Page 26 of Wyatt

“Listen, I told you about how Sarai and I finally got together—that I had to sneak into a part of the country that was under siege to pull her kicking and screaming out of trouble. And she hated me for it—but it saved her life. Eventually, she forgave me and she realized that I did what I did because I loved her.” He took a breath and looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to take this chance to go with Wyatt? Because it feels like the same crazy thing.”

“And what about Mikka?”

“I can get Mikka, get him out of the country—”

“What kind of mother would that make me—leaving my son behind in Russia for others to rescue?”

Roman’s mouth tightened and yes, she could hear the weird hypocrisy in her statement. Hadn’t she let other people, for the most part, care for and raise her son? But no—she’d sent him packages every month. Went to visit regularly. Called and told him she loved him. It was no different than sending him away to boarding school.

She did it to keep him safe, and that thought centered her and allowed her to meet Roman’s hazel-green eyes with a look that said, “This is for the best. For everyone.” Then she hauled her pack out of his Lada and headed into the station.

The train to Belogorsk left the station late, so she sat on the bench, her backpack clutched to her, watching for signs of York. Or Gustov, or frankly, even Wyatt.

She couldn’t pry from her gut the sense that she hadn’t seen the end of him.

Oh, shoot, even hoped so. Because his touch still lingered on her skin. The taste of him, the sense that in his arms, the world stopped terrifying her.

She was safe.

But no one could keep her safe but herself, so, yeah, she hoped desperately that Wyatt was in his hotel room sleeping. And tomorrow, got on that train to Vladivostock, the opposite direction of Belogorsk.

She boarded and found her spot in second class, in the open car filled with sleeping berths. She opened the bench seat, took out a blanket and pillow, then shoved her backpack in the space and closed it.

A woman in her late twenties sat down opposite her. Long black hair, she wore a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. A tattoo of what looked like black roses wound up her left arm, and it looked like a complete sleeve because it even edged out of the neck of her T-shirt. “Prevyet,” she said.

Coco gave her a smile, then curled up on the bench seat. Not as comfortable as the private berths, but her funds were low and she didn’t want to take out more money from one of her various bank accounts in case Gustov might be hunting her. She’d find a place en route to—

So she didn’t know exactly where. Out of Russia and someplace where she didn’t need a visa. She had options—both a Russian and an American passport. She could travel to Ukraine or Kazakhstan, maybe even to Belorussia on her red passport. Then switch to blue and head into Finland or the Czech Republic. She could even set up shop in Germany.

Or she could board a flight to Alaska. She’d heard of people getting lost in the wilds of the back country. As long as she could snag bandwidth she would be fine. Go back to working for her father.

She pulled her phone from her back pocket and scrolled down to York’s number. He hadn’t contacted her since his cryptic call telling her to meet Wyatt.

She dialed as the train lurched out of the station. It went to voicemail—no surprise—and she cupped her hand over the speaker. “York. It’s me. I dropped off the…uh, package to Wyatt. I’m on a train to Belogorsk—” Oh shoot, maybe she shouldn’t have said that, but oh well— “And then I’m disappearing. I’ll leave word through Roy when I get…someplace.”

Roy. Their contact in Europe who had originally alerted RJ to her father’s danger.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She clicked off. Turned her phone off, just in case Wyatt decided to call her and break her heart, and slid it under the pillow.

Then she drew up the blanket, pounded her fist into the pillow, lay down on her back, and closed her eyes.

Sleep. She needed sleep. Because her body was starting to ache and yeah, maybe running hadn’t been the best idea for her shredded, now-healing insides.

A conductor came by offering tea, but she shook her head.

I know we have something.

She closed her eyes, willing Wyatt away, but the moment she did, his hand was behind her neck, his lips against hers.

She opened her eyes. Across from her, the woman had lain down, also on her back.

We always have, and I…I want you to come to America.

She rolled over, curled her knees up. Closed her eyes again.

His arms came around her, holding on to the reins as they rode one of the ranch horses through the pastures, the scent of summer in the air, the brush of his early beard against her neck.

She rolled onto her back.