Siberian Treasure

47

Later, when Marina recalled those next hours after their escape from the Skaladeskas, three things remained clear and burning in her mind.

There was the warmth, the solidness of Gabe as he pulled her close to him on the slippery deck of the boat. He surrounded her with his heat and arms and long legs, pushing the wet hair out of her face as he framed her jaw with his hands. The kisses were long and ferocious, slick and hot and frantic. And they promised much more.

When her heart settled, and she was warm at last, cuddled against Gabe’s chest, a realization suddenly crystallized in her mind.

It was the certainty, the innate understanding that, for some reason, Varden had deliberately given her everything she needed — the information, the opportunity, and, in his own arrogant way, the impetus — to stop the destruction in Detroit.

Her brain was frozen, but she mulled and reviewed and rewound, and it was the only explanation that made sense. Whenever Varden had lashed out with particularly nasty, inciting comments, they had come at a time when she’d believed all was lost. They served to anger her, as in the time he’d mocked her about Gabe’s imminent execution; and to renew her determination to act.

And every bit of detail … he’d told her everything she needed to know to stop the bombs. He’d even given her the chance to leave the room, Command Central, when he sent her to the toilet to puke, and find Gabe and his gun.

But the most telling point was the fact that he’d had a point-blank shot at Gabe and had not killed him. How easy it would have been to put a bullet into his head.

Why not?

She wondered if it had even been Varden who’d put the wristband in her cupboard. It had appeared shortly after their conversation in which she’d asked for one.

Asked him, and no one else.

And if so, why?

She didn’t know; may never know. But she would be grateful to Varden for the role he’d played in her escape, regardless of his ulterior motive.

And then there was the other memory, which alternately horrified and mollified her.

When she recalled that last part of her adventure, Marina tried not to think about those later moments on the boat, with Victor huddled on the floor, coughing and shaking, trembling at her feet, but alive.

At one point, he looked up at her with gratitude and although Marina knew he would have liked it, she could not move herself to embrace him.

She couldn’t touch him.

She’d saved his life; but she’d have done the same for anyone struggling, anyone at risk. That he was her father — the kind of father he’d been — didn’t matter to her.

She couldn’t cross that line.

Marina looked under the seats and found more blankets. She wrapped them around him and tried to make him as comfortable as possible; but her sympathy was impersonal. She couldn’t help it. She felt nothing — less than nothing, really.

She’d done her duty, she’d helped him. But she’d never be his daughter. Just as he couldn’t be the father she’d wanted.

It was the most they could give each other.

Perhaps she could have had some kind of relationship with him if he’d helped her when she begged for it — when she was trying to save Gabe.

But he’d turned away.

It wasn’t until he had no choice, until he was faced with a gun, that he stepped forward to help them. And even then, had he really meant to help them escape?

“Marina.” His voice was weak, and he began to cough with the effort. “Thank you.”

She nodded, tried to smile, and pulled her own blanket around her. Gabe had moved away to drive the boat, and they were alone. “You’re welcome.” She tried to sound like she meant it. She really tried. Tears threatened her eyes.

She turned and sat, watching Gabe, as he navigated the boat while it sped through the choppy water.

And then, Victor had started coughing uncontrollably. He couldn’t catch his breath; he coughed, and spasmed, and coughed.

Marina, kneeling on the floor next to him, could do nothing for him but watch him struggle for breath as the boat thumped speedily through the water.

It was only because she was kneeling next to him that she heard his last words before he died.

There was no mistaking them; she heard them and they burned into her brain.