Fires of Kiev Read online

  “But what about Scott? What is he like?”

  “Scott is very successful, too. He’s on my dad’s senior staff and has ambitions of his own to run for office.” Will proceeded cautiously, studying Kostya’s reactions. “Having a beautiful, successful senator’s daughter on his arm doesn’t hurt his ambitions. I was surprised when they started dating, though.”

  “Why?”

  Will paused and then looked at Kostya. “It always seemed like she was waiting for someone else.”

  Chapter 11

  “What the hell, Meredith? I don’t even know who this guy is.” Scott, running his electric razor over his chin, narrowed his eyes at Meredith in the mirror above the double sinks in their bathroom. “I don’t understand why you didn’t ask me first.” He slammed down the razor and pulled on his undershirt.

  “Please try to understand how volatile this situation really is,” Meredith said calmly as she lowered her mascara wand. “Kostya is seeking asylum because there are people who want to kill him.”

  “All the more reason we should say no.” Scott pulled the tuxedo garment bag out of the closet and laid it on the bed. “As if being Meredith St. Claire isn’t enough notoriety, let’s throw a Ukrainian rebel into the mix.”

  “He’s not the rebel. The people he crossed are the rebels,” Meredith stated matter-of-factly.

  “Whatever. So, how long can we look forward to having this refugee in our home?” he sneered.

  My home. My home, your rental. She knew she should start thinking of it as their home, but somehow, she knew it was just her home. Scott hadn’t earned a permanent place yet.

  “I told him he could stay indefinitely. It could be months.” Telling Scott how long it might be was strangely satisfying, although scary to predict his reaction.

  “I need a beer,” he mumbled as he went downstairs wearing his shorts and undershirt. Meredith could hear him pop the top on a can and then silence as he took a long pull. She took the opportunity to disappear in the bathroom and slather on her favorite lavender scented lotion. In the last few days she had been waxed, buffed, and spray tanned, and today her hair was conditioned and curled, her nails painted, and her eyelashes extended. When she slipped on that dress and the Louboutin pumps, she was going to be more than what Scott, her father, and the press expected. Yet, she was torn. She wanted it all to mean something more than wearing a thousand-dollar dress and paying five-hundred dollars a plate for dinner. While she enjoyed dressing up and supporting her father, she looked for meaning in her work by bringing attention to refugee clinics around the world. She loved studying medicine. She valued humanitarian causes.

  While her work was very satisfying, there was something more that was missing—true happiness. So, why wasn’t she happy? She had a career, friends, family, and a serious boyfriend, yet sometimes, like right now, she felt so alone. She had always wanted to love someone who could share her goals and who was attractive and successful to share her life. Scott seemed to be all these things and more. Besides, her father loved him.

  But somehow something was missing. That feeling of home. A home like she felt at the Dychenkos’ five years ago. Little Kostyantin, the baby she saw christened was already five years old, and Daria, the brown-eyed angel who loved her uncle, would be eight. She mourned for Kostya’s parents who welcomed her unconditionally into their home and helped her when she had no one else.

  Yes, she wanted a home like that.

  Shaking off her thoughts, she sat on the edge of the deep garden tub. She slipped on her stockings and hooked them to the garter belt that was part of the very sexy lingerie set she had purchased at Le Bustiere Boutique. Hearing Scott return to the room, she purposefully walked back into the bedroom.

  Scott was turned away from her, on the phone with his assistant, a twenty-one-year-old intern who was constantly at his beck and call. He was complaining about Kostya staying with them. “I know. It’s not like he’s even American or anything… She says he’s in danger but I wonder what he’s getting out of the deal. I mean, the Senator is very powerful. Maybe he just wants political clout… You know how Meredith is, taking in all the strays.”

  Meredith stood in the doorway between their room and the bathroom, just listening, and getting more and more frustrated.

  “I may have to take you up on your spare room,” Scott said. “I don’t want to live here if he’s one of those smelly Cossacks.”

  Meredith rolled her eyes. She was glad to know that he would entertain leaving her at the first sign of stress in their relationship. And she was seeing a very prejudiced side to him—prejudice against a group of people to whom she had dedicated her charity work and countless volunteer hours.

  As she glared at him, Scott finally noticed her. “Jen, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight?” He finally hung up and turned his attention to Meredith. She had forgotten what she was wearing, and the expression on her face was pure frustration and disappointment. “Baby, how long have you been there?” He scanned her up and down, chagrin on his cheeks but hunger in his eyes.

  She spoke quietly and clearly. “There’s obviously a lot we need to discuss, but I will not get upset before the fundraiser. Let’s just get ready and go. We will talk later.”

  “Great,” he said. “Why don’t we do it while our permanent-resident guest is here? He’ll enjoy an old fashioned American domestic argument.”

  Meredith was fuming, but refused to lose it. Not now, not today. “Yes, maybe he will,” she said simply and disappeared into the walk-in closet.

  Scott and Meredith didn’t speak until an hour later when she appeared at the top of the stairs and he looked up at her. Her dress was floor length, the color of champagne tinted with strawberries, and covered with a lace overlay. The back was completely bare except for a whisper of a sleeve around her arms. The line of the dress hugged past her hips, when it flared into a sweep of rose-gold satin swirls. She wore four-inch Louboutin pumps in the same champagne color. Her mother had lent Meredith her pink amethyst necklace and drop earrings, but she also kept the simple chain and key tucked into her neckline.

  Scott looked up at her. “Are you finally ready? I was supposed to be there at six-fifteen.”

  “You look handsome, Scott,” she said, tilting her head as she descended the stairs.

  He whipped on his coat and handed Meredith her dress cloak. “The car is waiting outside.” He didn’t wait for her to wrap her cloak around herself. He was out the door going to the car.

  The driver, who had opened the door for Scott, noticed Meredith leaving the house and locking the door and ran up to give her an arm as she walked on the icy walkway. Meredith thanked him quietly, and he helped her into the same door of the car that Scott had entered, forcing him to scoot over.

  “Do you think we can shut that door soon? It’s freezing out there.” Scott scowled at the driver.

  The driver answered with a curt, “Yes, sir,” and then winked at Meredith as she smiled sheepishly.

  The drive over was quiet, Scott going over notes on the people on the guest list and seating charts. Meredith was content to sit quietly and let him work. It was a short drive to the Hay-Adams Hotel, the location of that night’s fundraiser, but they passed some of Washington’s beautiful landmarks on the way. She wondered if Kostya would get to see the Lincoln Memorial, the Capitol, or even the White House tonight. If she had a chance, she’d take him to the ninth-floor terrace at the hotel with its amazing view of the White House and the Washington Monument.

  When they arrived at the driveway to the Hay-Adams, there were already photographers waiting to take pictures of the well connected and wealthy who were invited to the night’s fundraiser. The driver came around and helped Meredith out of the car, and the clicks and flashes of cameras aimed toward her reminded her to stand tall and to smile. Once Scott slid out of the car, she took his hand and walked with him toward the main doors.

  “Miss St. Claire, what are you going to speak about tonight?” one of the r
eporters shouted out.

  Meredith gave the cameras a stunning smile and answered politely. “I am speaking on the problems with getting medical help, treatment and medicines both, to the impoverished and war-torn regions of the world. My experience working with Doctors Without Borders and volunteering in refugee clinics, particularly in Eastern Europe, has given me a unique perspective on the needs that are present. We have the ability to do so much to help, yet little is being done.”

  “Does your father support your cause?”

  Meredith knew she had to speak carefully because, in Washington, her father supporting her and the Senator supporting her causes politically were two different things.

  “My father is very knowledgeable about the plight of people who live in poverty or war-torn regions who need access to basic medical care and immunizations. He has always helped me to work for this cause.”

  “Any chance we can see your dress?” another voice shouted out. “We’ve heard it is amazing.”

  Meredith smiled, and Scott helped her with her cloak. She twirled out of it, and stood smiling for the photographers amid oohs and aahs around her. She turned once, so everyone could see the back, her favorite part, and stopped for the cameras to shoot one last time.

  As she finished, she thanked the press and faced Scott. Carrying her cloak, he took her hand and led her toward the entrance.

  “Was that really necessary?” he whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Which part?” Meredith asked innocently. “The press comments or the dress?”

  “You’re here as the Senator’s daughter. Don’t try to campaign for yourself.” He reprimanded her with his harsh stare.

  A lady came and checked their coats, and they walked over to the Hay-Adams Room, their venue for the evening. The room felt like an old-fashioned library with wood paneling and rich colored upholstery on the dining chairs. The tables were set, room for just one-hundred and fifty guests who were willing to pay five-thousand dollars a plate to see and speak to the Senator. Off-white china rimmed in black and gold, cream colored napkins, heavy silver, and shiny crystal glasses were set ten to a table surrounding a centerpiece of cream colored roses and black and gold ribbons. It was impressive and rich, just as many of the guests would be.

  She checked in with the lady managing the catering and event, and decided to go check on her father. She knew that he had rented a room on the fifth floor, just in case he needed a place to escape, and so he could be totally unwrinkled when he made his fashionably late arrival. Scott decided to go with her to brief the Senator on some last-minute changes.

  Meredith felt rather calm considering Scott’s palpable frustration, and she pulled out her mirror and lipstick to touch up as the elevator rose.

  “It seems that you’re awfully interested in the Ukraine all of a sudden.” Scott took a shot at her again.

  She knew what he was driving at, but was going to play dumb unless he actually came out and accused her of only supporting Kostya.

  “I’ve always felt a connection to the Ukraine. You must know that because you took me to a Ukrainian art exhibit for our first date. I spent five summers there as a volunteer.”

  “I just find it funny the sudden push to help Ukrainians, even to the point of taking one into your home.” Scott clenched his jaw and fists.

  Meredith just responded with a thoughtful look and a quiet, “Hmm.”

  The car had reached the fifth floor, so they both stepped out and down the hallway to her father’s room. He had security tonight, as this was a high-profile event of which the public had knowledge, so a young, fit man answered the door. “Meredith! Scott! Come in,” her father immediately called to them. The guard stood aside to let them pass.

  Meredith’s mother was in the private half of the suite, so Meredith went to say hello. Scott stayed with her father and Jen, the intern, who was already there.

  “Mom?” she called.

  “By the vanity,” her mother answered. Celeste St. Claire was a charmer, and she knew how to dress for a formal party, making her the perfect Senator’s wife. She was making the last touches on her make-up and straightened to hug her daughter.

  “Let me see that dress!” she exclaimed as Meredith spun and posed for her. “Lovely. Just lovely.” Then she whispered conspiratorially, “What did Scott have to say about the dress, hmm?”

  “Not much, but he’s been tense about the event.” Meredith tried to smile.

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll notice sometime tonight. I mean, look at those lines on you.”

  “Nice that you noticed, Mom. I’m going to head back down to the Hay Room and make sure everything is running smoothly.” Meredith forced a smile and held back a sigh.

  She returned to the office side of the suite where Scott, Jen, and her dad had their heads together, so she decided not to disturb them. On her way out the door, though, the security man stopped her.

  “Forgive me, ma’am, if I’m being forward, but I wouldn’t be a red-blooded American male if I didn’t say how good you look in that dress. Have a nice evening,” he said.

  Meredith, a little stunned, smiled and said thank you, and she walked down the hallway with a little more swing in her hips while he watched her go.

  Chapter 12

  Will and Kostya arrived at the hotel and ducked their way through the press corps, although none of the reporters seemed very interested in them. “They love Meredith, and of course, my dad always has something newsworthy to say,” Will explained. Checking their coats, they entered the Hay-Adams Room ahead of schedule. “Dad likes me or Meredith to be here to greet any early arrivals.”

  “Do you know everyone on the guest list?” Kostya asked, taking in the grand lobby of the hotel and following Will into the large room located near the back.

  “Most. Meredith is better at the networking thing, though.” Will gestured toward the bar. “We used to make it a game, how many times we’d get stumped on a name or a connection. The loser would have to buy drinks after the event.”

  Will sidled up to the bar and ordered two Crown Royals, with Kostya’s nod. Will leaned back against the bar. “Not many people are aware of what I really do, Kostya, but I think it might be beneficial for you to know.”

  “I’m hoping you are an attorney,” Kostya said drily.

  “I am. I’ve passed the bar in five states and D.C.” He took a sip of his drink. “Recently, though, my projects have taken a slightly different turn.”

  “I can relate to that,” Kostya said, reflecting on the various changes taking place in his own life.

  “I’ve been working for a group loosely tied to the Department of Homeland Security. We research and investigate threats of terrorism.”

  “You chase fertilizer bombs and school shooters?” Kostya asked.

  Will shrugged. “Yes, sometimes we focus on domestic threats. But we work with international cyber-terrorism, attacks using technology, and scientific advances, too.”

  “So, investigating a possible attack with a reactivated Cold War nuclear weapon would be in your job description.” Kostya lifted his chin, interested in what Will was telling him.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “I thought you might like to know so we can help.”

  “Who is ‘we’? What is your group called?”

  Will placed his drink on the bar. “It’s called TRUST, Terrorism Research Using Science and Technology. We’re loosely tied to government intelligence through Homeland Security.”

  “Catchy name.” Kostya smiled and slapped Will lightly on the shoulder, trying to keep a light mood for the gala. “Any openings for a Ukrainian exile who can rebuild the computer components of a Soviet Cold War missile? I find myself suddenly unemployed.” They both smiled.

  “Let me show you around the office next week, and maybe we’ll talk.” He swirled the last of his whiskey in his glass before drinking it down. “I’d lie if I said we haven’t done some checking into your history, Kostya. TRUST likes what they see.”

&nbs
p; Kostya also downed his drink and signaled for the bartender to pour again. “One to drink, one for show. Yes?”

  “Yes.” Will nodded. At political events like this, it was expected he’d have a drink in hand all night. “You do well fitting into new environments. Are you sure you weren’t a spy in a past life?”

  “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Kostya’s eyes crinkled.

  “Speaking of killing me, how am I going to do my brotherly duty and keep her safe?” Will’s lips twitched up perceptively as he pointed to the main doors with his chin.

  Kostya who had been facing the bar, turned and his knees immediately went weak. He remembered Meredith helpless in her broken car wearing jeans, wide-eyed and curious at his nephew’s christening, and smoky and sultry as he made love to her in Kiev. Meredith tonight was astonishing. Sexy and elegant, she was totally put-together but with instructions for her undoing sketched all over her, and Kostya was drawn into her orbit like the sun holds the planets. He was unmercifully at her command, and she didn’t even know she held the power.

  Will watched Kostya’s reaction carefully. “If it means anything, I’m totally voting for you.” He took a sip of the whiskey in his glass and walked away.

  Kostya put his glass down and strode toward her. Her eyes rose as he approached her. “Meri, you astound me. Ty krasyva.” Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips. “You are beautiful.”

  Her eyes shined with pride as she returned the complement in Ukrainian, “Dyakuyu. Vy dyvitʹsya krasyvyy, takozh.”

  Surprised at being called handsome in his native tongue, he whispered, “You’re speaking Ukrainian.”

  “Not fluently, yet. But I’ve taken lessons.”

  “Meri,” he started, but English words failed. “Tse mova moho budynku.” It is the language of my home.

  “Tse mistse, de ya zalyshyv moye sertse.” Her shining eyes shot through him leaving a burst of energy that shocked him. It is where I left my heart. Still holding her hand, he wanted to pull her close and surround her with protection and warm her with his strength.