Wiser Than Serpents by Susan May Warren Page B

his watch. “I should call Sarai. I didn’t tell her I was leaving last night when I said goodbye.”
    “Did you two have a date?”
    “Took her to see Sleeping Beauty at the theater. She cried.”
    “I saw it, years ago.”
    “I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.” Roman curled his hand onto the railing, not looking at Vicktor.
    Vicktor couldn’t suppress a smile. “Every time you go to a theater or a circus you have this urge to propose. You should have done it thirteen years ago in Moscow, when you first wanted to.”
    Roman said nothing, probably reliving the moment he’d let the woman he loved walk out of his life. Thankfully, she’d also walked back into it about eight months ago. And it had only cost him a couple of broken ribs and a stint in gulag. But they were making up for lost time in a way that made Vicktor long for Gracie. He held up his phone again.
    “Leave it, man. Gracie can take care of herself. She managed to live in Russia for two years and, I might add, also escape a serial killer. I think she can stay safe on the streets of Seattle. Calling her every night is not about letting her know you care. It’s about you wanting to do her thinking for her. About you not letting go and letting God be in charge of your relationship. “
    “Ouch. Listen, I worked those streets when I lived in Seattle. This isn’t about me losing her. Or even needing her to need me. It’s about me knowing that she is still dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder and wanting her to feel safe.” Vicktor got off the walkway and followed Roman toward the lobby of what looked like a restaurant. Inside, at a counter, Roman stopped. Flashed his FSB credentials.
    “I’d like to speak to your manager,” he said.
    Vicktor leaned against the wall, arms folded. Maybe Roman was right. Maybe he did need to stop worrying about Gracie. He tapped the cell phone. I love you, too, Gracie. Enough to back off and let her decide their future. His words to Roman were honest—he didn’t want her to need him—well, yes he did, but he mostly wanted her to love him as much as he loved her.
    He touched his chest where it tightened, right above his heart.
    “Can I help you?” The voice came from a slight Asian man, well-groomed in a beige silk suit. Why hadn’t Vicktor grabbed his own suit instead of a pair of faded jeans and an old T-shirt? He leaned up from the wall and tried to look clean.
    “We’re looking for a friend of ours, an Olga Rustikoff. She was supposed to check in here two nights ago?” Roman dug “Olga’s” picture from his wallet. “She’s in her late twenties.”
    The manager, who introduced himself as Mr. Choi, studied Roman’s and Vicktor’s credentials for a moment, the picture, and then opened his listing of guests.
    “She checked in, but never checked out.” Choi wrote down the time. “We book by the six-hour blocks, and she used one block of time. When she didn’t check out, we charged her for another block. Housekeeping notes say they checked in on her room during the third shift, but it was vacant. Did she make her flight to America?”
    Roman glanced at Vicktor. “How did you know her destination?”
    Choi looked about forty, but with a youthful tan and little facial hair. “We take all the flight and passport information, in case they haven’t checked out an hour before their flight. Sometimes, patrons oversleep.”
    “So, you never saw her leave?” Vicktor asked. He wasn’t sure why, but places like this that rented by the hour always made him feel as if he might be walking into a back-alley brothel. Despite the manager’s three-piece suit and the welcome-to-Korea smile.
    “Not that I recall. Her account says that she had dinner in the restaurant shortly after she checked in. I’ll ask my staff if they remember seeing her.” He handed Roman a card. “If you will write your phone number, I can call you if I have any further information.”
    Roman scribbled down his cell