Chapter eleven
"I've been waiting a long time to do this."
Before Jack could react, he felt something cool at his throat. A second later, the knife's blade pricked at his skin. Now was not the time to fight back. He would be no good to Irina if he was killed before he could get them out of this situation.
Then Irina said, "Katya?"
The pressure of the knife didn't waver, but Katya's voice was noticeably gentler when she spoke again. "Rishka."
Irina laughed, and Jack suddenly realized how much he'd missed the sound. Laura had laughed often.
"Why did you turn the lights off? You always did like to make an entrance." Irina spoke in Russian now, and Jack had to concentrate harder to follow the conversation.
"You said you'd meet us at the market." He stumbled over the unfamiliar words, tempted to switch back to English.
"I don't trust you." Katya's breath was warm against his neck, but her next words chilled his blood. "I'm going to kill you for what you've done."
"What? What did I do?"
"Katya, please!" Irina sounded panicked. He wanted to tell her to run, to get away while she could, but Katya spoke again.
"This is for Sasha."
"Katya, no!"
"Who's Sasha?"
Katya grabbed a clump of his hair, pulling his head back and baring his throat. "Loving you made my sister too weak to do what needed to be done."
"Katya, it won't bring him back."
"Who?" Jack asked.
"Sasha Derevko. Twenty-two years old. Shot to death, August 17, 1977. London."
Jack remembered that mission, a kill-or-be-killed situation. He also remembered the weeks following it: his wife's silences, fights for no reason, her need to be held in bed. At the time he'd hoped she was pregnant again; never had he imagined this to be the reason for her strange behaviour.
"Your brother?" Jack guessed. "I didn't know."
"What difference would it have made to you?" Katya's grasp tightened, pulling painfully at his hair. "He was your enemy. You are mine."
"Katya . . ." Jack could barely make out Irina's figure in the dark. In that moment he knew without a doubt that she had loved him – still loved him. He'd killed her brother and she'd lived as his wife for four more years.
Katya released him and shoved him forward, the suddenness of the movement causing him to land on his knees. "Don't worry, Bristow. You won't die today. I won't lose another sibling because of you."
Jack looked up at Irina. "I—"
"There's nothing to say, Jack."
"We need to leave." It sounded as if Katya had moved to the door.
Jack wanted to tell them to wait; this wasn't how he had planned to say goodbye to Irina. He said nothing. To his surprise, Irina knelt beside him.
"Thank you." Her fingers brushed the side of his face, the movement so fleeting he was sure he'd imagined it. "Take care of Sydney."
He nodded.
He remained on the floor until long after they had left, then crawled onto the bed, lying facedown in the spot Irina had occupied. He pressed his face into the pillow and grieved the second loss of his wife.