In Sheep's Clothing

“No, Andrei. I have no idea who would kill the Youngs, or why.” Her voice shook.

“Okay,” Andrei said, and reached for her.

She backed away from him. “Not okay.” She glanced from Andrei to Larissa. “Do you think I’d keep that from you? Or worse, maybe you suspect me?”

Larissa’s mouth dropped open.

“Davai, Gracie. Of course we don’t suspect you.” Andrei actually looked angry, his brown eyes glittering. “I just wanted to know what you thought. If you knew anything.” He looked away, and his expression made her wince.

She stared in shame at the betrayal written on her friends’ faces.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, when things have had a chance to…calm down,” Larissa said. “Right now I think you need some sleep.”

Oh, sure, so she could dream about Evelyn’s chalky death expression? She’d probably never sleep again. She whisked tears from her cheeks. “No. I’m okay. I’m sorry. I’m just a little…yeah, maybe tired.” She suddenly wanted to curl into a ball and just stay there, perhaps under the covers, forever. Never. Wake. Up.

Larissa returned the smile. “Let me tuck you into bed, Gracie. I’ll sleep on the sofa and Andrei will guard the front door.”

Larissa silenced Gracie’s protests with a look. “In Russia, friends watch out for each other.”

Oh, now she felt like a real give-me-a-prize-for-my-insensitivity type. She so obviously didn’t deserve these friends. She nodded, unable to speak.

Andrei helped her to her feet. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, he stared over her head, toward Larissa. “I’ll call Pastor Yuri.”

Larissa didn’t answer as she guided Gracie from the room.

Vicktor braced his elbows on his knees. The arena seat felt like it had been constructed with razor blades. He’d forgotten how long these matches were. Next to him, Roman waggled his fist.

“Oh-Rah!” he shouted.

From the court, Yanna looked in their direction and returned the fist-up victory gesture. Her spike had just landed her team another point, and they were well on their way to cleaning up the two-out-of-three game match. Vicktor watched them set up for another serve and tried to focus on the game.

“Want a soda?” Roman asked.

Vicktor shook his head.

“I heard about the missionaries. Ouch.” Roman made a face. “Don’t jump to conclusions too quickly, my friend. You know the Wolf. If it is him, he kills good guys just as often as bad.”

“These missionaries had fake passports and visas. I wouldn’t call that your usual missionary paraphernalia.”

Roman stared straight ahead, but Vicktor saw a muscle pull in his jaw. It had to stab his friend’s Christian pride to discover that one of his own had been found treading on the dark side. It didn’t make Vicktor happy to see his friend suffer. He respected Roman’s, David’s and Mae’s religion, even if he didn’t agree with it. It had certainly changed Roman from a womanizing hooligan to a straight-shooting hero of the state. If anything, Roman’s Christian beliefs made him a better friend and soldier. Probably a better man.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “If your missionaries are clean, I’ll clear their name.”

Roman’s gaze didn’t waver from the game, but Vicktor saw his slight nod.

“Hey, check out the redhead in the corner by the south entrance.” Roman didn’t point, but angled his head slightly.

“I knew you wouldn’t stay single long,” Vicktor said as he squinted in the direction of his friend’s gaze.

“Look closely, Vicktor. I wouldn’t dream of chasing this one.”