“I’ll see the ladies to the hotel first, then happily answer all questions.” Propriety or not, Wynn slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. No chance on earth was he leaving her side anytime soon. Given their history, she might order him to, but he was of a mind not to listen.
“Right. We’ll be seeing you there.” The officer touched the brim of his hat in respect to Svetlana. “Ma’am.”
The police milled all about Wynn and Svetlana, like rushing waves around an island. Her head was tilted down, the veil muting her features, but Wynn knew if he were to lift it he would see heartbreak and sadness.
“Are you all right, Svetlana?”
She turned into him and bent her forehead to touch his shoulder. “I thought you were to call me Lana.”
Her voice was soft and fragile, like petals bruised on the ground after a bitter storm. One billow of wind more and they would crumble to fine dust, but even crushed petals linger with sweetness for he could describe her words as nothing but that. They wrapped around his soul as an intoxicating balm he wished to drown in. “Do you wish me to call you Lana?”
“Yes.”
A single word, but, oh, the hard-fought victory in it. Wynn dropped his mouth close to her ear. “Then, are you all right, my Lana?”
Her face tilted so that her mouth hovered enticingly close to his. “I am now.”
More than anything he wanted to kiss her and wash away everything that had driven them apart, but this was not the place. Not surrounded by barking policemen, morbid onlookers, and the stench of grease and smoke. Later, when death did not hover so close in memory.
Raising her gloved hand to his lips, he settled for brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “I’ll take you to the hotel.”
Svetlana pulled herself from Wynn’s arms and walked over to put an arm around her mother. “Come along, Mama. We’re free to go now.”
Ana’s shaking hand reached up to clasp the gold cross suspended about her neck as Svetlana escorted her toward the stairs. Gone was the avenging angel, returned once more into the aging princess who leaned into her daughter for support with a closeness never before encouraged.
The body, covered in a white sheet, was brought up from the platform. Blood speckled the cloth and a mangled hand with three missing fingers flopped out. Wynn choked back a sickened noise. He’d seen more than his fair share of death and broken bodies, but train tracks were a gruesome way to end a life. He tried to summon a sliver of pity for Sergey but found he had none while watching his wife and mother-in-law bravely walk away. That dog would have had them killed. Wynn may be able to find forgiveness for trespasses imposed on himself, but that magnanimity did not extend to those threatening his loved ones. A hypocrisy he was willing to live with.
Leaving the police to their grisly details, Wynn and Leonid fell into step behind the women and waved off the onlookers shouting morbid questions as they crossed the upper concourse of the station in search of the exit.
“How’s your arm?”
“It heal like wound for hero.” Leonid smacked a newspaper man out of the way as he tried to get them to stop for a photograph. “Vultures,” he muttered, ending with something in Russian that was probably best left unexplained. He leaned close to Wynn. “One day real story you tell me, Mac.”
Wynn nodded absently. He needed to find that porter and have the borrowed horse returned. “One day.”
“Next time ask first. I know how handle dead bodies. No one find.”
“What is it with you Russians? Is disposal education part of your upbringing?”
Leonid shrugged. “Me,
“I didn’t kill a patient.”
“
Wynn shook his head as he placed a hand on Svetlana’s back and steered her toward the door and the gray light beyond. These Russians were going to be the death of him.
* * *
After two hours giving testimony at the police station, Wynn was ready to close the book on the day and then burn it. He hoped he never had to relive it again.
Dragging his feet down the hotel corridor, he stopped in front of the door marked 342. In 343 was his wilted mother-in-law, who hadn’t spoken more than two words since they left the train station, and in 344 was Leonid, who had boasted an intent to order everything on the room-service menu. His appetite waited for no man. It was room 342 that Wynn was interested in, for that was where Svetlana was. Waiting for him.