See Chapter One For Disclaimers

Chapter Three

Derek looked at himself in the mirror and wondered what he was doing.  Dark curly hair beginning to gray around the edges, a face with that lived in, slightly dissipated look, dark eyes that could bore into the soul . . . he splashed water on his face and wondered what she was doing.

Cheri Yuconovich/Tanya Kropotkin.  Which was the real woman?  Was either the real woman?  And what had really happened at the excavation site?  Why did he believe her when she said there was nothing supernatural, nothing still there?  What was Yvygney up to that was giving him the creeps but no flashes of insight?  When was he going to stop asking himself these questions and ask Cheri?

A wry smile twisted his lips.  Ask Cheri.  Right.  When he could get his brain to function and not his hormones.  What was it about her?  Drat.  Another question.  As long as questions were coming, what was he doing with her?  Why did she effect him the way she did?  Lust or love?  Did he want an answer?  Yes.  That final question he could answer.  He wanted an answer.  He needed an answer.  Lust could get you into trouble.  Major trouble.  He considered the woman and found that he was suspiciously un-lustful when he was just thinking about her.  He recalled her warmth, her laugh, her smell . . . and just how slippery a soapy wet body could get.

Was Cheri another trap from the other side?  Somehow, he didn't think so.  He sighed.  But it would probably be a good idea to get Alex to check out his new paramour's background.  He ran his fingers through his hair to get it back into a semblance of order before leaving the bathroom.

He picked up the phone to call Alex and then put it back down.  A flash.  Just  a small one.  To tell him that there was something not right with the phone.  Feeling like he'd watched too many spy movies, he picked up the receiver again, twisted the mouth piece open and found . . . two microphones.  Now he really felt like he was existing in a spy movie.  Carefully, he removed the small, unattached speaker and replaced the mouthpiece cover.  He looked thoughtfully at the small device in his hand.  How many others were there?  And would anyone notice if he looked for them?

He considered the question gravely and then smiled.  Of course, they would expect him to look for them, if Cheri had not.  He looked through the entire room, carefully, cautiously.  He found several other audio pickups and something he thought might be a visual one as well.  His color heightened as he considered just what a visual pickup might have filmed.  Well, his lady traveled in interesting circles.

That gave him pause.   His?  Was she?  Warmth flooded his body suddenly as he realized that yes, she was.  It was too fast, too soon, yet he could not doubt for a moment that she returned the feelings he was only becoming aware he felt.  He called home.

"Derek.  Nice to hear from you," came Alex's very non-committal greeting.

"I need some information."

"Shoot."

He gave her both names, Cheri's just finished position at the university and Yvygney's first name and description.  "I know it's not a lot.  But I suspect something odd is happening.  It may not be . . . our usual fare, but it seems to be of importance."

"I'll see what I can find.  Where can I reach you?"

"You can't.  I'll call back.  Take care."

Alex regarded the phone oddly.  Nick, walking past the doorway, looked in, saw the look and walked in.

"Something wrong?"

"No.  Maybe.  I don't know.  But I will."

Nick digested this and nodded.  "Let me know."

"Oh, I will.  You can count on it."

While Alex was having an interesting time researching the three names Derek had given her, Cheri was outlining just what Yvygny had in mind.  Derek was bemused and troubled.

"You're talking about stealing from a state museum."

"Yes."

"It doesn't bother you?"  He handed her the half dozen microphones he'd found.

Cheri gazed at them in bemusement and nearly laughed.  "No.  Why should it?"

Derek couldn't answer that one.  For a normal human, breaking into a secured area and removing items that did not belong to them tended to be a daunting prospect, something to be avoided.  Cheri/Tanya didn't seem to have those reservations.  He was beginning to suspect there was nothing "normal" about the lady.

She spread out the blueprints and floor plans to go over the breaking and entering part of the plan.  Their hands brushed against each other.  Technicolor flashes threatened to overwhelm his senses.  There were bits and pieces of multiple such plans, mostly in the dark, attended by stealth and gunfire.  He met her suddenly concerned gaze across the plans.  He colored slightly.

"You're psychic."

He looked bland.  "Am I?"  Why the question?

"Yeah.  I know a number of Rom . . . gypsies? . . . who get that look around me.  I'll try to keep the worst stuff shielded, but when I concentrate ---"  She let the thought hang in the air between them.

"You weren't concentrating last night?"

She laughed, lunged across the plans and hugged him.  "You have a wicked sense of humor," she told him and kissed him soundly.

Sometime later, she looked at the wrinkled plans and laughed again.  "I think we rumpled the plans."

Derek agreed.  She flattened the papers out as well as she could and began to fill him in on the plan.

It was simple.  Get in.  Acquire an object.  Get out.  Not so simple was get in, foul up the acquisition and get out without getting killed.  The latter plan was discussed under the water in the shower.  Cheri managed to hold out until she was certain he had the latter plan well in hand before allowing those hands to wander elsewhere.

Back at the Legacy House in San Francisco, Alex was frowning over her monitor.  Nick came in with a sandwich and drink on a tray.  He set it down and moved so that he could get a look at the screen.  He whistled to express his opinion of the plug-ugly on the screen.  Alex looked around at him in surprise.

"I didn't hear you come in."

"I noticed.  Who is that?"

"That is Nicolai Andrevich Constantin Yvygney."

"Mouthful.  Who is he?"

"Good question.  According to what I've been able to find, he's a dead KGB agent."

"Dead?"

"Presumed dead.  No body ever found.  His dossier has holes you could drive a tank through."

"Fitting."

"He was a big nasty during the final days of the Cold War and disappeared just before the Berlin Wall fell.  He has connections to an assassin named Tanya Kropotkin."  She touched the keyboard and shifted to another file.  A woman, mid thirties, long tawny hair, brilliant aquamarine eyes and an arrogant tilt to her head.

Nick looked admiring.  "And that is?"

"Tanya Kropotkin.  World class assassin with a wanted list as long as your arm."

"Wow."

"Yes.  And this, is Dr. Cheri Yuconovich."  She pulled the photo up on a split screen.

Nick looked from one to the other and back.  "Is it my imagination, or . . ."

Alex finished manipulating the screen with an overlay effect.  Except for the hair and eye color, the two faces were an exact, point for point match.  Alex looked at it for a moment.  Well, not exact.  Tanya's nose seemed to have been broken at some point.  "That is an almost impossible match."

"Yeah."  Nick was bereft of words.  "So . . . what does it mean?"

"I'm not certain.  Tanya Kropotkin seems to have materialized out of thin air about fifteen years ago.  No background prior to her first known assassination.  She's a little flamboyant for someone of her caliber and there are at least six unconfirmed reports of guards or police killing her.  Body never recovered."

"Not good."

"No."

"And the Dr.?"  Nick almost didn't want to ask.

"Now,  that is curious.  I have two Cheri Yuconoviches."

"Two?"

"Two.  One birth recorded in Rouen in 1902 and one in Geneva in 1960."

"Obviously, our Dr. is the latter."

"I'd think so.  Except, "our Dr.", as you put it, filled out her employment application with the University of New Mexico as being born in 1955."

"So, she gave herself an additional five years to look good on the record."

Alex separated the photos.  "Does she look like she was born in 1955?"

Nick frowned.  "Retouched picture?"  Alex gave him one of  those looks that said "for an ex-Navy Seal, that was a dumb thing to have said".  "No.  OK . . . uh . . . so, she looks young for her age . . . She's an archaeologist?  A field archaeologist?"  He met Alex's gaze and made a face.  "OK.  We need to go see what's up.  Can we?"

"Yep.  We're on the move."

But would they arrive before it was too late?  And too late for what?  Alex continued researching while Nick made travel arrangements.  He drew the line at airlifting them to New Mexico.  It just didn't look that urgent.  They'd fly commercial.

Nightfall.  Derek looked out the window at the dusk.  Lights glowed warmly from windows.  The hotel was one of the tallest buildings in town.  He felt . . . alone.  Cheri slid her arms around him.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"They come cheap," he responded with a laugh.  He turned in the circle of her arms.  She was dressed in black.  Her eyes met his, her mouth planting a soft kiss on his lips.  "There is something dangerous here."

She cocked a curious eyebrow.  "Well, breaking and entering a secured establishment is frequently considered dangerous," she agreed.

"That is not what I meant," he objected, continuing to hold her in his arms.

She laughed.  "I know.  Look, you know nasty things from the other side.  I know nasty things from this side.  Between the two of us, we should be able to forestall what ever it is Yvygney has in mind."

Flash.  Gunfire.  Pain.  His face must have reflected what he was feeling.  He felt her arms tighten around him.  He looked down into her face.  He had felt her hurt, dying.  Premonitions were not his strong point.  What was his talent trying to tell him?  He searched her face for some clue.

Something in his face told her that he was touching things that could make life difficult.  There was an urge to release him, but she held tight.  She had not felt this way about any one in . . . in too long.  He reminded what it was to be loved, to be a woman, to be human.  Her face was suddenly remote looking, as though some thought had sent her flying for shelter, away from him.

"What is it?"  He was wary, yet he wanted to know this was not a journey into loneliness again.

She met his gaze and smiled.  It was a sad smile.  "You really do get under a person's skin, don't you?"

That sent him back into his own head.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that all women have secrets," she replied lightly.  But the mood and the trust were broken, and she knew it.  Could she repair the damage?  Did she dare to do so?  She knew more about the Luna Foundation and the Legacy than she had admitted.  She knew that this man was wondrous and dangerous.  Her secrets could kill this relationship.  No.  They  would kill it.  But not yet.  Please.  Not yet.  "Do you really want to know all of them?" she asked playfully.  "That would leave no mystery at all."

He relaxed and smiled down at her.  Did he want to know all of her secrets?  No.  Something within him sensed that he was destined to lose her.  But not yet.  Not right now.

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