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Then Angelina kissed Cate one more time and left the room.
* * *
Alec stood by the window gazing out into the gathering darkness, watching the snow fall in a blanket of white, as he marshaled his thoughts. For a moment he wished he hadn’t asked Angelina to leave. Maybe it would be easier with her there. But then he knew he’d been right to insist on doing this himself. Angelina was too close to her cousin. Too attached. She couldn’t be objective, not on something like this, despite being able to listen calmly, quietly, to Caterina’s story—Cate’s story, he reminded himself. Angelina’s cousin had told them she went by Cate now, and he had to remember that.
But without Angelina’s assistance, that meant it was all on him to figure out what to say to a woman who’d been to hell and back to convince her she needed to go back into hell.
Cate made it easy for him. “It is best to just say it, straight out, whatever it is.”
Despite everything, Alec couldn’t help laughing softly. “You sound just like Angelina,” he told her, unexpected humor lightening the heavy burden on his heart as he paid her the highest compliment in his book. And that’s the key, he realized suddenly. The key to the woman Cate was, the way to reach her. Despite her waiflike appearance, she was strong inside, where it counted. Just like Angelina. Determined not to crumble where a lesser woman would have. Tough enough to survive the hell she’d survived and fight her way out. Hadn’t he told McKinnon Angelina would testify because it was the right thing to do, no matter the risk? And hadn’t he said, If Caterina’s anything like her cousin, she’ll do it. She’ll testify?
“I want the evidence you’ve got against Vishenko and everyone involved in the trafficking and prostitution ring,” he said straight out. Not harshly, but a demand. “Not just that—I want anything and everything you’ve got on Vishenko. And I want you to testify against him. Against them.”
She paled. “Why?” she asked through lips that barely parted enough to get that one word out.
Pain slashed through him, but Alec knew he couldn’t soften. Knew there was a time for gentleness and compassion. This wasn’t it. Cate didn’t need tenderness right now. She needed to remember how strong she really was. “Because you’re one,” he told her in no uncertain terms.
Her head tilted to one side, and her brows drew together in a question. “I don’t—”
“Edward Everett Hale wrote it more than a hundred years ago,” he said before she could finish. “My parents thought it was so important they made sure every one of their children understood the concept. ‘I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.’”
He paused to let that sink in. “You’re one. Just as I am. Just as Angelina is. All we can do is the best we can do. Each time. Every time. And we can never give up. We can’t. Because if we give up, if we say, ‘Let someone else do it, let someone else take the risk,’ then people like Vishenko win. Not because they’re smarter than us, or better than us, but because they can make us afraid. Because we let them make us afraid.”
“I am afraid,” she said faintly. “Why me? Why do I have to testify?” She stumbled over her words in her haste to explain. “When...when you left the room, Angelina told me that even if Vishenko never faces justice here in the US, he will be tried in Zakhar for attempting to kill the crown prince. One of the men he hired has already confessed. So you don’t need me to put him away—he will end his days in a Zakharian prison.”
Alec shook his head again, wondering what else he could say to convince her she was strong enough to do this. “It’s not just Vishenko. If it was, you’d be right, but it’s not. We have to bring all the men in the conspiracy to justice—from the men who lured the Zakharian women with false promises, to the men at the US embassy who provided the fraudulent work visas for the trafficked women, to the men from the Bratva who forced the women into prostitution. We can’t do it without you.”
She drew a sharp, shuddering breath and gazed at him from wounded eyes. “But he will be there,” she whispered, almost in despair.
“So will I,” he promised her. “So will Angelina. We’ll be there. You can’t let him win—not this time. Not ever again.” He reached down and touched a finger to the scar on one of her wrists. “You fought him before, Cate—this proves it. Fight him now with everything in you. We’ll help you. Your cousin and I will do everything we can to help you.”
