” Agent White responded. “Why don’t we start in the backyard?”

Alex and Beck stood silently in place while White and Caplin exited out the patio door. When the slider closed behind them, Beck caught Alex’s eyes again. “You should at least tell him what’s going on. Even if you don’t want to let him come over, at least let him know what you’re going through.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just go ahead and buzz him on the phone right now and tell him all about the top secret Interpol slash Fibbie operation going down right here in my living room.”

“Doesn’t he live close? We can stay with the baby while you—”

Alex laughed. “Baby? Dude, she’s five years old now. Almost five and a half, and she won’t let you forget it, I promise you.”

“You should probably introduce me.”

On this one thing, he actually was right. Aggie would be extremely afraid if she woke to find strangers, especially armed strangers, inside their house. Alex led Beck to the little girl’s bedroom. She sat on the side of Aglaya’s bed and brushed a hand across her forehead. Aggie woke with a start and sat up. When she saw the strange man in her room, she gave Alex a startled look and asked her in a whisper, “Do we have to go now?”

“Oh, no, honey. We have some friends visiting, and I wanted to introduce you. Aggie, this is Mr. Beck.”

“Is Mr. Beck here to look for bad guys?”

“He is. And you know what, he says there aren’t any here now, none at all. But he and his friends Mrs. White and Mr. Caplin will stay a little while just in case any bad guys do decide to come over, so they can catch them.”

“Mrs. White and Mr. Caplin?”

“Yes. They are in the yard right now.”

“Is Mattie here?”

Alex shook her head. “No, he’s at his house.”

While Aglaya didn’t respond to that, she looked incredibly disappointed and nervous, and Alex realized suddenly how much the little girl trusted Matthew Gold. She probably even felt safer with him than with her mother. Alex understood, at least a little bit, how selfish she was to let her fear control everything in all three of their lives.

“Actually, I am going to go see Mattie now to tell him about our visitors.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Benedict Beck hide a smirk behind his hand. “Do you think you could stay here with Mr. Beck for a little while so I can go do that?”

“Of course, Mama.” All seriousness on her sweet little face, Aggie was just as brave a girl as Alex had always hoped she would raise her to be.

“Okay. Then give me a kiss and go back to sleep.”

Aggie gave her mama a big hug and a sloppy kiss and a minute later had even complied with the “going back to sleep” part of her mother’s request. Alexandra pushed past Beck on her way out of the room and jammed her feet into a pair of running shoes. She could feel Beck’s eyes on her. “Don’t say it,” she warned him.

“I wasn’t going to say a thing.”

* * *

The porch light was on. Matt had left his front door open with only his screen door (not barred like Alex’s) locked. She stood on his brickwork stoop and forced herself to ring the bell. Immediately, she heard a thud, followed by a rustle, then the distinctive shamble of bare feet across his hardwood floors. He shuffled out of the shadows, wearing black track pants and a threadbare T-shirt. His hair went in every direction, and his eyes looked sleepy and confused. He squinted at her. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and she was backlit by the porch light.

“Who is it?” he muttered. His voice, low and heavy, sounded weighed down by the dreams he probably had left only a few seconds before.

“It’s Aili MacIntire.”

He unlocked the screen door and opened it. “AYE-LEE?” he asked as he gathered her into his arms. He stumbled a bit, sleepily, and leaned some of his weight down on her. She wrapped her arms around him and braced herself to hold him up.

“A-I-L-I. It’s like a shortened Gaelic version of Alice.”

“Spell it again when I wake up.”

Aili giggled softly and patted his cheek. Matt kissed her briefly, then grabbed her by the hand and tugged her inside. He held her hand loosely as he led her down the hall into his living room. She knew where to go. Even if she hadn’t been here hundreds of times, his floor plan was almost exactly the same as hers; their simple ranch homes had probably been put up by the same builders however many years ago.

In the living room, an afghan lay in a puddle beside his couch. Was he sleeping on the sofa so he could get to her faster if she decided to take him up on his invitation to come over and talk? Had he left the porch light on for her too, and the door open as a welcome?

He grabbed his specs off the end table and clumsily slapped them onto his face. It took him a couple of tries, and Alex wanted to giggle. Then he picked up his phone from the coffee table. “What was it again?” he asked her, around a particularly dramatic yawn.

“A-I-L-I.”

He typed the name into his Notes app and put the phone back down. He sat on the edge of a couch cushion and rubbed his face with both hands. She sat down next to him, choking back another giggle. She really wanted kiss him. Like, really. Because they didn’t sleep together, she had never known before how slow he was at waking up, and it was almost the most adorable thing on the planet watching him try. She rubbed his shoulder tenderly. After a moment he swiveled his face around to look at her. He waited.

“Do you know who Edward Tokan is?” she asked him.

“Uh…yeah.” He was still foggy. “He was like some big guy in the U.N. a few years back, but there was some huge scandal about a human trafficking ring, and he was going to prison for a long, long time, then he disappeared. Did they ever find him, do you know?”

She shook her head, and he peered at her drowsily. Then she watched the realization come over his face like a new dawn. Suddenly, he was completely and utterly awake. “That was you. You were in the FBI, working with Interpol. You were involved in that.”

She nodded.

“I thought all this was need-to-know.”

“My boss from that mission, the Interpol guy, informed me tonight that, due to recent developments, that policy now applies to you.”

“Edward Tokan,” he muttered, then shook his head. “Is he why you were kicked out of the FBI?”

“I wasn’t actually kicked out. I know I implied that, but that’s not really what happened. I was demoted, but not terminated. I had been promoted to Agent just for that operation anyway. After I gave my testimony about the case to the Senate committees, the promotion was taken away, and I was an analyst again. But I didn’t lose the status because Tokan disappeared. I lost it because they couldn’t trust me with my own safety as an agent. I told you that I made a mistake and blew my own cover. Well, I jeopardized the entire operation, and a young girl, an enslaved prostitute in the Shangku brothel we were investigating, was killed.”

“Katya. Aglaya’s mother.” He reached for her hand and held it.

“Yes.” She played with his fingers, drawing comfort from the contact. “Katya was a fifteen-year-old girl who had been kidnapped from Russia at the age of twelve by a trafficker and pimp called Ivanovich. First, she was brought to the United States where she was forced to work in a brothel in Indiana. At that point, I, as an analyst, had been hunting Ivanovich for a year, and I had followed him from Michigan to Ohio. He had disappeared both times, and it took me about eight months to find him again in Indiana. The operatives with whom I was working had to fight through a lot of red tape to organize a raid, but they did so. Only when they got to the house, it was on fire, and everyone and everything in it was gone.”

“He’d been tipped off.”

“Ivanovich had access to so much money and resources. People would get bribed or intimidated, or they would just disappear, then he’d vanish, all his henchmen and his girls and sometimes boys too with him, just like ghosts. It had been obvious for over a decade at least, long before I was on the case, that Ivanovich wasn’t the head of his organization, that it was a lot bigger and a lot more powerful.”

“The Russian mob?”

Alex shook her head. “No, this group did things differently. They had a lot more power over law enforcement agencies around the world than any documented organized crime outfit. And the way it seemed to span cultural and political barriers was unique.”

“How so?”

“First because Ivanovich’s brothels tended to be almost all Russian people, but they could show up anywhere in the world.” Alex gripped his fingers; it wasn’t easy for her to remember all of it, and her voice rose with anxiety. “Second, because occasionally agencies would find themselves hunting other people similar to Ivanovich, but they could be of any nationality, and the brothels could be of any ethnic makeup, even ethnically diverse in themselves, but they would behave in so many of the same ways as his organization. Like culturally.”

He scratched his head. “Corporate culture, you mean?”

His MBA was at work even in the middle of the night. Alex nodded. “Exactly. A few years before I was onto the case, some extremely brilliant analyst for MI-6 wrote a report connecting all of these forced prostitution rings together and comparing them to retail or service franchises.”

“Like the McDonald’s of sex trafficking?”

Alex chuckled. “I know it sounds kind of silly, but the report laid it all out. There were certain cultural things within the organization that were just too eerily similar to be coincidence. This British analyst theorized that it was branding, and it was like light bulbs went on in law enforcement agencies around the world. But a forced prostitution company can’t exactly be traded on the New York Stock Exchange. And because of the strict hierarchal tableau of the organizational functions, it really seemed like the ‘parent company’ that ran all of these global franchises was controlled by one astonishingly powerful man.”

“And that was the guy they really wanted to find.”

“The Bureau gave Ivanovich’s boss the code name ‘Big Fish,’ and my first job on the case was to work with one of the FBI’s best behavioral psychologists. I collected information about the organization’s structure, culture, and the modus operandi of its crimes, so she could develop a profile of the unknown man for whom we were searching. When we were done with our research, about the time Ivanovich resurfaced in Indiana, we had a really detailed description of our faceless Fish.”

“But then your trafficker disappeared.”

“I found Ivanovich again in Shangku, the other side of the world, six months later, and looking back, I found him probably about the time Katya got pregnant.”

“So you all made a deal with Interpol, and you went there.”

She shook her head. “We couldn’t, not then. You’ve got to understand, there was no way. The government in that country was so weak and corrupt, an operation wouldn’t have been worth the plane ticket to get there. If Big Fish could corrupt and intimidate relatively wealthy and secure American cops, how much easier would it have been with Shangku officials who were so much poorer and more desperate?”

He wobbled his head. “You have a point. It’s never been a stable place.”

“Yeah, and at that point, child sex tourism was practically the country’s main industry. Western extradition treaties with them were shaky, and the government would never have authorized Interpol or anyone to work on their soil fighting what accounted for so much of their Gross Domestic Product. So Ivanovich got filed in the back of the Bureau’s cabinet. The profiler was reassigned, as were the ops people and most of the analysts. Eventually I was the only one left, and I had to divide my time between that and eleven other cases, all eleven of which the Bureau thought were much more workable and promising than Ivanovich and Big Fish. But then…”

His jaw fell open. “Oh! The civil war.”

“Yeah, the war. More than a year after I’d found Ivanovich in Shangku, the diseased government collapsed like a Jenga tower, almost overnight. Refugees fled the villages, tribal areas, and cities in the thousands and ten thousands, only to find themselves trapped in filthy, overcrowded, and dangerous camps on every border of the tiny country. In the midst of this chaos, the coup government had no structure or communications system. It was kind of like a school getting taken over by the Pre-K class; they don’t really want to deal with the teaching, the administration, or the infirmary, they just want to have endless recess and eat lots of ice cream.”

Matt smiled.

Alex shook her head to clear it and went on. “Anyway, the entire sovereign state of Shangku was one big state of emergency. The United Nations sent the peacekeepers, who aren’t supposed to interfere. But the government wasn’t doing anything and didn’t care, so the U.N. all but took over the country. They were monitoring the borders, organizing the aid NGOs in the refugee camps, overseeing the importation of all necessary goods, escorting the dignitaries and humanitarians throughout the country, hosting the journalists, and on and on. And from my cubicle in the Bureau’s headquarters, I watched Ivanovich. His business was flourishing more than ever before, and I asked my boss to contact Interpol.”

“Weren’t there crazy travel advisories for Shangku when the U.N. was there?” Matt asked.

“Of course. It was a civil war. Most of the foreign embassies and consulates had been evacuated; the rest were on guarded lockdown. No country would want their citizens flying into that for a vacation of all things.”

“So how was that business surviving, let alone flourishing, without the tourists?”

“Oh, that. The peacekeepers, of course.”

His eyes widened. “The peacekeepers?”

“Well, who else? The refugees didn’t have money for bread; they weren’t spending their pennies on the privilege to rape children, foreign or domestic.”

“The peacekeepers?”

“There is a real dark side to world politics, Matthew; trust me.”

“That kind of makes me sick.”

“Good. It makes me sick too. I think that’s the appropriate response.”

He nodded and shrugged. “So Interpol agreed to work with the FBI, and you were given a promotion.”

“I was made an operative because I was the only one left on the case. I knew more about Ivanovich, Big Fish, and their twisted empire than anyone else at the Bureau, because everyone who had ever worked on the case had been away from it for over a year at least. The Interpol guy Benedict Beck asked the Bureau to send an agent to help. The Bureau sent me because I was all they had; they made me an agent so they wouldn’t look like they couldn’t fulfill his request. More crappy politics.”

He sighed. “Politics.” He spit out the word like a bitter taste.

Alex gave a wry laugh. “I landed in Shangku with a lot to prove—to the Bureau, to Interpol, to Ivanovich, to Big Fish, and to the children whose innocence they sold for pocket change. I knew the FBI thought I was a mistake, a joke. But when Agent Beck met me, he took me seriously. I was a complete fraud, so I knew I had to get it right. And I had to do better than anyone expected of me. A lot better.”

Matt leaned back into the couch and pulled Alex with him.

“What happened?” he asked, once they were settled with her snuggled on his chest where she could hear his heartbeat.

“Operation Free Bird. Kinda lame, I know. But that’s what Beck decided to call it.” She needed to change tones for a while. She fought a few tears, and she continued, barely above a whisper. “Aglaya’s mother was the sweetest girl ever born. She lived in hell, but she believed in heaven more strongly than anyone I’ve ever seen. Her name was Katya Nikolanovna Kostaskaya. She was fourteen years old when she gave birth to my daughter. Algaya’s father is Edward Tokan. He was Big Fish, Ivanovich’s boss, and Ivanovich kept my daughter alive so he’d have some leverage against him. I planned the op to get Katya and Anya out of Ivanovich’s brothel so that Interpol could use them to build a case against Tokan.”

The next part was the hardest, and Alex struggled with her breath for a while. Matt rubbed her back gently and waited without a word. Finally, Alex said, “While I was running the op, I decided to try to save some of the other children in the brothel. And when I was trying to convince Ivanovich to believe I had this importer boss who wanted to rent his girls, I accidentally said his boss’s name.”

“Oh, no…” Matt’s voice was soft because he was barely breathing.

“Ivanovich made me in a heartbeat. He ordered that Katya, Anya, and I be executed. But Koli, his Shangku henchman, couldn’t kill a one-year-old baby, and he let us go. Ivanovich killed Koli, of course, and Katya was shot while we were escaping. She died in the jungle, and I mutilated her body so we would have evidence of who Tokan had raped and knocked up. I left her where she died, like she was road kill or something. I stole her baby, got on a helicopter, and flew to safety without her.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I’m so sorry. But it will be okay.”

She sat up then. “The reason I’m telling you this now is because of the call I got earlier. It was Agent Beck.”

He pushed himself upright. “Your boss in Shangku, yeah. You mentioned him earlier. What did he tell you?”

“Ivanovich was arrested in St. Petersburg, Russia, about twelve hours ago. He’s being questioned by Interpol, and he’s already giving evidence against Edward Tokan. But some of the most damning evidence in existence against Tokan is—”

“Aggie.” His posture was slack, and his eyes were blank.

She nodded.

He peered at her, suddenly intense. “Tokan is the one who wants you two to disappear?”

She nodded again.

“After that astonishing and astonishingly public fall from grace, Tokan still has enough friends to make something like that happen?”

“Babe, with a man like Edward Tokan, the charm is too superficial to look shiny up close. It’s never about friendship with someone like that. It’s about control. His lackeys are just as twisted and self-seeking as he is.”

“Oh, God.” And that was a prayer. “Alex—Aili, we gotta get back to her right now. Who is with her? You can’t have left her alone, can you? Let’s go.”

Alex shook her head. “No. No, to all of the above. Beck is already at my house with two FBI agents. They will take care of her. I need you to stay here.”

“Aili, no! To all of the above. Has it ever occurred to you that this Ivanovich probably hasn’t the foggiest idea where Tokan is right now? Has it occurred to you that someone who Tokan would send after Aglaya would be their best hope of tracing back to him?”

“Matt, seriously.”

“What if they’re using you and our daughter as bait?”

“No,” Alex shouted, even while her brain asked her, Did he just say ‘our daughter?’ She was too upset to deal with that.

“I should be there because you and Aggie are my priority! I don’t want to chase anyone out or get in their way, but someone needs to be there who cares more about you and that little girl than about some stupid case.”

Matt reached for Alex again, but she pulled away. “I have to go. Don’t follow me. Please, don’t follow me.” When he looked at her so… She couldn’t take it. She shouted, “I mean it.”

“No, Aili, honey, please. I’m sorry. I—”

She stood and started to head out the back door, but she looked back at him, fuming. “I protect my daughter! I always have. Since the second she was first in my arms. How dare you even imply that I don’t care if—”

Matt’s eyes were wide, and he held his hands in surrender when he interrupted her, “Aili, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean you. I—”

“You can’t understand. Stay here. I have to go.”

Alex bolted through the back door, letting it slam behind her. She ran through the yards, jumping fences when she needed to, making her way toward the house where Beck and company stood watch over the little girl she’d raised as her own for the last four years.

Why did this have to happen now? Maybe she’d have made up with Matthew. Maybe she’d have even told him her name eventually—without outside encouragement—and they both could have forgotten it in the next breath. Maybe he’d have given her that ring. Maybe they’d have even gotten married, and she’d have finally gotten to sleep—to make love—with him. Maybe they could have driven off into the sunset like in all those cheesy movies, and maybe she finally would have been able to escape the horror of the night that Katya Kostaskaya had died.

Man, Beck, even to bring back the memories! Beck, who would sooner die than mind his own business. Why couldn’t they have sent someone else? Anyone else. Why did he have to bring Aili MacIntire and all of her mistakes back home to Alex Adelaide’s doorstep? Just when she was starting over! It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.

Aili MacIntire was best off in her grave. Aili MacIntire had deserved to die. Like her father had always said, Aili MacIntire was too smart for her own good.

Aili’s hands trembled just a bit as she organized her notes. This was an important meeting. She was in the same room in the former Shangku police station where she had pitched Agent Beck and the rest of his team on her request for electronic surveillance in the jungle near Ivanovich’s compound. And in ten minutes she’d pitch him, alone this time, on an operation based on some extremely sensitive intelligence their digital recorders had gathered.

The problem with information this sensitive, she was afraid if he knew what she was asking, he’d be too alarmed to agree. Not that he would participate in any kind of cover-up — Benedict was a straight arrow if ever one had existed—but he might look for the go-ahead from way up the Interpol food chain. If that happened, their operation would be worthless. At the very least, it would get caught up in bureaucratic red tape while the children would go on being abused dozens of times every day. At the worst, it would hit a brick wall of government corruption, while children, two in particular, were murdered to hide it. And she couldn’t live with that. Too much was at stake.

She was afraid he would think she was making a logical leap, only trying to justify the months of surveillance they’d recorded at so much risk and expense. She was afraid he’d give their operation, her first case as an actual agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, away to people who didn’t care.

She had to argue her theory first, convince Beck that this operation would build a case against the Big Fish for whom they’d trawled so long. Her arguments had to be as solid as the Rockies. And after he was convinced by her reasoning, only then could she tell him who they were trying to catch.

Benedict came into the room then, his tea in hand and an expectant half-smile on his face. He had already guessed this was more than an average briefing. But if he had any idea what she had heard, there would be no smile at all on his face.

Well, she told herself, it’s Go Time.

He pulled out a chair and flopped into it. “Is this about that kid?”

“The baby.”

“Yes. The baby.”

“Yeah. Well, how many times in two decades has Ivanovich let a baby be born in one of his brothels?”

He tsked. “This would be the first.”

“So that baby is important.”

“It’s a special case, for sure.”

“This birth wasn’t an accident. Especially now. With all the birth control available? And Ivanovich can’t possibly have an aversion to abortion. Even if the girl managed to hide the pregnancy for a long time. Even if she gave birth before he knew it, which is extremely unlikely considering how little these girls wear, he wouldn’t have any problem killing a newborn just like he has killed so many young girls and boys over the years.”

He shrugged and sighed. “Yeah, he’s a regular monster.”

“So because there is a live baby in that compound, we can only conclude that baby is useful, in some way, to Ivanovich.”

“Agent MacIntire, we went over all of that when I approved your surveillance.”

She nodded and tapped her pen on the table, clicking the tip out of then back into the grip. “Well, I’ve been wondering why the baby is useful to Ivanovich. Certainly not because of the mother. Desperate little girls are a dime a dozen all over the world. This baby can only be valuable because of who the father is.”

“Sure. Blackmail factor, right?”

Aili shook her head adamantly. “If Ivanovich were out for blackmailing customers, there would be a lot of babies in his brothels. How many rich clients does he have? How many powerful ones? It would be hard to pick one over another. Besides, mongers talk, you know that. All those anonymous online bulletin boards they have? What if it started getting around that Ivanovich was blackmailing johns? That would be the end of his career in the sex trafficking industry. And when a career in that industry ends, it often ends in a shallow grave.”

He fidgeted with his tea cup. “So what do you think it is then?”

She held up an index finger. “The only reason for Ivanovich to want something to hold over the father of this baby is because the father of this baby has something to hold over him. Which begs the question, what could someone possibly hold over a man like Ivanovich?”

“Money.”

“He obviously has a fortune at his disposal, yet he uses it only when he has to disappear. The rest of the time, he practically lives like an animal.”

“Family?”

“If he has any family left, maybe he does care about them. But to find his family, you’d first have to know who Ivanovich is. And every law enforcement agency in the world has had two decades and has not been able to figure that out.”

“Prosecution, then.”

“He’s escaped that all over the world for decades. And soon as someone gets close, he disappears with his whole household to a completely different corner of the world and burns everything to the ground. Somehow Big Fish, that powerful boss of his, has always protected him. Cops and officials are corrupted and bribed. Witnesses are intimidated, sometimes they disappear completely. We had to chase him to bloody, war-torn, refugee-filled Shangku, for goodness’ sake.”

He threw up his hands. “So what do you think someone could have on him, Agent MacIntire? Obviously you don’t like any of the usual ideas.”

“Actually, I’m not trying to shoot down your ideas. I’m just pointing out how hard it would be to get leverage on this man. I actually think it’s all of those things, and more besides, including his career and his very life. But who is the only person in this world who could be holding any of those things over Ivanovich’s head?”

And Beck got it right then. “Big Fish. His boss.”

“Exactly. Big Fish controls the purse strings. Big Fish knows where this ‘John’s son’ came from. Big Fish can decide whether or not he’s allowed to ghost his operation the next time any cops get close. Big Fish can let him keep his job; Big Fish can have him shot in the back during his breakfast tomorrow. Big Fish is the only one in the world that Ivanovich could want leverage on. Big Fish is that baby’s father.”

“And you were thinking this all along.”

Aili nodded.

“And you thought your surveillance might uncover something about the child’s paternity.”

Aili nodded again.

“Did it?”

Aili raised her eyebrows. “Who is Big Fish? When I was first assigned to this case as an analyst, that was the question I was supposed to look into. Because he’s the one protecting Ivanovich, and at least a dozen more like him all over the world. If we took Big Fish down, we would have a much, much better chance at the middlemen like Ivanovich. We might actually, finally, get to free some of the children trapped in these brothels and imprison some of the men responsible for their torture.”

“And that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. So who is Big Fish? Even three years ago, I’d have been able to give you a pretty good profile. He’s obviously male, most likely somewhere between fifty and seventy years old. He’s probably from a first world nation. He’s extremely well-traveled. He’s probably white.”

Beck nodded, and Aili took a breath and adjusted her folder before going on. “Professionally, he’s wealthy. His interests in forced prostitution are great, but he has some kind of legitimate enterprise to explain his wealth and to launder the money from this operation. He has a Mensa-level IQ and at least one advanced degree and speaks multiple languages. He has great political power.

“Personally, he’s arrogant. He’s charming, but many people would also find him off-putting. He’s a man that a lot of people will want to get close to, but that few will want to stay close to, so he probably has been divorced multiple times. He’s likely been sued for mistreatment by employees in his legitimate enterprises, but because of his political power and corruption, none of the suits or charges ever went anywhere.”

Beck took a sip from his cup. “You know this man pretty well even if you’ve never met him.”

“Keep all that in the back of your mind and think about this: why did we, our team, come to Shangku? Why did Interpol and the FBI think this was a good opportunity to take down Ivanovich and find Big Fish when both of them have dodged prosecution for decades?”

“The civil war. And the refugees.”

“Not exactly. Not the unrest, the refugees, and the camps themselves, but what followed them here. The only reason we feel like we have a chance to get him here is because of the way the United Nations has stepped in to try to help the refugees and moderate the situation. We feel like we have ‘back-up’ here, because of their oversight.”

“And we do, of course, where there was no chance before. Because the Shangku government would never have prosecuted Ivanovich, never mind his boss. Not if they had eternity and all the evidence in the world. The Shangku government was simply too weak and too corrupt to stand up to these sorts of people.”

“And that’s why Ivanovich came here in the first place. Things got really hot in the States. The FBI came really close to him in Ohio and then in Indiana, and he wanted to be somewhere where he and Big Fish had a little bit more control of the government situation. So why does he stay here now that the U.N. has stepped in?”

Beck leaned forward in his chair. “Because the mongers here now are among the peacekeepers.”

“Yeah, but there are mongers crawling in every sewer around the world. He could go anywhere, he would never be short of clients. Besides, he’s always had that sixth sense about when he was being investigated. We’ve been here months. Why hasn’t he ghosted yet? In twenty years, he’s never stayed in one place this long anyway. Why does he take that much of a risk? How could it possibly be worth it?”

“Well, you’re right about that. He’s never been a big risk taker.”

“So he must think he’s safe here. He must believe his boss can protect him here. And now that one of his slaves has given birth to his boss’s child, his boss will have to protect him. Because not even Big Fish could get away with having a child living free anywhere that has half of his DNA and the other half from a kidnapped, enslaved, teenage prostitute.”

Benedict Beck sat in silence a moment. Finally he said, “What did you hear on your recordings, Agent MacIntire?”

It was time. She played it for him. His eyes widened. He covered his mouth with his hands. Only hushed and through his fingers, he said, “Oh, dear God, help us. Tokan.”

Tokan, that insufferable, arrogant prick that seemed to believe himself directly descended from the mythical Norse gods. Tokan, the thrice-divorced lawyer, politician, and professor. Tokan, who had inherited his father’s European car repair empire. Tokan, the top guy in what was thought to be the world’s premier humanitarian organization.

Edward Tokan, currently the Secretary-General of the United Nations.

Chapter Nine

Alex stole back into the house as quietly as she could, but it was kind of hard to surprise three trained spies. Beck met her in the front hall to ask how it had gone, but his brow wrinkled when he saw the look on her face.

“I told him,” she said. “Are you happy?”

“Is he angry?” he asked her, eyebrows raised.

“Not at me.”

“He didn’t want to come?”

“I told you already, I do not want him here.” She brushed past him the second time that night and collapsed on her couch.

“Aili—”

“Oh, come on, Beck. Like you need a third civilian to guard, anyway.”

He sat down beside her. “First of all, you’re not a civilian now, and I doubt you will be ever again. Second, the reason I think he should be here has nothing to do with tactics. Though I can’t imagine how having a protective lover and father—”

“He’s not her—”

“Except he is. For all practical purposes, he is. And having him between you and the bad guys would probably not be a bad thing for either of you.”

“Unless he got hurt.”

“He might keep you and little Aggie from being hurt, if you let him. But like I said, that’s not why I think he should be here. That’s a lot more personal.”

Alex sighed heavily and threw her hands into the air. “Yeah, it’s personal, Beck. So why can’t you mind your own business?”

“Is it a crime to want to root for you? Is it a crime to care, to wish that now you had better than you’ve always gotten?”

A few tears escaped Alex’s eyes. In a broken voice, she asked, “Why did you believe in me, Beck, when I got to Shangku?”

“Why didn’t you believe in yourself?”

She didn’t answer.

“When you got there, I saw a miserable little girl. Not unlike a lot of the ones we were fighting to free. But you were tough and sharp. You were lovely, a brilliant analyst and a competent new agent.”

Her responding laugh had all the humor of a train wreck.

“You were. It was all that misery—all that fear—that got in your way. You were beyond passionate, and that was great. But your impatience to prove yourself made you anxious, and that anxiety gave way to an unnecessary urgency that compromised your judgment. I know the Bureau didn’t invest a lot of confidence in you, and I’m sorry about all the political nonsense. But it was never because of any lack of skill on your part. That place is full of profilers, you know, and their concern all along was that your insecurity left you vulnerable to self-sabotage. And that’s exactly what happened.”

Another sardonic laugh. “You don’t have to remind me. Why didn’t you see what they saw? Why didn’t you stop me before I screwed everything up?”

“I did see it coming, but I hoped if someone tried treating you better, it would play out differently. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough, but someone had to have enough hope to try. I was there, so it had to be me.”

“You tried to warn me, but you should have stopped me, Beck. You should have been a boss, not a cheerleader. You shouldn’t have let me kill Katya and ruin the whole operation.”

He gave her a focused look and started to speak slowly. “I am terribly sorry Katya died, but you didn’t kill her. That was an accident more than it was anything else. And you didn’t ruin the operation, Aili. I am dreadfully sorry if that is what you believed all these years, but it’s not the truth. At all. Not even a little bit.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“I’m serious, MacIntire. Don’t you remember what happened after that night?”

“Yeah, Ivanovich escaped, and Tokan vanished.”

“Of course they ran! Neither of them was ever going to stick around and hold out their hands to be cuffed. If that’s what you expected, you need to reread your Criminal Psychology 101 textbooks. What I mean is, do you remember what happened at the brothel?”

She shrugged. “The guards left, and it closed down.”

“Well, that’s part of the truth, but not the good part. When the guards got back from chasing you and the baby through the jungle, they went back to the brothel, but Ivanovich was already gone. And they abandoned it. The U.N. peacekeepers arrested all but one of them at different Shangku border crossings throughout the following week. And what about the children?”

Alex sighed brusquely. “What about them?”

“Nineteen teenage and preteen girls and five young boys were left in the brothel by themselves, unguarded. While you and Katya’s baby—her living, safe baby—were still on your connection flight to Paris, Interpol agents walked through the front gates and rescued all of those child slaves, without a single shot fired. They were taken to an aftercare program in Moscow, a program funded by an American-based NGO. They were given counseling and love, and the older ones were given vocational training. After six months, twelve of them had been returned to their families. I heard a couple months ago that one of the older girls is married now and expecting her first child.”

Alex wrestled with her tears. “But not Katya Kostaskaya. She didn’t go back to her family.”

“No, Katya went to God. But those children, the ones you tried to save that day, the ones you risked your life for because you couldn’t stand the thought of them being stuck with Ivanovich a year or more while we built a case… those children only waited one more day. And today, every single one of them is free, and safe.”

Alex’s tears burned out of her soul and down her face like acid. Her jaw locked and her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white and her fingernails—short as they were—dug into her palms.

Beck squeezed her wrist gently and went on in a voice slightly broken. “I don’t know about you, but to me, that is a huge success. Huge. Because that’s why I went there. That’s why I do this job. For what those twenty-four young people now have. Freedom. And I think if it had played out any other way, if he had had any time at all to think, Ivanovich would have ghosted them all again, just like he had so many times before. But God works in mysterious ways. The pressure on Ivanovich built up fast enough in the right spots that he ran like the coward he is, and today those children are free. And I didn’t know Katya Kostaskaya in person like you did, but from what you’ve told me about her, I think that’s something she would have gladly given her life for.”

Alex gritted her teeth and kicked her running shoes across the room, upsetting several pieces of bric-a-brac on her entertainment center. “Probably, Beck. But she shouldn’t have had to. Who wants to live in a world that gives people, little girls no less, those kinds of choices?”

“Life’s not fair, Aili MacIntire. But God is still good.”

She thrashed at Beck, and he grabbed her hands, held them calmly. She leaned in close to his face. “Katya’s gone; Aggie doesn’t have her! How can that be good?”

He held her eyes the whole time she shouted at him. His tone of response was calm and even. “Because God is still good.”

She finally freed her hands from his grasp. “But you’re trying to make my huge, stupid mistake that day sound like some kind of miracle.”

“‘Sound like?’ Aren’t you supposed to believe in miracles?”

“Well, it depends on what sense you’re talking. I mean—”

“Stop it. That’s the fear speaking. Or maybe the devil himself. No, God comes out of this machine a lot more than we dare give Him credit for. As bad as things can seem, we have no idea how much worse they could be if He wasn’t here.”

“Well, that’s a comforting thought.” Her tone dripped so much irony it must’ve splashed him in the face.

He sighed. “Ah, Aili, don’t you know why I got all up in your business tonight? Why I told you that you had to talk to that fella of yours?”

“Because you’re an incurable meddler. And because you’re a sick sadist who likes to see me cry.”

He laughed. “For the same reason I gave you a chance in Shangku, that I fought with Interpol and the FBI that you should be the one to protect and raise Katya Kostaskaya’s daughter. The same reason I’m sitting here right now explaining all of this to you. Because I want to see you let go of that ridiculous fear and misery that’s been screwing you up for years, probably all your life. I want you to recognize all the gifts and talents you’ve been given and live the big, amazing, wonderful life you were designed to live. Because when I heard you were seeing someone and what a good guy he was, I had so much hope for you, and when Agent White told me he bought an engagement ring, it did my heart a lot of good. Because I want to see you happy.”

Alex tried to breathe around the tight, full heaviness in her heart. “Sometimes you drive me crazy, Benedict, but I think my life would be better if I had a big brother like you.”

He tsked then grinned at her, even as his eyes glistened. “But you do. Maybe he lives a continent, an ocean, and eight time zones away, but you do.”

She laughed a little bit, and he gave her a quick squeeze around the shoulders. They sat in silence a moment, then she burst into tears all over again. He posed a question only with his eyes.

“I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile and pulled her into his arms. “I know.”

* * *

The next day, Alex sat on her back patio with Agent Caplin, watching Aglaya play in the yard. Agent Caplin rested his arms against his belly like he was trying to look relaxed, but he sat up very straight, and he kept using his left foot to check the ankle holster under his right pant leg. He was seriously damaging Alex’s already-fragile calm.

“Beck was right,” she said, not to make conversation, or she would have talked about the warm sunshine and the light, cool breeze. The tow-headed, baby-faced agent was annoying her enough with his cool, professional vigilance that she wanted to mess with his head to make herself feel better. She continued, “He did want to come. My ‘fella,’ I mean.”

Caplin’s eyes scanned the yard again in that creepy way they always did. He nodded, just barely, in an acknowledgment, not necessarily of any specific words she had said, but just of the fact that she was talking.

“My ‘fella.’ I suppose that’s as good a thing to call him as anything else. Matthew Gold. That’s his name, my boyfriend slash fiancé slash soon-to-be ex.”

“I know his name.” Caplin’s voice was quiet but direct.

“Of course you do. You probably know more about him than I do. Your phone probably has his last five years of credit card statements saved on it. You could probably touch a button and find out, to the penny, the balance of his mortgage at this exact moment.”

“He doesn’t have a mortgage.” His cool, blue eyes still scanned the yard. “He paid cash for the house on Santa Maria Boulevard about eight years ago, three months before he married an inner-city kindergarten teacher named Sarah Levin. He got the money by selling his paternal aunt a piece of his equity in his father’s businesses Sunset Coast Retail Company and Sunset Coast Holdings Company.”

Alex realized then what a fun game they were playing. If she were going to mess with him, he would mess with her right back. Well, bring it on, she thought. She was about to get real with this guy. Let’s see what would happen then. “He wanted to come because he doesn’t trust you guys.”

“Hm,” he mumbled. It wasn’t a comment really, but another basic acknowledgment of the sound of her voice.

“He doesn’t trust you. He thinks you’re using my five-year-old daughter as bait.”

Silence then, but it wasn’t the same sort of focused, apathetic silence. This wasn’t the silence of a busy man trying to ignore her dull chatter so he could do his very important job. This was a thinking sort of silence. He was weighing his words. That scared Alexandra because it meant that Matt had been right.

Alex watched lovely Aglaya play and laugh freely in her own backyard where she should have been safe, and she couldn’t breathe.

Finally Caplin said, “You’re not exactly a civilian, Ms. Adelaide, and we don’t look at you that way. You’re one of us, part of our team. You did a lot of good work for the Bureau, and to this day, you’re still working for us, guarding that child, and doing a good job of it. Because you understand our work and what’s at stake, I respect you enough to be straight with you. But surely, you must also understand there are some things going on in this world that carry a little more weight than a single life, even if that life is an innocent child.”

Tears streamed down Alex’s cheeks, and she shook her head. She watched Aggie pick a daisy and chase a butterfly, her striped sundress swirling around her as she moved, a neon rainbow of colors. “Not to me.” Her tone was soft and strangled, but deadly serious.

“I will do everything in my power to protect that little girl right there,” he said, and she knew he meant it. “But Edward Tokan must be stopped.”

And Alex couldn’t argue with that reasoning, not at all. Edward Tokan had been responsible for the serial abuse of an estimated fifteen thousand children over twenty-five years, the untold grief of their desperate families, and the deaths of probably at least eighty percent of those miniature slaves. An estimated twelve thousand children dead. And counting. That was not okay. That was not an acceptable loss. It was horrifying and sick and evil, and it had to end. Sooner, not later. Someone had to put a stop to it.

But this…this was Aglaya. This was Aggie, her Aggie. She watched the little girl climb into a swing and hang upside down in it. That one, single, little girl was everything to her. How could anyone live in a world that presented such miserable choices? Watching those familiar strawberry-blonde curls, which were more precious to her than gold, trail back and forth over the grass, Alex asked Agent Caplin, “When did the world get so, so small?”

He watched Aggie too, and maybe his eyes glistened, just a little bit. Maybe. “As small as one human heart, you mean? It’s always been that small.”

Alex had a flash of memory then from, of all things, Dostoevsky’s book The Idiot. It wasn’t black and white text anymore, though. She saw the scene in her head, of just one moment, but such a poignant moment—and so utterly confusing. She saw Prince Leo Myshkin giving his last twenty rubles to the drunken General Ardalion Ivolgin, even after several people had told him, expressly and pointedly, to do nothing of the kind. Her throat tight and her hand over her mouth, she murmured, “I guess the Idiots have always known that.”

Caplin gave his trademark barely nod and observed, “Those Idiots are much wiser than we smart people.”

Katya Nikolanovna Kostaskaya lay on the soiled mattress, propped up with a stack of lumpy, ragged pillows. She was sore, exhausted, and she rested in such a terrible place, yet she was so oblivious to all the nastiness that she might as well have been lying in the richest bedroom of an enormous royal palace. She held her newborn daughter against her breast and gazed down at her with amazement.

“Oh, Anya, you are beautiful,” she whispered, in Russian, of course, though she knew the baby would never speak more than one single word (Mama) of her birth mother’s native tongue. “So beautiful, you are. I am so glad you’re here. I love you so much. You are my special blessing from God, and I love that He gave me you, even though I know I can’t keep you long. I can keep you just long enough, and that is exactly how it should be, and you are like the sunshine in my life.”

She played with the baby’s toes and her face split into a grin when the tiny girl gave a yawn that was interrupted midway by the tiniest hiccup. “Oh, my sweet girl. I love you. And you’re going to have a lovely life. This is an ugly place. I’m sorry because I know it’s dark and dirty here, but you won’t live here long in this ugly place. You are going to grow up in a bright place. A clean place. A place nicer than anywhere I have ever lived. Trust me, I know these things.”

The baby opened her eyelids just a crack and peeked at Katya through them. “You’re skeptical, I can tell,” Katya teased the baby. “But I do know, and I will tell you how I know. I have seen you. I’ve seen you digging in the yellow sand by a big ocean, and I’ve never seen an ocean up close, but you will. You will! I’ve seen you playing in parks with all kinds of people who love you and run like the wind, with beautiful pink-blonde hair trailing behind you almost into eternity. You are almost bald now, but you will have your mama’s curls someday, little Anya. And I have seen all these things. God has shown them to me.”

Katya kissed the baby’s forehead, and the baby cooed softly and sighed.

“Yes, He’s shown me. I got to see these things now, because—” And her voice broke, the only time and only a little. She took a breath then said, “Because I won’t be there. But it’s okay, sweet Anya. It’s okay. You will never want for love. You can trust me; I have seen it. Because your other mama will love you with all of her whole heart. And you will love her too, just as much. She will take such good care of you! It will be better for both of you, because you have each other than either of you having me. She will call you ‘Aglaya,’ which is a most beautiful, wonderful, special name. And her name is Aili.”

Katya laid two fingers on the baby’s chest, feeling the rapid flutter of the tiny child’s heartbeat. “I know all of these beautiful things, my sweet girl. You can trust me because God showed them special just to me. Isn’t that nice? I am so thankful, and I love Him very much. You will love Him very much too. I have seen that more than anything.”

She stroked the baby’s rosy cheeks. “But you want to know the strangest thing? The most magnificent thing? You know that as beautiful it is, the place where you will be? The place where I will be is even much more beautiful! Isn’t that crazy? But it’s true. I have seen it. He showed it to me. And He was there with me, I saw Him! Can you believe it, sweet Anya, my love? It’s true, and it couldn’t possibly be any more beautiful!”

Chapter Ten

Alex’s phone rang, showing a photo of Wendy on the screen. Had Matt asked his sister-in-law to call Alex?

Matt had called Alex several times, but Alex wasn’t doing any answering. Alex made a smile for her voice and answered the phone.

“Hey, stranger,” Wendy greeted, that musical lilt in her voice. “What’s up?”

Alex cracked her fingers and forced her tone into natural parameters. “Oh, nothing much.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, fine. Normal, you know.” Huge lie. She and Aglaya had rattled around her house for two days waiting for something—probably something bad—to happen. She was bored and anxious and tired of being bored and anxious. And she missed Matthew Gold like heartache. “What about you?”

“Oh, just the standard crazy life for a mother of five. You should’ve seen…” Wendy described the mess her kids had made in the kitchen when they made her breakfast last Sunday.

Alex knew all about crazy parenting. As much as she loved Aglaya, the little girl made a trial of herself these days. Aglaya missed her Mattie. Aglaya wanted to go to the park. Aglaya wanted to go see Fern. Aglaya wanted to have Rachel and Micah over to play Escape from the Desert Island. Aglaya didn’t understand why she couldn’t have any of these things that she had asked for so, so nicely.

Alex had lost track of the number of times she had had to tell herself the same thing she’d had to tell herself the day she’d lost Aggie in the front yard, the same day she and Matt had started their relationship (Crap! Matt. Don’t think about Matt! It’ll be easier): “Don’t go off on her. If you do, you’ll scare her, and if you scare her, she will learn to be panicky and unstable, not sharp and vigilant.”

She covered the phone for a second to take a deep breath and tuned back to her normal act for Wendy. “How’s Jacob?”

Wendy laughed and related the latest stresses of Jacob’s job at Sunset Coast. Matt worked at the store too, of course. Alex wanted to ask Wendy about him, but if Wendy didn’t know anything was wrong, it would shoot up a huge warning flare if his almost-fiancée asked his sister-in-law how he was doing. But the questions burned through Alex’s brain day and night.

What was he up to? Would he go to work with all this going on or would he be too worried? Was he eating right and exercising so he stayed sharp? Did he think that he and Alex were over? Were he and Alex over? Was he seeing anyone else yet? She knew she had gotten ridiculous, but in the absence of anything to do, her thoughts just circled the block a million times and went exactly nowhere.

The phone lapsed into awkward silence, and Alex rushed to fill it. “How’re the kids? How’s potty training going with Sarah?”

“She makes me feel like a novice parent, Alex. Honestly. None of my other kids were so bound and determined to stay in diapers. I’ve tried everything.”

“Incentives?”

“Stickers, candy, extra iPad time. None of it has worked. What did you do?”

“I don’t know if I have any advice to give you, Wen. It almost seemed like Aggie was as ready to be done with diapers as I was.” Life had been easy then. Not like now.

Mostly Alex was bored. She hated being bored. Worst thing in the world. Except that wasn’t exactly true. The worst thing in the world was being bored while you were in danger. And, oh, yeah! Alex had the danger part covered too. Yay (without any hint of actual glee, of course).

“How is your sweet girl, anyway?”

“Oh, Aggie’s fine. You know Aggie.”

“Did you take her to the park today? It’s such a nice one. Not too hot.”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? No, we haven’t made it out yet. Maybe later.” Lie. All they had was these four walls and their tiny backyard for the foreseeable future.

Alex warned herself constantly to be calm and vigilant. Keep your head. Be alert. Scan for threats. Reassure Aglaya. Keep your head. Be alert. Look for threats. Be calm and reassuring. Keep your head. Be alert. Watch for threats. Stay calm. Keep your head. Be alert. And if you shoot yourself right now, it will all be over, and you won’t have to listen to this annoying broken record anymore, and wouldn’t that be just so completely, deliciously, wonderfully beautiful! Freedom at last; that would be the ticket!

Alex had no idea what Wendy had told her or what question she was now waiting to be answered. “Oh, that’s my oven alarm, Wendy. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, housework. It never ends, does it?”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s talk again soon, okay?”

Kiss, kiss. Buh-bye. Click.

Alex kind of hated herself for being so false and dismissive with this kind and interesting woman who had become one of the best friends she’d ever had in her life. But it couldn’t be helped. She also had gotten pretty stinking tired of making that same excuse for every asinine thing that she did.

Man, she really hated being bored.

* * *

Alex had burned her toast.

Sometimes she overheard the two FBI agents talking in the next room about the things the Bureau had done to “expedite” the situation here on Orange Grove Avenue.

They were using Aggie as bait.

Most definitely.

They still called Aggie “Aglaya,” and she knew not to trust them too much. There wasn’t much more Alex could do to keep her daughter safe, besides being just as sharp and aware as she always had been. And she only went to sleep when she knew Beck had both eyes on Aggie, which meant she never really slept more than ten minutes at a time. That was fun. She was tired. But That Just Could Not Be Helped.

Well, it couldn’t be.

Unless I ask Matt— Alex silenced that particular line of questioning really fast. Except there was a little, teeny, tiny part of her that wanted to pack a bag for Aggie and give her to Matt and ask him to hit the road with her, to hide her somewhere while Alex stayed with Agent Beck and the two FBI clowns and waited for whatever was going to go down in the house on Orange Grove Avenue.

She knew it probably wouldn’t work. And it would probably get Matt killed. And that really would be no fun at all.

She could come up with some pretty crazy/stupid ideas when she was overtired and bored to tears and losing her mind.

Beck moseyed over to the kitchen and sat down at the buffet. “How’s it going?”

She wanted to throw the brick of black toast at his head. “Oh, I’m just lovely this morning. How are you?”

“It’s rough. I know.”

“Those two, they don’t really care about my daughter. She could be six feet under as long as they got the tiniest clue to Tokan’s whereabouts.”

“That’s not true. Of course, they want to find Tokan, but they will protect your daughter too, if they can.”

“But they wouldn’t kill for her, not if it meant losing a witness.”

“Matthew Gold might.”

“We’ve been over this, Beck. I’ve made up my mind.”

“I know.” Beck took a bite of the burnt toast and tossed back half a cup of unsweetened black coffee with it.

“Matt drinks sugarless black coffee too. It’s so gross.”

“Speaking of Matt, I talked to him last night.”

“You what?”

“It’s not a big deal. I just gave him a quick call while you and Aggie were making that dinner for us.”

“Benedict!”

“I just wanted to see how he was and make sure he understood the situation. You did a good job of informing him, and he figured out a lot of the rest for himself. He said he told you that he didn’t trust us with Aggie because he knows how badly we want to make this case. He understands what we were fighting, but more than anything, he just wants his Aili and his little girl to be okay.”

“How is he doing?” Alex asked. She managed to sound a lot calmer than she was, but she couldn’t help asking. She practically was dying to know.

“Well, about what you would expect. He’s obviously concerned and said he’s been praying a lot. He desperately wants to see you and your daughter and asked me if there is anything, at all, that he could do to help you two.”

Alex stiffened. “And what did you say?”

“I told him that you would be extremely concerned about his safety if he was here and would be most at ease if he stayed away and looked after himself.”

“Good.”

“He said, ‘I’ve been with this woman for well over a year. I know all about her freak-outs. What do you think?’ He’s a sharp one, that fella of yours.”

Alex looked down at her hands.

“I just told him that I would talk with you. And that’s all I’m doing now—keeping my word.”

“Well, then you’ve kept it. You are absolved. God bless you; go in peace.” Alex genuflected dramatically then waved him away with her hands.

“There’s no reason you can’t answer his calls, MacIntire. It’s not like he can get shot through the mobile phone waves.”

Alex shook her head. “I miss him, and he is smart, and if I talk to him, he’ll talk me into letting him come over.”

Beck tsked. “And we can’t have that, can we?” He took another bite of her inedible toast and started to walk away, but over his shoulder, he said, “He’s a keeper, though. I tell ya. You should marry him. Shoot, I’d almost marry him. If I were single, and a lady, I would steal him from you in a heartbeat.”

Alex didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she just rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you would make a particularly charming lady, Benedict Beck.”

“Hey, now!” he retorted from across the living room. “There is no need to be uncivil here, no need a-tall.”

Then she did laugh. Just a little.

He was just so… so English.

Matt’s eyes were blurry when he walked out of the cemetery, and that was probably why he walked into the jogger. Looking back he would note how something as simple as teary eyes could completely alter the course of a man’s life. But in this moment, he would only be concerned about the man he’d hit. The man was short-ish, about six inches shorter than Matt, so when Matt crashed into him, he kind of went sprawling.

Matt felt terrible, of course. He lifted his glasses a bit and wiped his eyes quickly so he could see clearly to help the man to his feet. “I am so sorry.”

The short man smiled in a friendly way and brushed himself off a bit. “Don’t worry about it, man. No blood, no foul, right? And I’m not bleeding.”

Matt tried to chuckle. It didn’t sound right. It had been over a month since his laughs had sounded any kind of real at all. The jogger’s face took on a concerned look. He glanced at the cemetery gates then back at Matt. “Are you all right, man?”

Instantly, Matt’s eyes filled with tears again. He dodged the jogger’s gaze, amazed that the other man didn’t feel uncomfortable watching him blubber. But he seemed so kind, and he had a quiet, comfortable air of confidence about him that was soothing. Matt cleared his throat and forced out the words. “My wife’s body is there.”

The man nodded. “I hear ya. That’s rough. She must have been a wonderful woman.”

Matt nodded and looked away.

“You’re a good man to have loved her so much.”

This time Matt shook his head, more tears. He took his glasses off and rubbed the lenses with the hem of his T-shirt, as if they were responsible for his current vision issues.

When he put them back, the jogger was still gazing at him in that gentle, friendly way. “You wanna get some coffee?”

Immediately, about a million excuses formed in Matt’s mind, but he couldn’t force a single one of them out of his mouth. “Okay,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish.

“Great. There’s the most amazing little greasy spoon diner about a block down Escritorio. You can get some pancakes or something if you want too—my treat.” They started walking together in the direction the jogger had indicated.

“Coffee’s fine. I haven’t had much of an appetite recently.”

“Yeah, and no offense, man, but you look it.”

Matt laughed then, and it actually sounded halfway okay.

“I’m Levi O’Brien, by the way.”

“Matt Gold.”

“It’s nice to meet you, brother.”

Several minutes later, sitting in a booth sipping a hot cup of coffee, Matt started to gather himself. He was more relaxed than he had been in weeks, since… well, you know.

“So…Matityahu1?”

Matt shook his head. “Actually, my Hebrew name is Asher2. My dad had an old friend he wanted to call me after.”

“Asher. Meaning ‘happy, blessed.’”

“A bit of a departure, I know.”

“But a good name.”

“I guess. I’m not really feeling it right now.”

“That’s understandable.”

They each took a drink of their coffee.

“Your wife is really buried in that cemetery?” Levi asked then. “I’m only surprised, because… well, see, I live in the neighborhood and jog past there all the time. I’ve made friends with the caretaker, and as I understand it, it’s kind of a strict place…”

Matt followed Levi’s gaze down to the tattoos all over his arms. “I went through a rebellious stage in my late teens and early twenties,” Matt explained. “And your supposition is accurate; I could never be buried there. Not unless the rules changed drastically, which… will not happen.”

“Then why…?”

“Sarah’s parents are a lot more strict than us, than we were, well, her and me. Anyway, it was a big deal to them. I didn’t care. I mean, that’s just her body. My Sarah left that behind five weeks ago.”

“But what about your body?”

“They could throw me to the dogs for all I care.”

“Matthew, for someone of your faith, that’s a damning insult.3”

“It’s about what I deserve. I’m the one who was too busy to save my wife’s life.”

“We all make mistakes. And God forgives.”

“I guess that depends on the God that you know.”

“Last I checked, there was only One. I mean, we always try to make gods of other things: other people, stuff, chemicals, ourselves. But none of that can stand before the Eternal Creator, can it?”

Matt sighed, didn’t respond. He looked away from Levi, glancing around the diner. An older woman nearby cut into a stack of pancakes, and Matt’s stomach growled. Levi signaled the waitress, and when she appeared, Matt pointed at the woman’s breakfast. “Could I have that?”

She smiled, scribbled on her pad, and started to walk away.

Levi stopped her. “Miss, hold the bacon, please.”

She nodded and left.

“Thanks,” Matt told him. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“No prob.”

They lapsed into silence, and while Levi seemed content enough to sit with it, Matt soon grew uncomfortable. Levi had a tattoo printed on the back of his right hand so that as the hand rested on the table, Matt read the text as upright. “You’ve got a bit of ink yourself,” he observed, just to make conversation.

The other man nodded. “The characters on the left spell the Greek word ‘Abba,’ which is kind of like saying ‘Daddy’ or ‘Dada’ even. I’m sure you recognize the characters on the right.4”

Matt nodded. “It’s HaShem, the Tetragrammaton5. It’s the Hebrew abbreviation for our God’s name.” The two words were joined in the middle by a small, simple heart. “It’s kind of strange to me to see the two words juxtaposed like that.”

Levi sounded like he was quoting a poem or something. “‘For you did not receive a spirit that again enslaves you to fear, but you received a Holy Spirit, giving you sonship, and by it you cry, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit of God Himself witnesses to our spirits that we are children of God.’”

Matt pursed his lips, turning the words over in his mind.

“Have you heard those words before?” Levi asked.

He shook his head.

“They were written about two thousand years ago by a Pharisee named Saul. Do you know who the Pharisees were?”

“They were like an old Jewish sect, right?”

Levi nodded. “One of five sects that were important around that time, along with the Essenes, the Zealots, the Sadducees, and an upstart called The Way.”

“How do you know about the writings of some Pharisee?” Matt asked.

“Because I’m a follower of The Way.”

“You’re Jewish?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Your last name is, like, Irish, isn’t it?”

“I’m a convert, of course.”

“Well, see, the names of the other groups sound kind of familiar to me. Why haven’t I heard of ‘The Way?’”

Levi laughed. “They were a fringe group, to be sure. They were made up mostly of uneducated hicks, women, including prostitutes, and Roman collaborators. Their founder was a homeless charity case whose teachings were extreme. His own brothers thought he was crazy, and eventually he was executed by the Roman governor for treason and insurrection.”

“And this is the sect you follow?” Matt’s eyebrows were raised, and he couldn’t keep all of the ridicule out of his tone.

His new acquaintance smiled cheerfully, though. “I know, right?”

Matt’s breakfast appeared in front of him then, and he was glad for the distraction, the time to think. He spread the butter and poured the syrup and took a few delicious bites. It was good to eat and to enjoy food for the first time in over a month.

“Hit the spot?” Levi asked.

Matt nodded. He gave Levi an awkward smile.

“Go ahead, ask.”

Matt chewed and swallowed. “Ask what?”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Ask. I don’t mind. Not a bit.”

“I don’t want to offend you, man. You seem like a nice guy, and I don’t want to be rude to you, because you have been so kind, and sitting here with you, I feel better than I have in a long time.”

“There might be something to that, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t possibly offend me, Matthew Asher Gold. If I speak so frankly about my own faith, what do you think I expect from others?”

“Okay, then. My question is ‘why?’”

“Why…?”

“Why, if the founder of your sect was a loser nut case and a criminal who taught crazy stuff, and his followers were all losers too, why would you ever choose that sect to follow?”

“For the record, I’m a loser, too.”

“Well, you’re a compassionate loser, Levi O’Brien.”

“Thank you. And your saying all of that reminds me of something he said once: ‘Whoever would save his life will lose it. But whoever loses his life for my sake, finds it.’”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “I see what you mean about extreme teachings.”

“Well, in most cases, at least in countries like this one, it is more of a metaphorical loss of life. Though I have to admit, it can really sting sometimes.”

Matt sighed impatiently.

“Most of my life, I was with you, Matt. And with his brothers, before they changed their minds, of course.”

“Well, what changed your mind?”

“I met him.”

Matt’s skepticism creeped up on his tone. “You met a dead guy?”

“Not exactly. One word in your question is incorrect, but my argument is not with the word that you’d think.”

“How did you meet him?”

“It was something sort of like a dream, I guess. But suddenly all the extreme facts of his life and his message, they all made sense.”

“How?”

“In a word?”

“I’m sure it would take more than one.”

Levi shook his head. “Grace,” he said.

“Grace.” As polite as he wanted to be to this kind (if deluded) man, Matt’s voice oozed incredulity.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Undeserved favor. Getting something good that you haven’t earned.”

“There’s a lot more to it, actually. It’s not just a gift. It’s the power of God.”

“God is omnipotent,” Matt parroted, without any concept of the weight of the words.

“Of course He is. But not in the sense of its only being something you say. In God is the power to undo everything that went wrong in the Garden of Eden. The power to undo the separation between Him and us that the Original Rebellion caused. The power, my brother, to raise the dead. And Saul the Pharisee and his friends called that power Charis, in Greek, or Grace.”

Matt watched his eyes. He wasn’t lying. And, surprisingly, he wasn’t crazy either. “You want to know why this crazy man’s brothers changed their minds about him?”

Matt shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“Because he was dead, and they knew he was dead. They had watched him die a most gruesome, barbaric death at the hands of the Roman occupiers. But then they saw him again, and he wasn’t dead anymore. They believed because he’s alive. And, if I remember correctly, at least one of them was eventually executed for saying so.”

Matt thought about that. And he didn’t know what to think, but then something clicked in his head, and he asked Levi, “This man, the crazy one, the founder of your sect…what was his name?”

“His name is Y’shua,” he answered.

“Joshua,” Matt translated into English.

Levi6 nodded and said, “In Greek, of course, they called him Jesus. And I believe he is the Mashiyah. And I’m not just a member of some crazy, fringe sect. I live for what he left behind when he went home, because that Spirit of Grace made itself alive inside of me. I’m a cell, a microscopic piece of a living body, a body that is sick and selfish and broken and rude and misunderstood and sometimes crazy, yet as imperfect as it is right now, is what exists of the Messiah’s life here on earth.”

Matt took another bite of his pancakes. He chewed slowly.

He wasn’t sure what to think.

Chapter Eleven

Alex’s bare feet pounded over the dusty streets of Los Angeles.

The city was bathed in the golden light that came from a sun that was either rising or setting. All the windows were unlit, the sunlight turning them into mirrors of the golden city around them. And there were no people. The streets were deserted, like some Old West ghost town or an abandoned Hollywood set.

Deserted, except for Alex and the black-clad figure who pursued her. The hunter held a shiny silver handgun and wore a medieval executioner’s mask.

Alex bolted past streets and through alleyways, looking for help but finding none. Of all the times in her life to find herself unarmed! She knew she had firearms stashed in at least six different places around her home, and she would have tried to go there to get one, but she didn’t know where she was, or where her home was. She’d lost her sense of direction, and that didn’t happen to her. She was so confused.

She ran down a side street and found herself in the middle of Santa Monica Boulevard, and suddenly she hit a wall in her endurance. It was over. She could not run one more step. She stopped in the dead center of the intersection, gasping for breath. She gave up. She turned, faced her executioner, and fell to her knees.

She thought of her daughter and Matt. She thought of Wendy, her family, and Grandma Gold. She even thought of her father, years in his lonely grave.

As the accuser approached with gun pointed dead at her heart, Alex searched the mask for a glimpse of their eyes, the soul windows to which she could appeal for mercy, but she saw nothing human and nothing of compassion in the shrouded face.

A figure in white stepped between Alex and the accuser. Then the gunshot. The white-clad person crumpled to the ground in the middle of the boulevard. A spot of red spread across his chest as his breath grew congested, then shallow and weak. Alex hardly noticed his life ebb away onto the street.

The executioner pulled off the mask. It was Aili, and she looked satisfied. She turned and walked away, calmly and normally, her figure flickering in and out of the shadows of the boulevard’s side street.

Alex scrambled to her feet as the accuser turned away. “Where are you going?” she asked. When the figure, the twisted clone of herself, didn’t turn back, Alex screamed after it, “No! NO!”

Suddenly it was full daylight, and the city was a city again. A snap of the fingers and all the lights in the buildings were on, and the buildings and streets were full of people, all going about their business as if nothing strange had happened at all.

No one looked at Alex, standing barefoot in the middle of the street. No one even seemed to notice her, except one woman. This woman was middle-aged and pretty but tired-looking. She had the tan skin and flowing blonde hair of a life-long beach bum; she could have been any one of a million aging California girls. She wore a white button-up with a teal tank top under it, both tucked into a pair of white “mom jeans” fastened with a woven, brown leather belt.

She was walking on the sidewalk, but stopped when she noticed Alex. She gave her a look that was part puzzlement, part sadness, part incredulity. She asked, in lightly accented English, “What do you want? What is wrong with you? Do you need to die too?”

“Who are you?” Alex asked her.

The woman shook her head in frustration and told Alex, “Go home!”

Then she turned away and continued walking up the boulevard. Alex watched her go, and suddenly she knew who the woman was. The tan, the hair, and the clothes had thrown her off, but she had seen that face before, about four years ago. She had gazed into it, watched tears stream silently down it while she told the whole pathetic, terrible story of Operation Free Bird and what had happened in the Shangku jungle.

Tatiana Kostaskaya. Katya’s mother, the bereaved woman who lost her daughter once when she disappeared, then again when she learned of her death. The woman who had cared tirelessly for her dying husband. Nikolai had clung to life for years to learn of his oldest child’s fate and died just days after Kati’s memorial service. Right after his funeral, Nikolai’s wife surrendered her lovely granddaughter to Alex’s clumsy care, extracting a promise that if the disgraced FBI agent was to be the one to raise and protect that baby, the last living piece of her precious and fearless daughter, Alex must—absolutely must—love her too, with all of her heart, as her very own.

“Go home!” Tatiana’s last words echoed through Alex’s head as she stood in the exact center of the intersection with cars buzzing and honking around her and a dead man at her feet.

“Mama, why are you crying?” Aglaya was sitting on the asphalt, with the white figure’s head in her lap.

“I’m not crying,” Alex told her.

* * *

But she was. She woke in Aggie’s dark bedroom with tears streaming down her face.

“You are crying, Mama.” Aggie was cuddled in Alex’s arms, and her little hands rubbed gently at the tears that dripped over the bridge of Alex’s nose, trying to wipe them away before they could soak the pillow they shared, a pillow that already had a sizable wet spot on it.

“Oh, honey.” Alex squeezed her daughter tight. She had meant to be guarding her little girl, but had fallen asleep holding her instead. Aggie’s clock radio said 1:23 a.m. Alex had slept soundly for hours, by far the longest she had slept in several days.

“Are you okay?” the little girl asked her.

“I had a sad dream. That’s all.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Go back to sleep, honey. It’s okay.”

Aggie sighed and turned over, snuggling into a “spoon” position with Alex, her back against Alex’s belly, her head pressed against her heart. She started to drift off quickly but when a dull thud came from the spare bedroom next to hers, she bolted awake. Alex heard it too. For a second, neither of them breathed. Then Aggie asked, in a voice barely above her strangled breath, “Mama? What was that sound?”

Alex allowed herself a few seconds to decide what to do. She could try to hide her daughter in her room while she investigated the noise in the spare room or tried to get help from one of the other agents in another part of the house. Only… if Alex was incapacitated, Aglaya would be defenseless.

Alex could call 9-1-1, but ordinary Glendale cops weren’t prepared for guerrilla-trained assassins. Also, if Tokan’s assassins saw emergency responders, things were going to escalate quickly on Orange Grove Avenue, and Alex’s daughter would suffer for that.

She could take her daughter with her while she looked for back-up. If Alex found herself in the line of fire, Aglaya would too, but at least she’d be with her mother. This, to Alex, seemed the least bad of all the terribly miserable options that she had.

She drew the gun from her ankle holster and pulled Aggie into her arms. The little girl wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck and her legs around Alex’s waist, and Alex stood, glad that she kept up with her strength training workouts. This kid was not getting lighter. Her gun aimed in front of her, held securely in both hands, Alex opened the door and silently exited the room, checking, gun first, in each direction with every step that she took. She made her way toward the point where the bedroom hallway opened into the top of a “T,” one way going toward the great room, the other toward the front door.

When they reached the split, Alex looked toward the living room, where her limited view of the wall with the entertainment center showed her nothing in the way of live bodies. This was one of the worst spots in the house, because it split off into the hallway in both directions, and where the hallway ended toward the living room, the wall hid a blind alcove.

Even though she trusted Beck the most of all the agents in her house, she decided Caplin—stationed by the front door—would be the most accessible, so she turned in that direction.

Caplin was lying flat on his back on the floor. Alex swore to herself silently. She put Aggie down, stationed her at the mouth of the hall, with her back against the wall on the door side. She could tell Aggie wanted to ask what was wrong with Mr. Caplin, but she didn’t dare open her mouth. And Alex didn’t dare open hers to tell her. The discovery of the incapacitated fibbie upset Alex. The noise she and Aggie had heard from the spare bedroom hadn’t been a no-big-deal thing. FBI field agents weren’t injured—or killed—by innocuous noises.

Praying he’d be revivable, Alex made her way to the body…and saw in a second that he was dead. His trachea had been crushed, and a bullet had been put between his eyes, a quick one-two punch that had first silenced and choked him, then ended his life maybe a second later. Alex looked toward the door, which had somehow been removed completely from its hinges and propped up on the porch, still mostly covering the doorway. Alex gave herself two seconds to decide whether to go out the front door—where more hostiles could be waiting—or head to the great room where she hoped Agent Beck would be healthy and armed. But before she could even weigh the downsides, she heard a childish scream that was brief, then muffled, then silent.

Alex turned back to where her daughter had been, and she stopped breathing. Somewhere she had made a mistake. Somewhere she had miscalculated a risk or turned a wrong direction, or maybe she’d just made the mistake of being born so pathetically human that she could only be in one place at a time, but a man in black body armor stood right there, just a couple steps away, at the end of the hall toward the great room—and he had Aggie.

The man had a gun on his back, an arm around Aglaya’s waist, and a hand over her mouth. Alex stood up on grounded legs, held her semi-automatic handgun out steady with both arms, flipped the safety with one, mean jerk of a thumb, and took aim at his head as she stepped forward into the cross of the hallway, cutting the distance between them. She didn’t care one iota if this fool ate at Tokan’s right hand at his personal dinner table every Sunday afternoon; she would blow his brains to Amsterdam and back before she let him ghost her innocent, vulnerable five-year-old daughter.

Too late, she realized someone was behind her, coming at her from her seven o’clock. The figure had come out of the spare room, and now rushed at her down the hall. Before Alex could even look over her shoulder, the world went black.

Transcript of a phone call between Special Agent Melinda White of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Sheriff Philip Anderson of Marion County, Indiana

White: I understand your concerns, sir, but—

Anderson: No, ma’am, I don’t think you do. I have a deputy in a coma right now. They’re telling me it’s alcohol poisoning, but I know she’s been sober five years. She had no reason to relapse at this point, and now she’s never gonna wake up. She has a little boy who just turned a year old. I was at that birthday party. What am I supposed to tell that child now? What am I supposed to tell her husband?

White: I can refer you to some grief counselors—

Anderson: It’s not the (expletive deleted) grief! It’s this case! Ever since we started building it, I’ve been getting these creepy calls at home, and my wife’s identity was stolen. One of my guys found a hollowed-out deer carcass hanging on his front porch one morning! And was it a normal deer? No! It was a reindeer! A (expletive deleted) reindeer! Like we got some kinda sick Santa Claus giving us visits! And I know this is all connected, because the only girl who ever dared say a word to us about this pimp turned up face down in a field less than half mile from our station! And what was in her pocket? An ID. Specifically, that girl’s picture on my wife’s driver’s license!

White: I know this all is alarming, Sheriff.

Anderson: Alarming?! That ain’t the half! I called you guys a month ago, because I knew we need help on this, but this…this is a lot more than I bargained for. And you aren’t helping a bit!

Anderson: I assure you, Sheriff, we have put some of our best analysts on this case. We have been pursuing this criminal a long time, and—

Anderson: Then why the (expletive deleted) haven’t you caught him? Who are these people that they can even do stuff like this?

White: Well, that is one of the questions we’ve been working on, Sheriff Anderson. We believe this pimp is only a middleman in a worldwide forced prostitution network, and—

Anderson: And you think my little Sheriff’s Department is cut out to take on some big monster like that? Oh, (expletive deleted), no.

White: Your department brought the case to us, Sheriff. And we have only asked you to provide intelligence and back-up support.

Anderson: Well, I’m done. I’ve got a community and a department to protect, and right now all that is falling behind so I can try to help some foreign street trash.

White: Sheriff, these children are not trash. They are people’s daughters and sons. Tax-paying people just like those who pay your salary. If we are learning anything at all in this investigation, it’s that this could happen to anyone’s child. Yes, some of these children have come from abusive home situations, but does that make the children themselves any less deserving of protection and care? Are they any less deserving of justice, just because they didn’t get any at home?

Anderson: Special Agent, I’ve got to think about my children, and the children of those in my department. Who protects them if these people take all of us out, like they did Deputy Shannon Harris? Can you answer me that?

White: Sheriff, we will provide all the protection we can. We just need you to keep an eye on the house one more night. I’m on my way out there right now. I’m assembling a team of agents and—

Anderson: You assemble all the teams you want, Agent. Just make sure they’re big enough to handle the situation in that house. Because when you go into that hellhole, no one from my department will be with you.

White: Sheriff, you can’t stop the surveillance. If you do, they will disappear, like they have so many times over the years.

Anderson: I can’t, can I? It’s already been done. I’ve got a hospital room to guard.

White: Sheriff, please, that surveillance is crucial. You must understand—

(Phone slams down. Dial tone.)

White: (expletive deleted)!

Chapter Twelve

Alex’s eyes shot open, and she tried to sit up.

“Easy, easy,” Agent White said. She dropped the ammonia she had been holding under Alex’s nose and helped her prop herself slowly.

“What happened?” Alex asked.

The handler nodded at a brute man who sat with his arms cuffed behind him while an agent Alex didn’t recognize held a rifle under his nose, “That one beaned you with his rifle. You’ve only been out a few minutes. But it’s all over.”

“Aggie!” Alex screamed, suddenly remembering her little girl helpless in the other intruder’s arms.

“It’s okay, Mama,” her daughter responded, appearing at her left elbow and climbing into her lap. “I’m safe now, Mama.” Aggie covered Alex’s face in sloppy, sticky, jam-scented kisses, and Alex didn’t mind it a bit. She wrapped her arms around her daughter.

“Who gave you jam?” She tried to wipe off the child’s face with her own sleeve. It was probably a ridiculous concern at a time like this, with at least two hired assassins being held captive inside her house and a dead FBI agent in her front hall. But then again, Alex always would be this girl’s mother, and she took a bit of comfort and peace from the normalness of having to clean her young child’s face.

Aggie only giggled at Alex’s silliness.

Alex peered at Agent White while her eyes filled with tears. “You saved her. Thank you.”

Agent White shrugged. “Actually, I didn’t.” She nodded back in the direction from where Aggie had come. “He did.”

Alex turned and saw Matt sitting on the couch, looking a bit rumpled, with a spot of blood seeping through some bulky white wrapping on his right upper arm. He smiled at her. “Hey,” he said, “you okay, babe?”

She cried some more, and he came over and crouched on the floor wrapping his arms around her and her daughter. “It’s okay. I mean, I broke one of your bar stools, but I’ll get you a new one, I promise. I’ll get you a whole new set if you want it.”

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, with a sob.

“I realized it was time to stop calling and come over to see you. You were asleep when I got here, so I waited. I was talking with Beck when they broke in, and Agent Caplin went down. We took cover in the dining room while he called for back-up and tried to work up a strategy. But when that guy brought Aggie out here, I lost it a bit, and—”

“You saved our daughter,” she blurted.

“What else was I gonna do?”

She didn’t answer, and he kissed her. And he kissed her again and again, until Agent White pushed him away. “Hey, mind her head. She still needs an x-ray and all that before she does anything too strenuous. And you! Remember you sustained a GSW and might be in shock.”

“I’m not in shock,” he said.

White insisted, “One of the major symptoms of shock is thinking you’re not in shock.”

He laughed a little and smoothed Alex’s hair. “Then what are the major symptoms of not being in shock?”

White pursed her lips but backed off a little.

Alex stroked the soft skin inside his elbow and eyed the lumpy field dressing on his arm. “You let Beck patch you up, didn’t you? You shouldn’t have done that. He doesn’t know a bandage from his own right arm.”

“Or my right arm for that matter,” Matt teased her.

“Well, he doesn’t.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. The ambulance will be here to get us in just a few minutes. Then they can fix whatever he did wrong. After they look at your head, of course.”

She sighed and he smiled. He kissed her again.

* * *

It wasn’t over.

That thought swirled around in Alex’s head as she rode in the ambulance with Matt and her daughter by her side, got her x-rays, and waited for the radiologist to give her a clean bill of health. She fidgeted in another exam room and watched a physician’s assistant patch up the grazing gunshot wound on Matt’s arm, where the assailant who beaned her had shot him but mostly missed (mostly).

It wasn’t over.

She had always known that, but she wasn’t sure if Matt realized it. She hoped he at least had an idea, that he wasn’t thinking she and Aggie would go straight back to the cozy house on Orange Grove Avenue where they would live and laugh, where he could drop by, and where, eventually, he could present her with that diamond ring he purchased a few weeks back.

She wanted to tell him, to explain everything, and she hated that she had to wait. Because it wasn’t exactly the thing you could discuss in front of EMTs, radiologists, or physician’s assistants.

It was only when they were leaving the hospital in a car driven by a stern-looking FBI lady, whom Beck introduced as Agent Decker, that Alex could speak freely at last. It was almost dawn by that point, and Aggie was curled up in Matt’s lap, fast asleep.

“We need to talk about what happens now,” she said.

Matt looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this isn’t over.”

“Oh, I know that. They have to catch Tokan.”

“And that will take time.”

“Well, a little, but Beck told me that they would be questioning the suspects right away. They probably already have. We were in that hospital for hours, and their best interrogators were already waiting. He said they would want to swoop in and capture Tokan before he could disappear again, and they had already mobilized strike forces in all four of the regions that he was most likely to be hiding.”

“But Aggie won’t be safe until he is brought to justice. She’s a threat to him until his crimes are on the record, and he’s convicted. That could be months, at the least, maybe even a couple years.”

“And you can’t go back home until then.”

“Agent Decker will take us home to get some of our stuff, then we’ll head to an FBI safe house. I’m sure she would drop you off at your place on the way.”

Matt’s eyes were watering, and he was shaking his head. “No, I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t come.”

“I could if we were married.”

“Matt, we can’t decide something like that now, not after all we’ve been through the past few days.”

“I decided over a month ago. I already have the ring.”

Alex frowned. “I know. Actually, Beck kind of spilled the beans on that one. He didn’t mean to; he thought you’d already given it to me.”

Matt started in surprise. “I didn’t tell Beck.”

“Of course not. You didn’t even know him then. My handler told him.”

Confusion rippled all over that handsome face. “Who?”

“Matt, I don’t know how to say this, and I’m sorry I didn’t try to explain before, but the FBI has watched you closely from the second you showed an interest in me. They know your routine, your history, your entire financial situation. A lot of the stuff you told me when we were getting to know each other, they knew before I had a chance to learn from you. They’ve been way ahead of both of us this whole time.”

He glanced away from her and stared straight ahead.

“You don’t want to marry me. Because that’s what life would be like where Aggie and I are headed. You would have no secrets. Someone always would be watching, even if just to keep us safe… But still we’d never really be alone. On top of that, however long we had to be gone, you basically would be dead to your life here. Not just your job and the businesses of which I now happen to know that you own exactly twenty-three point eight percent, thanks to Agent Caplin. But your parents, your grandma, Jacob, Wendy, and the kids. Levi and your church. All of your friends.”

His eyes were closed. He was listening, she realized, but he was praying too.

“See, you don’t want to marry me. Not like this. And probably not ever.”

“But I do,” he said, very softly.

She shook her head. “Well, you can’t. I don’t want to go to the life Aglaya and I are headed to. I can’t possibly take you with me. I couldn’t live with myself if I took you from your family and home. I don’t know how long it all will take before I can come back to a real life, so it’s better if you go on with yours. You deserve to have a family of your own and a wife who doesn’t have all this weird crap going on. And children too, of course. You’ll make a wonderful father, Matthew, you will.”

They pulled up in front of her house, and he carried Aggie to the doorstep. His expression was flat, his eyes had no spark, and his shoulders drooped as though under a burden bigger than the man himself.

“I’m really sorry,” she told him, fighting tears of her own. “I told you at the beginning that something like this could happen.”

He smiled weakly. “I know. And I am still going to grieve, just like I did for Sarah. That’s my right.”

“Here,” Alex said. She put her hands on the back of her neck and fiddled with the clasp of the beautiful necklace he’d given her for their anniversary. “If you can wait a second, I will run inside and get the bracelet you gave me for my birthday.”

He shook his head though, almost frantically. “No, keep them, please. They’d look silly on me.”

Alex tried to smile, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll come in handy at your next stop down the road.”

He shifted Aggie into Alex’s arms, kissed the little girl on the head, and kissed Alex so gently on the lips. He gave both of them an open look of such pure love and affection it stopped Alex’s heart a second. Then he turned away.

“Aggie and I will only take a few minutes to pack. Then Agent Decker can drop you off at your place.”

He shook his head. “I’ll walk,” he told her. “It’s not far.”

Katya Kostaskaya glanced at the clock again and shuffled her feet nervously on the muddy, green linoleum. It was getting late. She really hoped this would be over before her mother got home from work. Mama didn’t know where her older daughter was, and she probably wouldn’t approve. Katya didn’t want to worry her mother. Her mother had enough to worry about with her grandmother, her little brother and sister, and her sick father.

Katya had to find some way to help. She knew it was a long shot, this whole modeling thing. So many girls came. But people were always saying what a lovely girl she was, so she hoped and prayed that would be enough.

Not that Mama ever asked for Katya’s help, but the thing was, Mama never asked for anything. Almost every night, Katya overheard her mother and father talking through the thin partition that separated their sleeping area from the bed Katya shared with her grandmother. “Everything is okay, Niko,” her mother would say with a cheerful tone, giving her father a kiss on the cheek. “Everything is fine. You rest now. I’m going to go for a little walk before bed.”

But Katya knew everything was not fine. She knew her mother’s job at the shop didn’t pay enough to take care of the family, let alone for her sick father. She knew that her nine-year-old brother Grigory got in trouble at school, her little sister Tanya wet the bed, and her father, Nikolai Kostasky, was dying from cancer. And she knew that when her mother said she was going for a walk before bed she actually was going to the alley behind their apartment building where she could cry, and her sick husband wouldn’t hear.

Katya had to do something to help Mama and Papa, to help her family. How could she not? So when she had seen the advertisement in the paper for pretty girls who wanted to be models, she had cut it out, hid it in her favorite book, and looked at it whenever she got the chance. She practically had it memorized.

It had brought her here. She left school early to come, and Katya was a good girl, a smart girl. She had never skipped school before. When she signed in for the audition, the woman gave her an application to fill out, and Katya had nibbled her fingernails, wondering if she would need her parents’ permission to become a model.

But the application was a funny thing. It asked who she lived with and their occupations, and what kind of place she lived. It had her describe herself, her looks and her personality and what she liked. It asked how healthy was she? Did she have any medical problems? But it never asked if she had permission; it never even asked for her parents’ names. She breathed easier, and when she returned the papers to the woman, she wore an even bigger smile than usual on her face.

But that was hours ago. And still she waited.

Many girls were taken to the back room, and some came out crying or frowning. Others didn’t come out, and when Katya asked, the woman told her they were in another room getting their pictures taken. And Katya worried some more, because if they thought she could be a model, how long would it take to get her pictures taken? Her mother would be home in an hour or so, and if Katya weren't there helping her grandma feed Grigory and Tanya, Mama would worry.

At last, the woman called her name. Katya sighed audibly. Maybe then, she would still have time. The woman led Katya back to a white room where a man about her father’s age, or a little older, sat at a table with a clipboard.

He stood and watched Katya while he waited for the woman to leave again. As he watched her, Katya suppressed a squirm; her stomach was heavy all of a sudden. He smiled, though, and she smiled back. “So this is Katya,” he declared.

Katya nodded nervously.

“You are a lovely, lovely girl.”

She gave him a weak smile.

“Don’t be scared, dear. This won’t take long at all.”

“Okay,” she whispered. She was still nervous, though it didn’t feel like it was for the same reasons as before…

The man picked up the clipboard, looked it over, and asked her a few quick questions about her application, which she answered as best she could. Then he said, “Well, this is in order, and it looks good. If you follow me, we will take a few photos for your portfolio, and you can be on your way home. Then I or my assistant will let you know whenever someone likes your photos enough to hire you. Does that sound good?”

Katya nodded and smiled… but she still felt nervous. “Thank you, Mr., uh…”

He grinned and laughed. “Oh, we’re not that formal here. Everyone just calls me Ivanovich.”

Katya nodded quickly, and Ivanovich gestured grandly with his right hand at the door in the back of the room. “Right this way, sweetheart.”

Katya went.

Chapter Thirteen

If Alex had thought she was bored before… haha.

Alex didn’t know exactly where they were. It was probably still in California. She and Aggie had both been allowed to pack two boxes and a bag. They were told that the safe house was furnished. The kitchen, bathrooms, and linen closets would be fully equipped, so they should take only clothes, sentimental objects, and the things they would need to amuse themselves.

There wasn’t enough amusement in the world.

They had basic cable television, but all local programming and anything with a rating above PG was blocked.

Alex brought Aggie’s Kindle and her own laptop. They had WiFi internet, but it was government internet, monitored and filtered so that any communication to the outside, anything that could give away their location, and anything that would be considered anti-productive in a government office environment (in short, anything amusing) was blocked. Alex kept herself busy the first two days trying to find ways to bypass the filter. But then one of her guards put on his stern face, took her aside, and told her if she did not stop trying to circumvent their safety measures with regards to the internet, the connection would be turned off.

After that, Alex spent her time roaming the grounds, trying to get a signal on her smartphone. She hoped to find one that was strong enough at least to access the GPS and figure out her location. Not only did she have no luck (there was probably a signal jammer somewhere on the grounds), the same guard who had lectured her about internet responsibility caught her fooling around with the phone and confiscated it. It took two hours reasoning with, bargaining with, and whining to Agent White to get it back.

Alex and Aggie turned in a grocery list once a week, and most of what was on it was brought to them the next day in plain, white plastic bags. If Alex asked for anything a little strange, like cardamom pods or crème fraiche, it probably wouldn’t come. The next week she asked for cinnamon and sour cream. Often if she asked for a specific brand of something, she would get another brand instead, so she stopped specifying her choices.

Aggie was lonely. Some of the guards would play with her a little while, but most of them considered her a distraction from their work. And there were, of course, no other children and no elderly people, who were Aggie’s favorite types of people. Safe house life was torture for a social butterfly like Aglaya.

Alex was lonely too.

The day after their arrival, Edward Tokan was taken into custody after an Interpol strike force stormed his compound in Morocco. Alex’s chief “amusements” after that were the daily reports Agent White gave her about the case.

Interpol had confiscated files, computers, and all kinds of incriminating materials from Tokan’s seaside mansion, and analysts all over the world were processing pieces of it. Alex asked if she could be given something to work with, but Agent White said no, it would be a conflict of interest. They didn’t want to do anything to compromise the case.

Tokan had been forced to scale back his enterprise when he went into hiding, and about half of his brothels had been closed or cut off from his funding and protection for years. His empire already was crumbling, and law enforcement agencies around the world were moving daily and nightly on the pieces that were left. Alex grinned at the growing tallies of criminals in custody and bit back shouts of joy when the number of children and women freed went from dozens to hundreds.

Twenty-five days after they were taken to the safe house, they were taken out of it for the first time. Agent White explained that a medical expert for the defense was given leave to observe an independent examination of Aglaya, in order to determine, for the record, such relevant factors as her age and parentage. The outing was nerve-wracking, but Aggie was well-guarded. Alex was allowed to stand by her side while a nice pediatrician gave her a check-up and took a swab of the inside of her cheek.

On the way back, Alex tried to talk with Agent White about enrolling Aglaya in kindergarten next month. Alex knew how much her daughter missed being with other kids—

“No,” Agent White said.

“I didn’t even—”

“Aglaya cannot go to the local kindergarten. I will have the techs check out k12.com for you and make sure nothing Aggie needs will be blocked, or if you want to pick out some homeschool curricula, I will have it purchased posthaste. We can also bring in tutors if there is anything the two of you struggle with, but Aggie cannot go to school with other kids. Not now; it’s not safe.”

“Well, you could have a guard put in her class as an assistant or something, but really, she’s so lonely here, and—”

“No,” Agent White said in a tone that told Alex the discussion was over.

She couldn’t help adding, under her breath, “Think about it and let me know.”

Safe house life sucked.

Part of her wished she had let Matt come with them. He was a better playmate for Aggie than Alex was. But going twenty-five days without talking to his family would’ve been torture for him. She never could have asked that, not when he’d already given them so much.

She decided that she was being selfish to miss him so much.

* * *

It wasn’t all bad. Alex and Aggie put on hiking boots and newspaper hats and took to the yard like Lewis and Clark, prowling for animals in the scrubby, anemic wooded lot behind the house. In the featureless kitchen, Alex taught her daughter how to make homemade Rice Krispies treats and macaroni and cheese. Without anything good on television, they had a lot of time to cuddle together in the old recliner and tell each other stories.

Alex had been telling Aggie’s favorite story ever since she brought her home to the farm in Maine the first time as a toddler. No matter how many times Alex told the story, Aggie always listened wide-eyed and silent, her pink mouth forming a perfect O at all the biggest parts.

“Once upon a time there was a lovely princess named Katie who lived in a small house in a big city with her parents, the King and Queen, her grandmother, and her little brother and sister. She wasn’t a rich princess in terms of money, but she was rich because she had lots of love, and she was a very happy person who was as nice as she could be to everyone.

“One day a scary ogre and his boss, the wicked thief, kidnapped the Princess and trapped her in the cave where she lived with other children they had kidnapped. Princess Katie was scared, but she also was brave, because she always was nice to the other girls and boys, even when they were not nice to her. She told them to hope they would be free one day, because the High King would send someone to free them. She said no matter what happened when the High King came, it would be wonderful. Either they would go home to their mommies and daddies, or they would go to live with him in his huge palace, which was the nicest one ever built.

“Princess Katie did get sad sometimes, though, and one day when she was sad, an angel from the High King visited her in the cave and gave her a special new friend, a tiny baby fairy princess. Princess Katie named the fairy princess Annie, and she was happy to have Princess Annie to take care of. Even though Annie was only a tiny baby, Princess Katie told her all of the stories of the High King who would one day set them free.

“Well, the High King did send someone one day, but it wasn’t an army of knights or angels. It was just one lady, a police lady named Alice. Alice badly wanted to free all the little girls and boys in the ogre’s dirty cave. But she made a mistake, and she and Princess Katie had to flee the cave alone at night, and they could only take baby Princess Annie with them. While they were running away, a poisonous snake bit Princess Katie, and she became very sick. Princess Katie realized that she was not going to make it back to the little house in the big city where the King and Queen lived, but she was going to the High King’s palace instead. She gave her fairy baby Princess Annie to Alice, the police lady, and told her always to keep the baby safe from the ogre and the rich, wicked thief. And Alice said that she always would.

“The High King sent a beautiful golden chariot to take Princess Katie to his palace, where her father, the King, soon went to join her. Alice took Princess Annie away, and they ran around hiding, all over the world, awaiting the day when the ogre and the thief would be captured, and they could stop hiding forever. And you know what would happen then?”

“What?” Aggie always asked, looking like she couldn’t wait to hear the answer, even though she’d known the answer, word for word, as long as she could remember.

“Well, they could do whatever they wanted, of course,” Alex said. “And one day Alice would take Princess Annie to meet the Queen, Princess Katie’s mama, and Princess Katie’s grandma, and her brother and sister in the small house in the big city where they lived, waiting for the day when they could meet the fairy princess that Katie had loved so, so much!”

Then Aggie would grin her widest and announce, “The end!”

Aili stared at the coffin. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. She leafed through a mental scrapbook that contained memories of her father. None of what she recalled did anything to un-confuse her. She felt something between disappointment, numbness, and relief, and it didn’t seem like any of that was quite right.

She remembered the things he used to say:

“So you’re the smart one now?”

“Keep your shoulders straight; you look like a mouse.”

“You are such a nerd, my girl.”

“You better watch out. You’re too smart for your own good.”

He liked to talk about how smart she thought she was. He also liked to talk about, of all things, this day, his funeral. Aili wasn’t sure if that was normal or healthy, but he used to describe his “laying to rest,” his graveside service, in great detail, like he was there watching it or something weird like that.

“It will be a dark, dark day in Boston,” he would say. He talked about all his brave colleagues, lined up in rows. A column of “the City’s finest,” stone faces that twitched under the weight of unexpressed emotion. They wore slickers over their dress uniforms and had those clear, plastic bonnets protecting their best hats from the rain. All the ladies shivered in their long, dark coats and held black umbrellas.

One day, when she was about sixteen, all of the drama became just a little too much for Aili. She burst out laughing and said, with more than a little spite in her tone, “Can’t you hear yourself? I wish you could. This is the stupidest thing on earth to discuss. You know, things don’t always turn out exactly like you plan. Especially when you’re dead and don’t have a say anymore.”

Her father slapped her across the face then left the room, slamming the door behind him. Now, more than ten years later, her cheek still smarted when she remembered it. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about that either.

“Feelings are neutral,” her psychology textbooks said. “They are neither moral nor immoral. They simply are. It is the actions that people take based on their emotions that may be unhealthy, either physically, psychologically, or both.”

Yeah, right, okay.

Because the feelings Aili was having when she thought about how her father’s funeral actually had turned out… Well, those feelings were something entirely unholy, and she knew it.

Because there wasn’t a cloud in the sky today. It was sunny as could be, and that was something rare indeed for early April. And she wasn’t sure who he thought all those depressingly dressed, female mourners would be. Because there wasn’t anybody here but a dozen or so scattered men in blue, all looking bored, and Aili, who almost burst out laughing whenever she looked at them.

She chewed on her bottom lip and watched the casket slip down into the hole. The priest nodded at her. She stood from the solitary chair, grabbed a handful of soil—still damp from yesterday’s rain—off the pile on the green mat, and made her way to edge of the grave. She peered down into the ditch and imagined herself eye to eye with the empty corpse that reposed inside of it.

Who’s the smart one now?

“Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.”

Splat.

The dirt landed just where she knew his face would be.

Chapter Fourteen

Agent White showed up in the morning with half a dozen unassembled storage boxes from The Home Depot tucked under her arm. “It’s time to move,” the handler said as she dropped the boxes at Alex’s feet.

That was all. And she was less than forthcoming when Alex asked for more information.

“Are we in danger here?” Alex asked.

Agent White shrugged. “There have been some developments in the case, and it’s time to relocate you and Aglaya.”

Alex popped her knuckles. “Where are we going?”

“Pack everything here that you want to take. You won’t be back, and everything you leave will become property of the Bureau.”

“What kind of climate should we be packing for?”

“A lot like this one, I guess.”

Alex held out her hands, palms up. “Is it a rural, suburban, or urban area?”

“Does it matter? Just pack your crap. I don’t have until next year.”

What is wrong with this woman? Maybe she was just tired of Alex and Aggie after four and a half boring years handling them. Alex, for sure, was pretty sick of her too. Maybe it was just the mutual annoyance of too much estrogen in a small space for too long.

When Alex stood staring the agent in the eyes, not packing, not even moving, Agent White threw up her hands. “Or leave everything. Whatever. The Los Angeles field office will be happy next time they have an auction. They might get a few bills from your laptop and your daughter’s Kindle. Not to mention the jewelry from Matthew Gold. I mean, wow!”

“What a rude thing to say! Why are you being such an itch with a capital B?”

Agent White rolled her eyes. “Whatever you decide, we’re moving out in ninety minutes.”

The whole thing ticked Alex off a little bit. Okay, actually, a lot. These fibbies liked to talk it up that they didn’t consider her a civilian, but they were hijacking her entire life again, and this time they were doing it without telling her a single thing.

But what could she do? She had to pack. Most of the things she’d taken from the house (home) on Orange Grove Avenue had been their memories and the practical things they couldn’t live without. Not knowing where they were going or what would be available to them when they arrived, Alex couldn’t afford to leave stuff behind just to make a political statement on how poorly the FBI handled her relocation.

She was a mom now, after all. And at this moment, she needed to put her daughter’s well-being before her feelings of offense. So after giving Agent White one more dirty look, she snatched the boxes off the floor and went to her daughter’s bedroom.

Alex tried to make the whole thing fun for Aglaya so she wouldn’t be scared. Aggie slam-dunked her Fluppy Puppy into the box marked “TOYS” in purple Sharpie pen, and they played their new favorite game: Where Are They Taking Us?

Alex wadded one of Aggie’s dresses (from the Sunset Coast Department Store, whaddayaknow?) so she could make a three-point shot. She made herself sound excited. “Maybe to Hawaii.”

“Maybe Disneyland!” Aggie wished as she gathered her fluorescent Mega Blocks in their carry-all.

Alex giggled. “Or New York City.”

“Maybe the moon.”

“Maybe Devonshire, with Uncle Benedict,” Alex suggested. She raised her eyebrows and puckered her lips to the side.

Aggie smiled and started to nod, but then her face brightened like the sun, and she grinned wide.

Alex stopped folding the miniature pair of butterfly-embellished jeans. “What? What’s your idea?”

“I know where we’re going, Mama. I figured it out! I just know it.” Aggie hopped up and down and clapped her hands.

Alex laughed at her little girl’s excitement. “Okay, then. Where?”

“Home!”

Alex knew right away that Aglaya meant Orange Grove Avenue. Suddenly the game wasn’t fun anymore. “Honey, we had to leave there, remember? It’s not safe. We can’t go back.”

“But it’s different now. It’s where we going! I know it!”

Alex gazed seriously at her daughter and shook her head. “No, honey. It’s not.”

Aggie slouched her shoulders, and her jaw went slack. “You don’t know. You said you didn’t.”

“Not there. We can’t.”

“If you don’t know, why would you say it’s not there? You said it could be anywhere.”

“Honey, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“What’s wrong with hopes, Mama? Hopes are good, and we should never lose them. That’s what Mattie always said.”

Alex’s stomach tied itself in tighter and tighter knots. She didn’t know what to say.

* * *

When their ninety minutes were up, Agent White and a black-suited man loaded the boxes into the back of a white, unmarked panel van. Alex and Aggie sat together on the bench seat behind Agent White and the stiffly dressed driver who never introduced himself. There was no booster seat for Aggie, but Alex didn’t feel the mood was right to bring that up. The two girls had no windows on their sides and had only limited views out of the van by peering between the front seats through the windshield or over their shoulders out the small, square window in the back. Both contortions were uncomfortable, and soon they just settled down together, playing “Name that Tune” while they rode along several hours, stopping only once for gasoline and a snack.

Still, after several hours had passed, Alex began to recognize things here and there whenever she peeked outside. Her hands went clammy while her heart stewed a confusing mix of thoughts and emotions.

When the van turned onto Orange Grove Avenue, her body was split between the decision to laugh and the choice to vomit. When they pulled into the driveway (home), Aggie was bouncing in her seat. The little girl took off into the front yard as soon as the driver opened the door.

Alex disembarked shakily. “What are we doing here? Are we safe?”

“Please join me inside,” Agent White responded.

Alex didn’t know what to think. Either this woman had brought them here to kill them… or… or…

It was over.

She followed her handler into the house and sat with her on the couch in the living room. Agent White set a briefcase on the coffee table, opened it, took out a folder, and removed a document from that.

Agent White said, “We have a few things to take care of here. In order to do that, I must read you a brief issued early this morning by the Director’s office.”

Still confused, Alex nodded.

Agent White began to read. “‘Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Edward Tokan signed a full confession admitting guilt to many counts of kidnapping, human trafficking, obstruction of justice, homicide, etc., that were committed or carried out within the borders of the United States. The minimum sentences for his crimes add up to more than five hundred years, and he is expected to be incarcerated in Federal custody for the rest of his natural life. It is believed this offer was accepted that the criminal avoid the extradition requests of Russia and other countries where the prisons are considered less habitable than our own. At this conclusion, the case that the Bureau has been working against Mr. Edward Tokan is considered closed.’”

“Well, that’s good. And quicker than we expected.” Her mind reeled, not sure how to process everything that happened.

The handler continued reading the brief. “‘To finalize the case, the Bureau must make note of the following issues regarding the minor child Aglaya Myshkin and her guardian Aili MacIntire, an agent for the Bureau.

“‘A large amount of Tokan’s assets have been confiscated for restitution, and the estate of Katya Kostaskaya is estimated to receive a portion of about $450,000, half to go to her mother, Tatiana Kostaskaya, and half to a trust for her daughter Aglaya Myshkin, to be managed by her legal guardian. Ms. MacIntire will be contacted by the assigned victims’ rights organization when the settlement is finalized.

“‘Also, pending Edward Tokan’s sentencing hearing, the minor Aglaya Anya Kostaskaya Myshkin will be freed from her legal status as Refugee Seeking Political Asylum and will no longer be considered a ward of the U.S. Government. At that time, she will be made a ward of the State of California, and Los Angeles DHS will be contacting her guardian Aili MacIntire, concerning the possibility of adoption proceedings. Letters of reference have been forwarded to L.A. DHS from the Director of the Bureau, Benedict Beck of Interpol, and the minor’s maternal grandmother.’”

Next, Agent White removed from the folder an official-looking document with the FBI seal at the top and set it on the coffee table in front of Aili, putting x’s by a few blanks near the bottom and leaving her ink pen lying on top of the sheet. Then she continued, “‘Regarding Agent Aili MacIntire’s employment with the FBI, the Bureau, considering Ms. MacIntire’s status as the sole guardian of a minor, is seeking to terminate Ms. MacIntire’s employment contract as a field operative. An early retirement settlement is being offered that includes a year’s worth of severance pay and an FBI pension appropriate to her fifteen years of exemplary service—’”

“It’s only been about ten years,” Alex interrupted then. “And less than exemplary.”

“Sorry, my paperwork says fifteen. You can attempt to correct that, of course, but I must warn you that the rectification of government clerical errors is not a pretty process. May I continue?”

Alex shrugged, nodded, and filled out the document while Agent White continued reading the brief. “‘Should Retired Agent Aili MacIntire wish to seek independent contract employment with the Bureau as a Consulting Analyst, she should contact the Director of the L.A. field office.’” Agent White then handed Alex an FBI business card with the aforementioned woman’s name and contact information, then she continued, “‘Reference letters have been forwarded to the field office from Interpol Agent Benedict Beck and the Director of the Bureau.’”

Next, Agent White put Alex’s retirement contract back in the folder and took out of it several legal documents, fanning them across the coffee table in front of Alex. She read, “‘The Bureau has decided to dispose of the Orange Grove Drive residence at auction. To avoid the cost of listing and selling the property, however, the Bureau has chosen to offer the property to Ms. MacIntire at the price of one dollar and zero cents.’”

Alex stared at Agent White a full minute, before the woman finally said, “You can sign these documents and return them at your convenience. The remittance address is at the bottom of the Sales Agreement. Don’t forget to include your payment, or the sale will not be legal.”

Then Agent White put the brief back into the folder and took an envelope out of it. She said, “And finally, this is a gift from Benedict Beck, and the rest of your Shangku Interpol Operations team.”

“What is it?” Alex stared at the document without opening it.

“Two open-ended plane tickets to Moscow and a voucher for a week’s stay for six at the Ambassador Hotel downtown.”

“Six?”

“Well, apparently the apartment where Tatiana Kostaskaya lives with her mother-in-law and two remaining children is rather small, and the team thought…Well, as you can see.”

Alex could see a bit of glistening shine in Agent White’s eyes and hers, too, filled with tears. “I’m guessing you pitched in a little on this too. Probably a lot, actually, and now I feel guilty that I treated you so badly today.”

“It’s okay. I was rather curt, but I was concerned I’d ruin the surprise.”

“You know, Agent, I never really thought much past the end of this assignment. I never thought we’d survive, but when we did, and I was sitting in that remote safe house, I didn’t know what I’d do when we got out. When I was an analyst, I worked eighty or ninety hours every week and had no personal life. How would I go back to that and still be here for Aggie? And if I didn’t, how would I feed and dress her and send her to college? Mom and FBI analyst are the only jobs I know how to do. I never needed to be rich, you know, but how…? I’m digressing though. With all of this, if I’m careful—”

“And you’re nothing if you’re not careful, Ms. MacIntire.”

Alex smiled, laughed a bit, just a bit. “I’ll be able to take care of my daughter.”

“Well, that’s what we want.”

“And they’re retiring me as an agent? An agent, not an analyst.” That was a big vote of confidence for Aili MacIntire, who almost no one had ever believed in.

“You’ve earned it. You did a good job undercover with this child. I dare say you’ve gone native, but in this case it worked.”

“Thank you, Agent White. You’ve been good to us, really. I know Aggie and I weren’t the most exciting assignment you could have been given, but you performed admirably.”

Agent White shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was tight with shielded emotion. “Quite the contrary, Ms. MacIntire, this has been the best and most important assignment that I have ever had. And will ever have, I do believe.”

Alex hauled off and hugged the woman. She didn’t know what else she could do. When she let go, White smiled a bit awkwardly and nodded. “Anyway, it’s been a long day. A long several weeks, actually. You should take some time with your daughter to settle in.”

She gathered her things and let herself out while Alex stayed on the couch, trying to comprehend everything she had been given. After a while, Aggie returned to the living room from saying hello to all the views of the house and backyard that she had missed while they were gone. She climbed into Aili’s lap and said, “See, Mama. Home. Hopes are good, aren’t they?”

Alex cuddled her daughter tight, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo, peanut butter, and salty sweat. She asked, “How did you know we’d be coming back here, sweetheart?”

Aggie shrugged. “Sometimes I just do, Mom.” She sounded so grown up for her not-quite five and three-quarter years of age. “Sometimes I know these things because I just see them.”

Katya’s father, Nikolai, said, “Look, it says right here that this bird’s habitat has been disappearing, and now it only lives wild in certain sections of the jungle in northern Shangku. Can you imagine if that sorry place was the only area you could survive?”

“Why, Daddy?” three-year-old Tanya asked.

“Nikolai!” her mother reproached, with a bit of shocked laughter. “Not in front of the children!”

Her father looked abashed. “Sorry, honey. I will keep my commentary on world politics to myself.”

Nikolai Kostasky walked over to his wife and gave her a big kiss.

Nine-year-old Katya blushed, giggled, and looked away from her parents. She gazed at the birds her father had been reading about. Small, with fluffy heads and sweet faces, covered in splashes of bright blue, purple, and green. “They are cute, though,” she said.

Her mother, giggling and blushing herself, pulled away from Kati’s father and joined her daughter at the edge of the enclosure. She watched the birds with a smile. “They are lovely, aren’t they?”

One bird preened another, and Katya and her mom grinned at each other. Kati’s mom put an arm around her daughter and leaned her head down on Kati’s. Katya snuggled close. Behind them, Nikolai took a picture. Kati and Tatiana turned around laughing.

Katya tried to sound indignant. “Dad! I wasn’t ready.”

“But you looked so sweet there together.”

Katya rolled her eyes, but she grinned.

“I’ll get one of all of you now, okay? Grigory! Tanya! Come on! Let’s take a photo with all these pretty birds.”

Katya’s brother and sister trotted over and got into the frame. Katya and Tatiana posed, facing the camera this time with their arms around the younger children.

Nikolai took great care setting up the shot and focusing his camera. Tanya squirmed. Grigory said, “Come on, Daddy. I want to see the lions.”

“Niko, please,” said Kati’s mom.

“I want it to be a good one. These are our memories, kids!”

Finally, he was ready. “Okay, everybody, smile!”

And they did.

Chapter Fifteen

The morning after she and Aggie moved back into the house on Orange Grove Avenue, Aili called Tatiana Kostaskaya in Moscow. The woman answered after three rings. Even after almost five years, Aili recognized her voice; it stuck in her head like super glue put it there.

“Mrs. Kostaskaya,” Aili said, and continued haltingly, her Russian rusty from lack of use. “This is Aili MacIntire. Do you remember me?”

“Of course,” Tatiana answered, then continued in much better English than Aili remembered. Aili wondered if Katya’s mother studied the language just for this moment, when she could hear about her granddaughter again. “I have read about Mr. Tokan in the papers. Is my granddaughter okay?”

“Yes, she’s wonderful. Aggie is—” Then she stopped and started again. “I’m sorry. I changed her name. Ivanovich knew it.”

“Of course, of course,” Tatiana responded. “She’s good though?”

“Yes, she’s a sweet girl, lovely and smart. She’s the light of my life. I, um… I just started her in school, but she’s been reading for a year.”

“Oh!” was all Tatiana said. Aili could tell that she was crying.

“I call her Aglaya.”

“Oh! ‘Beauty.’ Yes!”

“I would like to send you pictures and things. And once I can explain to her everything that happened, I would like you to be able to talk to her on the phone sometimes.”

“Oh, yes, please!” More tears.

“There is one other thing. We have been given plane tickets, and we want to come see you—”

“Yes!”

“Well, that is the main reason I called. I wondered when would be good for you and—”

“Today! As soon as you could come here.”

Aili cried too now, and she laughed through her tears. “Well, it might take a week or two to get everything ready, but I also would like to come very soon.”

“You always are welcome!”

“All right. Well, I will get on this today, and I’ll call you back in a day or so to let you know. When I call back, you can talk with Aggie.”

“Yes! Oh, as you say, ‘Can’t wait!’”

“No. Me either.”

When Aggie woke up that morning, Aili gave her some chocolate milk and cereal and sat down at the dining room table facing her. “So… we need to talk about something.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Aggie said, too young to be scared of conversations that started like that.

Aili, on the other hand, was nervous. “I need to tell you something, something I wanted to tell you before now, but I couldn’t. To keep you safe, see? I worried that if you knew, then the bad guys could find out, so I didn’t tell you, even though I knew you should have known, that you should have always known.”

Aggie, her face full of Cheerios, gave Aili a puzzled look.

“You know I love you a lot, sweetie, don’t you?”

Aggie swallowed her cereal. “Yes, Mama. I love you too.”

“Well, good, and this won’t change that. Nothing changes that.”

The little girl had a bit of “duh” in her tone. “I know, Mommy.”

“Well, you know the story I’ve always told you about Princess Katie and the ogre and Princess Annie.”

“Yeah, I love that story.”

“Okay, so what if it was kind of like real life in some ways? Like you were Princess Annie, and the ogre and the thief were our bad guys and…” Aili’s voice trailed away because Aggie looked more and more confused. “You know I’ll always love you, right?”

“Of course, Mommy.” But Aggie looked more bewildered. Then, suddenly, her face opened up. “Are you trying to tell me about my other mommy, the one who died? I know all about her, Mom.”

Now Aili shot a knit brow and pursed lips at her daughter. “How did you know? Did Uncle Beck or—”

“I just did, Mama.”

“You know about her?”

“Yeah.”

Aili started slow, trying to recover. “Well, we are going to go on a trip soon, because her family, your grandmas, aunt, and uncle, want to meet you.”

“Cool.”

“Do you want to talk to your grandma on the phone tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, I do. Can I please go play now?”

“Sure,” Aili told her.

The little girl chugged her chocolate milk then slid out of her chair. Aili stared at her in amazement.

* * *

Three days after they moved back into the house on Orange Grove Avenue, in the evening after dinner, Aggie was playing in the front yard when she started calling excitedly for her mother. Aili sat in her room with her laptop and planned their trip to Russia the following week. She had left the front window open so she could hear her daughter, but she enjoyed feeling a little safer than before and liked the idea of giving Aglaya a little more freedom. When she heard the girl’s shouts, her stomach clenched for half a second, but Aggie’s tone was full of happy. She relaxed, closed her computer, ambled out the front door, and stopped breathing.

Matthew Gold sat on the lawn, holding Aggie in his lap. His car sat at an angle along the curb with the driver’s side door left open. The vehicle still idled, the keys in the ignition. Matt peered at Aili with an awkward smile, and Aili could tell that calling her into the reunion hadn’t exactly been his idea.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey! I’m not trying to kidnap your daughter, by the way. I was driving by on my way home and saw her, and I… I should’ve asked, I know, but she was on me before I could take one step toward the door.”

Aili waited for his rambles to fall silent. “No, it’s okay. I trust you, you know that. And she really missed you.”

“I missed her too. When did you guys get home?”

“A couple of days ago. Tokan took a plea deal, imagine that.”

“I actually read about that in the Journal. That’s really good news.”

“A good surprise for us. A relief.”

They stared at each other awkwardly another moment. Aggie broke the silence. “Let’s go to the park. Mama, can we?”

Matt waited for Aili to answer, always good about letting her make the decisions about her daughter.

“Do you want to go to the park?” Aili asked him.

“Sure. It would be fun for us all to—”

“Well, I’ve got to finish what I’m doing, but if you—”

“I would love to take Aggie.”

“Oh, Mama, come,” Aggie pleaded.

“I can’t, sweetheart. I’m working on our trip.” To Matt, she said, “We’re going to Russia to meet Katya’s family.”

“Awesome!” He meant it, she could tell. “That will be a great thing for all of you. I bet they’ve really missed getting to know her.”

“Tatiana is excited, and I could tell she was crying. She wanted us to come as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure she did.”

Aili chewed on her bottom lip. “Anyway, I should…”

“I got it. I’m sorry you’re too busy to come with us, but I understand.”

Yeah, Aili thought, he understood all right. Matt was sharp. He understood perfectly she didn’t want to be around him now that they’d broken up.

He glanced down at his green Chuck Taylors, popped his knuckles, then looked back up at her. “I will bring her back by eight thirty.”

Aili nodded. Matt took Aggie’s hand and stepped toward his car, but Aggie pulled in the opposite direction. “Can we get ice cream?” she asked, looking at both of them.

Aili laughed and looked at Matt. “I’ll get you some money.”

“Naw, I’ve got it.”

“Yay!” Aggie said.

Matt swung the little girl up into his arms and carried her toward the car. Aili went inside and tried to go back to work but just ended up thinking about Matthew Gold. She remembered happy things about their relationship and pushed all the memories away. She wondered if he was seeing anyone yet, but she told herself it didn’t matter. It would never work between them, not after everything she’d put him through.

Aggie still loved him so much.

Aili still did, too, though she didn’t like admitting it to herself.

Before she knew it, the doorbell rang. Aggie slept in Matt’s arms, and Aili let him carry the little girl to her bed.

“Did you two have fun?” she asked him as she walked him out.

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah. It was great. She wore me out, but I always have a great time with her, you know that.”

“You’re good with her.”

“She’s good for me.”

“She really loves you.”

He gave her a funny look then, before he slowly said, “I love her too.”

“I appreciate you taking her out. I’m sure she loved it.”

“I did too. But what are trying to say, Aili?”

Man, he knew her too well. Finally she said, “Just that I think you’re good for her. I think it’s important she has good guys in her life, to be like father figures, you know, as her own father isn’t good for that. And, well, if you still want to be in her life, you’re more than welcome.”

“I do want to be in her life. I want—”

Just in case he was going to start talking about Aili and their relationship instead of his and Aggie’s, Aili interrupted him. “So we’ll keep in touch when we come back from Russia, about some times you can hang out with her.”

“Play dates? Yeah, okay.” They reached the door, and Aili opened it, but he didn’t step through. He said, “So how’d the trip planning go?”

Aili hadn’t done a single thing since he and Aggie had left. “Good,” she lied. “It’s really coming along.”

He nodded. “Awesome. You have a good time, and we’ll talk when you get back.”

Aili nodded too. “Sounds good,” she responded, but something told her he didn’t mean the same thing she had meant by “talk.”

Then he was gone.

A couple mornings later when Aili went to get her mail, she found a new bar stool sitting on her doorstep with a big, bright blue bow tied to it.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…

Aili lay on her back, stared at the ceiling, and counted the specks in the tiles, hoping it would bore her enough to help her fall asleep.

She left for college tomorrow.

She had so much to think about.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty…

She was glad to get out of this house. She’d lived in it alone with her father for thirteen years, which meant she didn’t really remember living any other way. She had only the thinnest recollections of her mother, who died when Aili was three. Her whole life, Aili had believed her mother’s death was an accident, but her father was kind enough to inform her (just this morning, in fact) that Kathleen MacIntire had committed suicide.

Vindictive old jerk.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…

He also said, “Remember to keep your back up straight. You can’t be the shy little mouse at college with all these older kids. They’ll eat you alive. You need to look confident and brave if you want to survive. You can’t let them take advantage of you. No child of mine is going to be a wimp. And stop acting so smart. If you substitute supposed intelligence for actual social skills, everyone will hate you. You’ll become the punch line in every practical joke.”

Twenty-five, twenty-six…

She was his only child, sixteen years old and headed to college, and he was concerned that she’d embarrass him. Like he was some kind of social genius or something. He hadn’t had a single date in thirteen years.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, jerk, idiot…

Part of Aili understood, probably from something she read in a psychology textbook, that these blowhard lectures were her father’s way to look out for her and give her what passed in his mind as wise, fatherly advice. He was so bad at being supportive. Not that he learned much better from his parents. These crappy parenting habits seemed to go all the way back to Eden.

Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two…

Aili should vow right now never to have children.

Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five...

At least not until she learned something better.

Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight…

Maybe that was why she coveted a psychology degree. Even though her emphasis would be criminal psychology (she wanted to go to law school afterwards, then, fingers crossed, join the FBI), maybe she hoped that she would learn something to make her a better person than her parents.

Thirty-nine, forty, fat chance, good luck…

If she learned anything from watching her father live his life, it was that things didn’t always turn out like you planned…

Forty-one, forty-two…

And it usually wasn’t because they turned out better.

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six… This tile has a lot of blemishes. Kinda like me.

“Don’t act so smart…”

Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty…

Didn’t he get that the data was all she had? Absorbing and analyzing information was the only thing that she was good at. Why did he rip on it all the time? Was he trying to take everything from his daughter? Did he want to destroy her?

Maybe that had been it all along.

Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three…

Maybe she reminded him too much of his wife who hated both of them so much she chose being dead over staying with them. Maybe he hated that she wasn’t a boy. Maybe he hated that she was smarter than he was… Or maybe he had known the truth all along: that she wasn’t that smart, that she put everything she had into getting good grades so she’d look smart, but she’d really been nothing but a fraud all along.

Fifty-four…

A fraud who worshipped books because she couldn’t make any real friends.

Fifty-five…

A fraud who studied psychology but didn’t understand people.

Fifty-six…

A fraud who would be bullied and robbed and raped the second she set foot on that college campus.

Fifty-seven…

Worse yet, a fraud who soon would be exposed as the complete idiot she was.

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty…

College tomorrow.

Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four…

Yay. Without any hint of actual excitement whatsoever, of course.

Sixty-five, sixty-six, ah, screw it! Sleep won’t even help; I’m hopeless.

This was going to suck.

Chapter Sixteen

Aili worried she wouldn’t recognize Tatiana when she saw her. She’d only seen Katya’s mother that once (well, besides the freaky dream a couple months back), and that was almost five years ago. When she and Aggie landed in Moscow, Aili wore heavy eyelids from the planning, the packing, and the twelve-and-a-half-hour flight. Aggie slept well overnight on the plane—something Aili wasn’t able to do, so the little girl bounced down the air bridge with a bright eyes and a wide childish grin, while Aili walked in an oppressive mental fog.

Aggie chatted up the customs lady with the six words of Russian Aili managed to teach her the day before. “Hello, I meet my grandma today!” she announced happily.

Aggie found the baggage carousel, and when Aili’s black tote and Aggie’s flowered roller slipped by her, the little girl yanked on her hand and pointed. And Aggie jumped up and down and said, “Look, Mama, it’s them,” when Aggie was the one to spot her grandmother and seventeen-year-old uncle.

Aili still was processing this statement when Aglaya broke from her and ran into Tatiana’s open arms. When she wandered over to join them, tears streamed down the grandma’s cheeks. Grigory looked a tad embarrassed, but also amused by this small girl who tried to cram her whole life story into a few words, all while saying, “Grandma, don’t be sad. We’re on a trip!” and Tatiana tried to explain, “I am crying because I am so happy.”

When Aggie let her grandma go so she could shake her uncle’s hand and introduce herself, Tatiana pulled Aili into her arms. She whispered in Aili’s ear, in Russian, “She is so much like my Kati.”

Aili practically choked herself, it was so hard not to cry. When Tatiana let Aili go, Katya’s mother smiled through her tears. “Come. We will find a taxi. Tanya and my mother-in-law already have gone to the hotel.”

Aili nodded dumbly, and she and the two kids (hand-in-hand, with Grig still looking embarrassed) followed Tatiana from the airport.

They didn’t schedule a lot of things for the trip. They went to the zoo, because Aggie loved zoos. It was important to both Tatiana and Aili that Aglaya have a sense of her mother’s life, so instead of the normal touristy sightseeing, they played in the recess yard at Katya’s grade school, attended morning mass at the Kostaskys’ orthodox church, and fetched hot pirozhki from Kati’s favorite corner grocery.

Otherwise, they spent a lot of time at the hotel, just relaxing and being together. Grigory, Tanya, and Aggie splashed hours in the pool and returned prune-y and chlorine-scented to the suite to laugh and joke over Russian cartoons. More than once, Aggie, decked out in pool towel “cape” and bedazzled paper crown, convinced her aunt and uncle to join in on make-believe games of her own invention.

The three women talked late into the night. Some of the rust wore off Aili’s Russian as the days passed, which was good. While Tatiana and her children spoke proficient English, Katya’s Bubbe spoke very little, so Aili appreciated having her Russian to communicate with her. The older woman wore sadness in her heavy eyes and the lines on her face. She suffered in a way Aili could only imagine, having lost her husband when her son was young then watched her granddaughter and son both die before her. Aili could tell that Aggie’s brightness and affection put a spark of life in Bubbe’s eyes, and Bubbe doted on the little girl and taught her as much Russian as she could every single day. Aili grew astonished as she watched the light of understanding grow between the old woman and the young child.

The whole trip seemed blessed, but the best (and most heartbreaking) part came their last evening together. Tatiana and Bubbe had hinted at a particular surprise all week, and it turned out to be a special, traditional dinner prepared in their own home, the small apartment where Katya spent most of her life.

They gathered as a family around the rickety, aluminum-legged table, and their knees knocked each other’s whenever someone shifted their weight. They slurped borscht with sour cream, and Aglaya dribbled the purple soup down the front of her orange T-shirt when she laughed at one of Grig’s jokes.

Aili speared savory pelmeni on her fork and absorbed the stories—blinking back tears—that Tatiana and Bubbe told about Katya’s childhood. At their urging, she related memories from Aggie’s life and swallowed a stone in her throat when Matthew Gold showed up in one of them.

Aggie helped Tanya clear the table, and Bubbe served sharlotka and strong coffee in the cozy, worn-but-tidy living area. They looked through heavy photo albums and a shoebox of mementos that Tatiana had saved from Katya’s life. Tatiana presented Aggie with Katya’s first doll, dressed in some of Kati’s own baby clothes, several snapshots of the family, and a book of Russian bedtime stories that Aili promised to read to her.

It grew late. Bubbe went to bed, and Tatiana’s kids followed. Aggie curled up at one end of the sofa, out like a light, and the two moms—the bereaved one and the adoptive one—sat and talked about the lovely young girl who brought them together.

“I knew Katya was special from the day she was born,” Tatiana said. “You could tell, couldn’t you?”

Aili nodded, and this time, she couldn’t stop a few tears. While Tatiana talked on about her oldest child, Aili gazed at a photo album open on the coffee table, pictures of Katya and her family at the same zoo they explored with Aggie a few days before. The pictures came before Nikolai had gotten so sick; Grigory looked about Aglaya’s current age.

Tatiana looked wistful as she sorted through her memories. “She was so helpful always. And when things got hard, when her father got sick, she didn’t understand why I tried to protect them from so much. I told her…” Tatiana’s voice cracked and splintered. She cleared her throat. “I told her, when you are a mother, you will understand. Because you do anything to make things good for your children. I know you know, because I have seen you with my granddaughter.”

“Kati knew too.”

Tatiana gave a tearful smile. “I am sure my daughter was a good mother.”

“Better than me.”

“Oh, I do not know. She was just a little girl and could not have protected Aglaya like you have these years.”

“She shouldn’t have had to.”

Tatiana shrugged. “That…that was her life. And I did not know…” Tatiana stopped and stared down at her hands, searching for words in her calloused palms. She folded them like a prayer, and the gesture struck Aili, bringing back so many memories of Matthew, and the way he would pray before he spoke whenever they were having a difficult conversation. A new flood of tears filled Aili’s eyes, and she choked on a sob.

Finally, Tatiana continued, “I did not know how much my daughter gave me strength, just by being herself. Her hope, her peace, her love… her faith. When I lost her, when that man took her, I almost lost mine. I became so angry with God. I told Him I had given Him everything else. How could He take my daughter too? She was my…my spark of fire, yes?”

Aili nodded to show that she understood. Her tongue fought with her words. “I’d give anything if Aggie could have known her.”

Tatiana’s eyes widened. “But she does. Do you not know?”

Aili must have given Tatiana a look like she was crazy, because Tatiana looked down at her hands again. Aili said, “I’m sorry. That was rude. I have no right to criticize what you believe. I just mean the world lost a wonderful thing in Katya. But you know that. I am sorry I didn’t save her like I was supposed to. And I am sorry you lost your faith.”

Tatiana startled then shook her head adamantly. “Oh, but He gave it back. Things were hard a long time. I went on living because I had to. Because there was only me to do it, I went to work, helped my husband, took care of my children. But I had no joy; I let it be taken. That was my mistake. Those three years were the most hard. But then came you.”

“Me?” Aili gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“I do not think you were ‘supposed to’ save my daughter’s life. But you did save my family.”

“Okay, whatever.”

“I do not understand…? My English?”

“I am being rude again, and I’m sorry. I am only saying that I don’t understand.”

“When you told me about my daughter, how she spent those three years of her life, how she died... When I saw my granddaughter, I understood why. I understood what He had been doing. I grieved her loss, yes, but I had grieved three years. When I understood, finally, I praised Him again.”

“But why?” Aili bawled now. “You said it yourself, Katya was special. Katya was supposed to be great!”

“She was great!”

“Your daughter died in the jungle on the ground. I left her there in the dirt and rotten leaves. And we never found her. She probably was dragged away by wild animals.”

Tatiana cringed a bit, but the set of her jaw and her tone were both firm. “No, my daughter went home with her father.”

“She deserved better than to be left there. She deserved better than to have her life and innocence taken by some twisted monster.”

Tatiana was shaking her head. “My daughter had strength, you know…um…power. No one could have taken my Katya’s life; she gave it. And she gave her life to God long before that so-called Ivanovich ever saw her.”

“Then why did God throw it away?”

“He never did.” Tatiana’s tone was adamant. “He did not! Can you not see? You were with her. How can you not understand why she gave her life? I am sorry, Aili, that you have suffered this all these years.”

“I am not the one who suffered.”

“Yes. You are. And I am so sad for you. I will pray with all of my heart that someday you will understand.”

“Yeah, Tatiana, pray for me all you want.” Aili stood up and pulled on her sweater. “I need to get a cab.”

“Aili…?”

“It’s really late, you know, and Aggie and I have to get on a plane first thing in the morning. I have to enroll her in a real school as soon as we get back. We’ve been doing the internet school, like I told you, but she’s such a social person. She needs to be around other kids. Anyway, it will be crazy busy.”

Tatiana looked sad, but she nodded. “I understand. You will call, still, and write?”

“Of course. You are our family now. But we do have to go.”

Tatiana went to the couch and woke Aggie by brushing her hair back from her face. “My sweet girl,” she said, “it is time to say goodbye, for now.”

* * *

So they went back home and settled into their new “normal” life. Aggie started kindergarten in Glendale while Aili got down to running a household without tight government involvement. A week home and she had written a budget and set up an interview with the FBI L.A. Field Director that Melinda White told her to contact.

One school day, the doorbell rang, and Aili went to answer it. Matt’s familiar profile showed through the window. She’d been half expecting something like this. She opened the front door but left the screen closed, just like she had the first time he’d ever come over. Her hands shook and her mouth went dry.

He had bothered with his contacts this time; it was only the second time since she met him that he wore them. He wanted her to see his face, she realized. He wanted nothing between her eyes and his. Here, she hid behind a barred storm door, still locked, yet the effect of his naked eyes unsettled and captivated her.

“Hey,” he said, the word somehow both welcoming and… heavy, like a loaded gun.

“Hey,” she responded. This was awkward, and it was her fault.

He held her gaze a moment. “Can I come in?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He closed his eyes while he took a deep breath, probably praying. Finally, the words passed through the screen. “You’ll talk to me about Aggie, but you won’t talk to me about us. Why is that?”

“I thought we said everything before I left.”

“You said you didn’t want me to come with you. But now you’re back. That changes everything.”

“I said I wanted you to move on.”

An ironic laugh jerked from his throat. “How far did you think I would move in less than two months? I thought of you and Aggie as my family. That doesn’t go away overnight.”

Aili didn’t say anything.

He rejoined, “It hasn’t for you either. I can tell. You know, I never took the ring back; I couldn’t. And you’re back, waiting to wear it. So why do you still leave me on the front porch like the last year and a half of you and me never even happened?”

“You’re not like me, Matt. You don’t understand the messes I’ve made. I already have gotten a lot more good than I ever deserved.”

“Well, thank God! So have I. He came to set us free. It’s time to stop letting the fear keep you in chains. You should know that! You’re the one who fell in love with The Idiot. How did you do that while missing the entire point?”

Aili rolled her eyes. “What does some old book have to do with you and me?”

“The point of The Idiot is Grace. You already knew that; it’s about a man, a prince, who sacrificed everything, even his health and well-being and the happiness of the woman he loved in an attempt to save a quote-unquote ‘fallen’ woman from a terrible fate. But for all of how you understood the theme, you missed the moral. Maybe because you hate the ending so much. It’s about wasted Grace. How in the end this idiot prince was unable to overcome her penchant for self-destruction.”

Aili looked away, and Matt rattled the screen to get her attention. He said, “If you want to get allegorical about it, the heroic idiot is Jesus, broken Nastasya is either the children of Israel or the world at large or both, and proud Aglaya is the Christian church. But that’s not what matters to you, because you applied it to your situation with the names you chose for yourself and your daughter.”

“Or not-my-daughter.” Aili’s tone was wry.

“Yes, your daughter. You can’t back out on that now, shouldn’t even think it. It would destroy her.”

“Don’t even imply that! I protect Aggie. I take care of her.”

His fingernails grazed the screen impatiently, emitting a buzz that cut through Aili’s nerves. “Of course. That’s why you named yourself after the two sisters who would do anything to make sure Aglaya would be happy. But you wrote your story wrong. Because you’re not Alexandra or Adelaida; you’re Nastasya. You’re the one wasting the Grace. And when you rewrote Dostoevsky’s book by naming your daughter Myshkin, you made a mistake too, a big mistake. Because you rewrote the prince’s actions when any true idiot can see it was your actions that should’ve played out differently from the beginning.”

“But what can I do? Everything’s broken. What can I do now?”

“I love you, Aili. I’m here. None of anyone’s past sins matter anymore, and you still waste the Grace, the precious Grace, more valuable than all the gold and diamonds in the whole world!”

“I love you too, Matthew, but all that stuff, it does still matter. It’s still there.”

“No. Open your eyes. It’s gone!”

“But Katya is still dead! Aggie still has to live without her.”

“Well, I guess that’s too bad for you, because you're still forgiven! Jesus died too; remember that, Aili? The Son of God, remember him? He died. Wasn't that enough? God said it was enough. Who are you to argue with Him? Jesus died, and he killed death in the process. But you refuse to live. Now you're the dead one; you're living death out every day, every time you give in to that fear. And Katya... Katya is safe. She isn’t afraid; she’s free. Katya lives with Him.”

Aili wanted to believe that, all of that. And it was what she claimed she believed. But somehow it was too hard to let go. She stared into Matthew’s eyes, her hands rested, frozen, on the screen of the door. She said nothing, so he went on.

“You’re free now, babe. God’s own Son set you free. So what are you gonna do now, Aili MacIntire, with the free freedom you’ve received? You gonna go to Disneyland? I’m here. Right here. Right now. What are you gonna do? Do you go to bed tonight with the Fear that will murder you in the morning? Or are you finally gonna open the door?”

 

What are you going to do?

 

THE END

---

1 This is a transliteration of the Hebrew name מתיתיהו, which is translated to “Matthew.” It means “gift of God.”

2 For generations, practicing Jews living outside of Israel have tended to give their children Hebrew names. This name is often, but not always, the Hebrew translation of a person’s given name; it also may be an entirely different name that holds significance for the parents. In Hebrew, the name “Asher” is spelled “אשר” and pronounced ah-SHEER, often with a rolling R at the end.

3 In Judaism, being left unburied for dogs to eat is considered a divine punishment for the most egregious violations of God’s law, like those committed by the house of Jeroboam. King Jeroboam, in an attempt to secure his own political power, led ten of Israel’s twelve tribes into idol worship (see 1 Kings 12:25-14:20). Matt, to condemn himself with men like Jeroboam, is clearly suffering from extreme guilt (and clearly in need of Grace).

4 It’s important to note that Greek, like English, is printed (as you view) left to right, but Hebrew is printed right to left. Because of this, in Levi’s tattoo, as described, both words appear “first” in the line of text presented, making them of equal importance. This juxtaposition is intentional and very meaningful.

5 HaShem means “the Name” in Hebrew; Tetragrammaton means “four letters” in Greek. Jews hold God’s name as sacred, considering it too holy to say aloud or even spell out; in Hebrew letters, the abbreviation looks like this: יהוה. In the Hebrew part of the Christian Bible, places where HaShem appears are translated as “The LORD.”

6 The name Levi has origins in Hebrew as well. Leví, from ל־ו־ה, pronounced lĕ-VEE. It means “joined in harmony.” It was the name of the patriarch Jacob’s third son, who became the father of the Levite tribe. This tribe contained Israel’s priestly order, the sacred worship musicians, the agents of pastoral care for all of Israel, the keepers of the Cities of Refuge, and those who cared for the articles in the tabernacle (mobile tent temple) and the temple itself after it finally was built under King Solomon.