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“I am in the business of monitoring, controlling and even creating records and information. No one will ever know the truth, and you’ll be forever safe from any fallout.” She swallowed, flabbergasted yet again at another demonstration of his power. He sat forward, enveloping her in the heat of his body and aura. “Apart from all that, I assure you of another thing. Alex will be honored, his research and results will all be published. His legacy, which is substantial, will be applied, will get the recognition and rewards it deserves. His family will be given their full benefit, morally and financially.”
The urge to launch herself at him, bury her face into his endless chest, cling and sob her heart out, almost overpowered her. Her every frailty reached out to absorb all she could of his strength. What he was so unreservedly offering.
Only her depletion and mounting dread of the impending reunion stopped her, made her unable to seek his refuge.
Which was just as well, since his offer of solace and protection didn’t seem to extend to anything physical.
And she had to abide by his rules—this man she’d once loved, who’d injured her in the past and healed her in the present, both with no explanation.
But she didn’t need to understand him to give him his due. It was what Alex would have wanted her to do. “Alex couldn’t have hoped to leave his legacy in the hands of anyone better or more capable than you.”
His eyes darkened again, whether at the mention of Alex’s name or at the implied gratitude in her statement.
Before he could respond, she asked, “How long before we land?”
His turbulent gaze flitted to his phone. “Two hours.”
She lowered her seat back to a flat position, pulled the blanket over her aching body. “I’ll sleep again, then.”
He surged forward, helping her adjust the seat and the covers. “Do that. Rest.”
You’ll need it went unspoken.
* * *
Ivan watched Anastasia sleeping, and knowing this would be the last time he did had bleakness expanding in his chest.
They’d landed an hour ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her sleep. As restless as it was, it was still better than what she’d go through when she woke up. This way, he had her beneath his eyes, where he could ward off the world, for as long as possible.
That had been one of the reasons he was escorting her home—to prolong his time with her. As Antonio had said, that was for himself as much as it was for her.
But the main reason he was doing this remained her, and Alex. Antonio had been right. He couldn’t keep her any longer from the people she loved, those who were her lifelong support system. She needed her family, needed to bury her brother, give them all the chance to grieve, to say goodbye.
And he couldn’t stomach letting her take the brunt of her family’s shock alone. He couldn’t bear that Alex would be buried without him being there. His abhorrence to being close to his family had been outweighed by his need to shield her, to honor Alex.
Now he had to rouse her. And they both had to plunge into their own version of a waking nightmare.
* * *
Two hours later, Ivan stood behind Anastasia on the threshold of the home Alex had shared with his wife, Ivan’s sister, and their two children, his niece and nephew.
As they waited for the door to open, he felt Anastasia swaying, as if she was coming apart under the weight of the dread of confronting her best friend. And though it hurt to touch her, his hand clamped her trembling arm, offering her his strength, letting her know he’d step in anytime she needed.
In the next moment, he wondered if it was he who needed support.
The woman who opened the door had an eager smile that, in spite of all the changes twenty-eight years had wrought, was still the same as that of the baby sister he’d known. Her smile immediately froze when she saw Anastasia without Alex, looking desolate, and with him, a stranger, towering over her.
To say the next hour was harrowing would be to say that his time with The Organization hadn’t been too bad.
At first, Anastasia had haltingly introduced him, so she wouldn’t break down on the spot, needing to be strong for her best friend and sister-in-law. Then Katerina’s—Cathy’s—questions had come, the dread mounting until each answer fleshed out the scenario he’d created, validating her worst possible fears.
Then the agony had come. He’d felt every stab of it in his own gut as he watched yet another person he cared about in the throes of absolute anguish. For just seeing his sister in the flesh had brought back the memories of how much he’d loved her, from the moment his mother had told him she was pregnant again. In spite of her maturation from his Russian baby sister into a thoroughly American woman, she was still somehow his little Katerina.
He’d thought nothing could be worse than being ambushed by those kindred feelings he hadn’t thought he could ever feel again, or than suffering shearing empathy for her loss. Until her—and his—parents arrived.
Seeing the man and woman he’d once loved completely, whom he’d idolized, rush to their bereaved daughter’s side, seemingly as overcome, rocked him to his core.
For almost three decades, since he’d discovered what they’d done to him, he’d imagined how he’d feel if he ever saw them again. He’d come up with a thousand scenarios. He’d known he’d hate it, had been determined never to expose himself to it. But he’d thought he’d braced for each possibility, that none could actually hit him too hard.
