If she had she would have said so before now. Heaven knew she had spent enough time thinking about it in the past week. How Sergei’s death was her fault, and how would she survive.
It was Viktor, Sergei’s son, who had come up with this option, this man. The one person who might be able to help her.
Her entire life. Her hope of survival. All in the hands of a stranger.
Trying not to shift nervously from one foot to the other like a child, she glanced up at Viktor. “Do you think he will even agree to this?”
“I do not know,” he said simply. “But it is a chance.”
Yes, it is, she agreed silently. One so extreme she wasn’t sure she could go through with it, even if the man did agree.
But first he needed to answer the door and let them in. She sent an uneasy glance behind her, feeling entirely too exposed standing on the front stoop of this house. Even as she did, she sensed Viktor doing the same. It was impossible not to remember what had happened to Sergei and feel just how vulnerable they were out in the open.
The door finally opened in response to Viktor’s earlier knock.
Viktor had told her several things about the man they’d driven to Baltimore from Washington, D.C., to see. What he looked like had not been one of them. She hadn’t asked, the subject seeming unimportant compared to everything else. So she could only stare blankly at the man who’d answered the door, his expression solemn, and wait for either man’s reaction.
“Viktor,” the man at the door said finally, his mouth curving slightly at one corner. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” Viktor agreed with a shadow of the charming smile she’d seen him wield since childhood.
As the two men shook hands, Karina carefully studied the man who’d answered the door. So this must be Luke Hubbard, Viktor’s old friend. Her best chance.
She’d tried to picture what he might look like, but nothing she’d imagined had come close to the man himself. He was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed casually in a white polo shirt and dark slacks. His was a handsome face, but there was a hardness to it, with so many sharp angles and hard planes, that gave him more of an edge than she’d expected. He most likely was the same age as Viktor, which would make him thirty-three.
Viktor said he was an attorney. Corporate law or something to do with business. Yes, she could imagine this man being a formidable opponent in a business negotiation. Perhaps he would be for Solokov, as well.
He would need to be.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Luke Hubbard said.
“Thank you.” Viktor nodded shortly, his expression tensing with grief.
It had been only a week, and Karina knew only too well that the pain of his father’s death remained fresh. She felt the sorrow of it, too, combined with a guilt that was hers alone.
Her godfather was dead for one reason only: because he’d tried to help her.
And now she’d come to ask this man for his help. To put himself in danger for her. Guilt stabbed at her again. It didn’t seem right to involve, to risk, anyone else. But then, what choice did she have?
“And thank you for agreeing to see us,” Viktor was saying. At the obvious cue, he reached over and prodded her forward slightly with the press of his hand against the small of her back. “Allow me to introduce Karina Andreevna Fedorova. Our families have long been good friends. My father was her godfather.”
She forced a smile onto her face as the man finally turned his attention to her.
The smile nearly died. She’d seen from the moment he opened the door that his eyes were blue. She just hadn’t noticed how the hardness of his face extended to his eyes. They stared back at her, utterly emotionless, revealing nothing.
Cold, she thought distantly as a sudden chill shuddered through her. So cold.
She peered into those eyes, desperately searching for some reassuring sign this was the type of man who might be willing to help her. Some flicker of warmth. Some hint of kindness.
She found none. There was nothing but that cold hardness.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, his tone polite and nothing more.
She made some sound of agreement, unable to do anything else but nod.
“Please come in,” he said, stepping back from the doorway and gesturing with his arm.
Ducking her head to hide the sudden misgivings she was certain were written all over her face, Karina entered the house, Viktor following close behind.
Luke Hubbard led them into a living room located to the left of the entryway. The room was stylishly furnished, with sleek modern furniture and high-grade electronics, but it was as cold as the man who lived there. She saw no personal items, no photographs anywhere. There were not even any books or newspapers lying about, no sign that anyone had done any actual living here. It appeared to be as sterile as a hotel room.
As they took seats, she and Viktor on the couch across from Luke Hubbard, she tried to remember everything Viktor had told her about this man. He was an attorney, a successful one if his home was any indication. She would have expected as much. He and Viktor had met at Yale, where Sergei had sent Viktor to study. He was a widower, Viktor had said.
As the thought crossed her mind, she automatically lowered her gaze to his hand. His ring finger was bare. It made sense. Viktor hadn’t said when the man’s wife had died, but Karina had assumed it had been some time ago. It seemed unlikely he would approach a recent widower with his plan, no matter the circumstances. No, the man must have lost his wife at least several years ago, long enough that it was no longer appropriate for him to wear a ring.
Of course, her husband had been dead less than two months, yet she no longer wore his ring. It had seemed wrong to once she’d learned the truth about the kind of man he’d been and discovered just how much trouble he’d left her with. Even if she hadn’t, she likely would have had little difficulty removing the ring.
“So what brings you to Baltimore?” Luke Hubbard asked.
Viktor sighed. “We need your help.”
“What is it?”
“First I need your word that you will not tell anyone about what we are about to discuss.”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation, as a true friend would. Karina took some small comfort from the gesture.
Viktor drew in a breath. “In January Karina’s husband, Dmitri, was murdered. He worked for a man named Anton Solokov. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the name.”
Luke Hubbard frowned, his forehead briefly furrowing as he appeared to consider the name. “I don’t think so.”
“He’s one of the wealthiest men in Russia. Like so many others, he moved in swiftly after the fall of the Soviet Union and made his fortune, first with an oil company, then diversifying into minerals.”
“Is
