Her antisocial hours meant she often trudged deserted streets, which made potential threats easier to spot. If she ever saw a man coming toward her, she tightened her grip on the PSM pistol concealed in he
r pocket. Her uncle had given it to her many years ago, for protection, but he could have had no idea who or what she’d need protecting from.
Yana’s colleagues thought her a strange loner, but she could never tell them why she preferred the late shift or why she was so paranoid about her personal safety. So she lived a lonely existence as the office weirdo and had to resort to online dating in an attempt to meet someone who might accept and love her.
Yana’s breath vaporized as it traveled through her scarf and met air that was so cold she thought the tiny cloud might solidify, but as it cleared, she saw the lights of her destination, the Boston Seafood Grill, an upmarket restaurant that was one of the few late-night eateries still open in the Begovoy District. Yana hurried across Lesnaya Street and went inside.
“Good evening,” the hostess said. “Bitter night.”
Yana nodded. “I’m meeting someone.” She scanned the faces at the bar.
“Can I take your coat?”
Yana handed it over. “There he is,” she said, recognizing Mickey from his profile picture.
His dark blue suit and white shirt were evidence he’d made an effort. He had pale skin and jet-black hair, and was leaner than his photo suggested, but his brown eyes were just as warm and welcoming as the picture had led Yana to believe. He caught sight of her as she approached the bar and she saw a flash of appreciation. She’d made the effort too. Her tight jeans clung to her toned legs and her sheer black top revealed a figure-hugging bodice that didn’t leave much to the imagination. She felt a number of male eyes on her as she crossed the room, and she brushed them away with a casual toss of her auburn hair. She smiled as she took the stool next to Mickey.
“Good evening, Yana Petrova,” he said, making no attempt to be subtle as he looked her up and down.
She didn’t mind. It was nice to feel desired after such a long dry spell. “Good evening, Mikhail Titarenko. It’s nice to finally meet you. Thanks for agreeing to eat at such an antisocial hour.”
“No problem,” he replied, and he seemed to genuinely mean it. “I’m surprised the place is so busy.”
It was a little after 11 p.m. and the restaurant was three-quarters full. Yana glanced at the young Muscovites who were full of easy confidence and flush with money. They ate, drank and filled the place with loud chatter and laughter and for a moment she longed not to be an outsider. Maybe Mickey was the one, and they’d get married and come here with friends every week like normal, happy people.
“You work for Moesk, the energy company, right?” Mickey asked.
Yana nodded. “If your electricity goes out, I’m the one you call.”
“It’s nice to have friends in powerful places,” Mickey joked. “Do you want a drink before we eat?”
Yana picked up a bar menu. “Sure. Let’s make a night of it. What have you got?”
Mickey raised his salt-rimmed glass. “Margarita.”
“Another one,” Yana told the barman. “And you? I still don’t know what you do,” she said to Mickey.
“I’m an oligarch,” he replied somberly, before breaking into a broad smile. “I can’t even lie well. I work in a hardware store, selling power tools. I’m no millionaire, not like some of them in here, but you know what they say, a tomtit in your hand is better than a crane in the sky.”
Yana laughed. “I don’t need an oligarch. I wouldn’t know what to do with all that ego.”
“I got you something,” Mickey said, reaching for a large paper bag beneath his stool. He placed it on the bar carefully, like a museum custodian handling an exhibit. “Go ahead.”
Yana stood, and when she peered inside, she gasped. “It’s beautiful.”
Moving very slowly and carefully, she reached into the bag and pulled out a crystal flower arrangement. Six life-size cut-glass lilies stood in a crystal vase, and each element of the fine sculpture was filled with a liquid that added realistic color. The petals of the flower contained a creamy white fluid, the stems were filled with green liquid and the vase held what looked like crimson water.
“It’s magnificent,” Yana said. “And far too expensive for someone as simple as me. I can’t accept it. Not on our first date.”
“After we’re married then?” Mickey scoffed. “Don’t worry. Please take it. Give it a good home. One of my customers didn’t have any money to pay his bill, so he offered me this instead. He bought a screwdriver, but this is worth more than a whole toolkit.”
Mickey beamed at her, proud of his prize, but Yana was suddenly on edge.
“Was this a regular?” she asked.
“I’d never seen him before,” Mickey replied, and her gut tightened in a knot.
Could they have found her through her dating profile? She looked at the flowers again, and was horrified to see tiny black valves on the stamen of each lily pop open. A sudden rush of air pressure forced the green fluid in each stem down into the vase, where it mixed with the red liquid.