Chapter eight

"Irina, you're shaking."

He pulled her closer to him, one hand pressed against her back, the other cradling her head. She buried her face in his neck, her tears wetting his skin. A moment later she slipped her arm around his back and returned the embrace.

How often had they held each other like this, he wondered. Too often to count. Having her in his arms felt so right. He felt that everything would be okay again if he could just keep her in his arms.

He knew this woman, the way she fit against him, the curve of her smile, the texture of her skin. He knew how to make her laugh, knew the tells of her anger or her pain.

He knew her.

But at the same time, he knew nothing about her.

"Tell me about your family," he said.

She pulled back slightly so she could look at him. Her eyes were still wet and Jack gave in to the urge to brush a lingering tear away with his thumb. "Why?"

"I'm curious." His thumb was still at her face, now gently traveling the length of her jaw. He'd forgotten how soft her skin was.

"Then I need you to promise me that none of this will go into your report."

His hand stilled. "They're agents?"

"My sisters are. My parents . . ." She exhaled, and a sad smile graced her lips. "My parents were actors. They don't belong to the Party. They didn't want their children to join the KGB, but they didn't prevent us from doing so. We were the pride of the KGB – the Derevko siblings – but I know we broke our parents' hearts."

"Are your parents still alive?"

Her mouth twisted downwards. "I don't know."

"Why did you join the KGB?"

"I never intended to. I wanted to be an actress. Despite my teachers' efforts to turn me into a good little communist, I was enough of my mother's daughter to want to follow in her footsteps." Her eyes took on a faraway expression, and Jack wondered about the girl she had been before. She continued, "I was sixteen when I caught the attention of the KGB. I was playing Nora in A Doll's House and my eldest sister brought her . . . lover, I think. I never knew for sure. A few weeks after that I was approached by an agent who suggested I consider applying for the Academy."

Jack was silent for a while, then said, "I'm sure you were a great Nora."

Irina smiled then, a full smile. Jack couldn't help but smile back. "I found out later why they needed my acting skills."

"Me." His smile dimmed.

"Yes." She caressed his cheek, mimicking his earlier movements. "I don't regret meeting you, Jack. I know we can't go back to the way things were before, but I need you to know that I—"

He covered her mouth with his, cutting off the words he knew she would say. He didn't want to hear them. It would only make what he had to do that much harder.

Surprisingly, this time she responded to the kiss, though hesitantly. When he pulled away, there was a flush to her cheeks and her breathing was slightly erratic, mirroring his own reactions.

"Would you visit me in prison, Jack?" She glanced away. "Don't answer that. I don't think I want to hear either possible answer."

He thought about her question, thought about everything that had brought them to this point, thought about prayers to a God he didn't believe in that if he could see her just once more . . .

He knew then that he wouldn't have the strength to stay away.

He kissed her again.

"Jack, I – Please."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know. That's not it." She bit her lip and rolled onto her back, breaking the contact between them. "It's – I don't know how to say this."

"What?"

"In Kashmir. There – I – I probably need a medical check up." The words were clipped, and her body was tense.

"Of course. You were tortured."

"Not that. The other." She turned, facing away from him, and he felt like an idiot. He'd guessed she had been raped, but he hadn't really thought about it until now. He remembered the guard who had walked by him, zipping up his pants, and wished he'd killed him. He wanted to kill each of the men who had hurt his wife, starting with Cuvee.

He wondered when he'd started thinking of Irina as his wife.

"Come here," he said.

"I don't want your pity."

"This isn't about pity."

After a while, she turned back to him. He couldn't read her expression. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." He waited until she had settled in his arms again, then said, "Tell me more about your sisters."

"No."

"I'm not asking as an agent."

"You know all you need to know."

He stifled his sigh of irritation. "How many of you are there?"

She didn't answer immediately. "Three."

"So where do you fit in?"

"I'm number three."

"Would your sisters help you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would they help you now? Would they get you someplace safe?"

Irina jerked away from him, shoving his chest as she did. "I am not helping you set a trap for my sisters!"

He couldn't help the laughter that spilled from his lips at her reaction. "That's not the reason I asked."

"Why then?"

"I think you've been punished more than enough."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Jack?"

"I'm saying that I'm not taking you back with me."

She looked at him for a long time. "Why?"

"I don't know." By now both of them were sitting up.

"What will you tell the CIA?"

"They don't know you're with me. I haven't contacted them yet."

"You're letting me go?"

He nodded, still not entirely sure why he was doing this, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't. "Is there a way you can get in touch with your sisters?"

She rattled off a sequence of numbers that Jack committed to memory. "Make sure it's Katya you're speaking to. Tell her Rishka needs her, and that we'll meet her on the beach."

"The beach? We're in northern India."

Irina shook her head. "She'll know what you're talking about."

Jack stood up to leave, hoping he wouldn't end up regretting this.

"Jack, if Katya gets hurt in all of this, I'll kill you myself."

"I don't doubt that," he muttered on his way out.