The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [237]
She had almost reached three minutes when she heard the sound. She stiffened, straining her eyes vainly into the darkness. It had been less than ten minutes since she had called Michael, and that was not enough time for him to get from his villa to the center of Istanbul. The patch of light near the steps was out of her vision around a corner, and from where she sat all was in darkness. She listened again but there was only the constant sound of dripping water, and she relaxed a little. She must have been mistaken. Her head drooped with weariness as she began counting—ten, twenty, thirty, forty seconds—and then she heard it again. Only this time she knew it was a footstep. And she knew it was not Michael’s—he would surely have called out to her.
Panic flooded through her. She pressed her hands against her mouth to stop herself from screaming.
“Genie?” a man’s voice called. “I know you are in here. Tell me where you are. I need to speak to you.”
It was Valentin. She hid her head in her arms, thinking of how their bodies had entwined as they made love only hours ago, of how happy she had been in his arms, how safe she had felt, and she shook her head disbelievingly. Valentin had found her—he was going to kill her. And now even Michael Kazahn could not stop him.
“Genie, answer me,” he pleaded. “I must talk to you before it’s too late. We must stop before this whole thing blows up into a big international disaster. Answer me, Genie, please. I’m begging you.”
He sounded so concerned, so desperate, so tender, she could almost believe him, and she quickly reminded herself of who he was: Valentin Solovsky, a Russian, nephew of the head of the KGB whom she had just seen him murder. A trained killer who “did not enjoy it” but murdered when he must.
Genie hid her face in her hands and wept silently. It was only a matter of minutes before he found her—and then it would be all over.
Valentin picked his way by the beam of a tiny flashlight, cursing himself for not having a stronger one. It would be a slow job to find her like this, and the one thing he did not have was time. He guessed Kazahn would be there with the police within the next five minutes.
He swung the tiny beam around, illuminating snatches of dank vaulted walls and massive half-submerged columns. “Genie,” he called, his voice echoing eerily through the cavern, “please talk to me. There’s something you must know.” He waited for a moment and then said, “Very well then, just listen to me. I know now it was you I was looking for. But what you don’t know is why I was looking for you.”
Genie hugged her knees tightly, hiding her face as the silence fell again. “Genie, my father’s name was once Alexei Ivanoff. He is your mother’s brother. I am your cousin, your blood.—”
She buried her face in her arms. She wanted to shut her ears against his lies, to scream at him to stop it.
“My father was saved from the forest at Varishyna by Grigori Solovsky. He brought him up alongside his own son, Boris. Boris hated him. He knew who he really was and he wanted to destroy him, but to carry out his plan he needed proof of Alexei’s identity. You were to be his proof, and that is why I had to kill Boris Solovsky. I am telling you the truth. Please believe me, Genie. I did it for you.” He waited for a long moment and then said with a sigh, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am about this. I just wish it had never happened.”
She jumped as the door at the top of the steps suddenly crashed open and Michael’s voice called, “Anna? Are you there?”
She heard his uneven step on the stairs and thought of Valentin, waiting in the darkness to kill him.
“Michael,” she screamed.