Point Of No Return. Susan May Warren
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fire. Been there, done that.
Chet opened the trunk and threw in the gear. “No airplane. This check barely covers our expenses and salaries for the next month. An airplane means another dwarf suit in your near future.”
Chet needed a break, something to put his business on the map. Something big, international and newsworthy.
Maybe even something to make him feel like a soldier, a patriot, again. Anything but a cartoon character playing a charade.
The wind blew against the ancient elm trees ringing the property, picking up his rather un-Snow-White scent. “Let’s get out of here.”
His cell phone vibrated as he opened the car door. Fishing it out of his pocket, he looked at the number—and stilled.
“You drive, Wick.” Chet tossed him the keys, walked over to the passenger side and opened the phone. “Chet here.”
“It’s…me.”
“I know.” Wow, did he know, because just like that, everything he’d felt that day when he’d met Mae Lund—the longing, the hope, even the delight—rushed back and took a swipe at his voice. He found it, although it emerged a little roughed up as he turned from the car. “How are you, Mae?”
“Not so good.” Was there a tremor in her voice?
“What is it?”
“It’s my nephew, Josh. He’s missing.”
“Then call the police.”
“He’s in Georgia.”
“I’m not sure what I can do from here—”
“Georgia, the country!” Her voice resounded loud and clear, and on the edge of desperate, despite being on the other side of the world. Uh, she was on the other side of the world, right? “Where are you?”
“Getting on a plane in Seattle.”
“Let me guess—to Prague.”
Silence. Then, “No, to Georgia. Why would I come to Prague?”
Wow, that hurt, more than he would have ever guessed. Because for a second he’d been hoping, wildly perhaps, that she’d forgotten how he’d stomped her pride into tiny bits, and instead remembered that once upon a time he really cared what happened to her. What she thought about. What food she liked and what movies she saw. What her dreams were…outside the ones that included the rather negative byproduct of him watching her die, that was.
“You’re going to Georgia?”
“Where else would I be going, Chet? Honolulu? My nephew is missing, and I speak Russian, which means I can probably get by, thanks to the years of Russia occupation. My sister is losing her mind, and I think I can find him. I know he was working near Gari…in a village called Burmansk.” Her voice dropped. “I was hoping that…maybe…oh…never mind.”
“Wait!” Don’t hang up. “You want me to find him?”
“No. I can find him. I was hoping you could tap into your contacts in Georgia to help me.” Her voice dropped.
“You know the ones.”
“Yes, I know the ones.” He climbed into the car as Wick started it up and cranked the air conditioner. “I’d forgotten that I’d told—”
“I didn’t.” She said it softly, as if the details of the letters he’d written while he’d been in Taiwan had mattered to her. Only she didn’t know it all, because if she did she would never have called, would never have asked him to dig into his past.
“I…I’m not sure that’s such a great idea, Mae. I don’t even know if I can find the right people anymore.” Not to mention the bounty on his head in that particular country. Mae could be walking right into the fallout that he’d always dreaded. “Have you called the embassy?”
“Yes, but their official position is that Josh ran away with a local village girl.”
“Maybe he did.”
“He’s not that irresponsible. He calls home every Sunday night, and was the only kid in his Sunday school who earned a gold star for perfect attendance. He’s an Eagle Scout, for Pete’s sake. He’s not going to just take off and scare everyone around him!”
“Calm down, Mae. I’m sure he’s already back.”
“He’s not back, Chet, that’s the point!”
“But it doesn’t mean you should go running off to Georgia! There’s still a war going on over there!”
“Exactly why we need to find him. What if he’s been kidnapped?”
“What if you get kidnapped?” He took a breath and lowered his voice to something that resembled calm. “What if something happens to you?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
But it would; he knew it in his gut. He’d seen the civil war between Georgia and Ossetia up close, and with Russia as Ossetia’s new comrades, one nasty misfire from the Georgian side and the entire mess could reignite. Just give the Ossetians one reason, and no amount of international tongue-clucking would keep them from unloading their Kalashnikovs right into the rag-tag Georgian defenses.
And Mae would be caught in the middle, a beautiful redheaded American pawn, leverage for whatever terrorist group nabbed her.
“Please don’t go, Mae. It’s not safe—”
“Last time I checked, I didn’t need your approval. You’re not my boss.”
He clenched his jaw so tight he thought his molars might crack. “I can’t believe you’re doing this again! Have you learned nothing about acting on impulse?”
He realized he was shouting when Wick glanced at him. He exhaled slowly as they turned onto Karl Liebknecht Street. The architecture in this part of old Berlin betrayed the age of the city—the dangling chandeliers that lined the streets, the colonnades of the stately former Third Reich buildings, the grandeur of the Brandenburg Gate, now silent and looming over them. “I’m sorry, Mae, that wasn’t fair—”
“You bet it wasn’t. If I hadn’t ‘acted on impulse’ and helped spring Roman out of prison, he might still be there. Or maybe not—maybe he’d be dead. I know that he wasn’t your friend, but, well, I guess it’s clear that even if he had been, you wouldn’t have lifted a finger to—”
“Watch yourself, Mae.”
“Forget I called. Just forget it, Chet.” The phone went dead before Chet could open his mouth.
He closed the phone, holding it in his shaking fist, gritting his teeth.
“Maybe you’ll feel better if you throw it,” Wick said quietly.
“I knew a woman like that once,” Luke said from the backseat. “Drove me crazy.”
“I married one,” Artyom added.
Chet shook his head, staring out the window. Crazy was going to Georgia to search for a teenager who’d probably decided to backpack around Europe. Or better yet, hooked up with a village girl and disappeared for a weekend tryst.
“She’s going to Georgia.”
“Isn’t that where you—”
“Yep,” Chet snapped, cutting Wick off.
“Where what?” Artyom asked, leaning forward in the seat.
Wick glanced at Chet, and when he didn’t answer, filled in the silence. “When he was a young Green Beret, Chet embedded with a group of rebels in the breakaway territory of Ossetia and helped them with equipment and supplies—”
“I helped them start a civil war.” Among other things. His own words had the precision of a