In Sheep's Clothing. Susan Warren May

traffic and they rode in silence until he pulled up to the Youngs’ apartment building. Gracie felt emptied. The front door hung open and she recalled with pain the suspicious gaze the old babushka had sent her when she had tumbled outside.

      Of course. She’d been covered in blood. No wonder the old woman had gaped at her. Thankfully, now the bench outside the building was empty.

      The FSB agent—whatever his name was—got out, came around the car and opened the door. He held out his hand, and after a second she took it. He held it a second longer than was necessary, it seemed, to help her out of the car.

      “Thank you…”

      “Captain Vicktor Shubnikov.”

      He smiled, and the warmth in his expression helped her rally.

      “Ready to go up?”

      She nodded.

      They rode up the lift. Dread pushed down on her with every passing flight. The doors bumped open on the sixth floor and she shuffled out, Captain Shubnikov on her tail.

      The Youngs’ door hung open. She heard voices inside—gruff, angry Russian.

      “This way,” Captain Shubnikov said, and pointed to Evelyn’s kitchen.

      Gracie obeyed, greatly relieved not to have to enter the room where her best friend lay murdered.

      “She’s not there.” Larissa hung up the telephone and sat back in her office chair, folding her arms over her silk blouse. “Are you sure she’s not at the Youngs’?”

      Andrei fiddled with his car keys and shook his head. “I went up there, peeked in. The place is a cop circus. She’s nowhere to be found.”

      Larissa had never seen her cousin so…shaken. She knew he was in love with the American, but Gracie’s disappearance had him unglued. His hair was mussed, his jacket hung on slumped shoulders. Had he even shaved today? His jingling car keys frayed her nerves.

      Where was Gracie? Larissa chewed her lip. They had to find her, fast. Before the FSB got to her. The last thing Gracie needed was a day with the FSB to force her back inside her turtle shell. The poor thing was just getting used to taking public transportation. The sooner she was out of Russia, the better—for all of them. Even if it did rip a hole through Larissa’s heart. She’d come to truly care about the American with the obsession about God that matched that of the rest of her mother’s family. Religion was the opiate of the masses. Of the Tallin family, for sure. Look what it had done to Andrei.

      Larissa stood up and crossed to the front of her desk, grabbing Andrei by the collar of his coat. “Find her. Make sure she’s safe. Bring her back to her place and I’ll meet you there later.”

      Andrei’s brow furrowed. “You’re not coming with me?”

      She circled back to her desk chair, pausing for a moment to give him a frown. “I have work to do.”

      Vicktor strode in behind Grace Benson, feeling sorry for the lady every step of the way. It seemed utterly unfair that she should have to face the horrific scene twice in one day. That had never seemed clearer to him than in the car when she nearly shattered before his eyes. Oy, he had to admit, he’d never seen a woman so completely wear her feelings on the outside of her body. And when she looked at him with so much fear in her eyes, well, he’d had to fight the weird desire to pull her into his arms.

      Her wounded expression had reached out to him in the train and turned him into some sort of cream puff.

      He felt like a jerk for suspecting her, but that was his job. He shoved his hands in his pockets and fought to harden the soft places she’d touched in his heart.

      Grace crossed her arms and stared out the kitchen window. Her erect posture gave her dignity, but Vicktor had seen the slight quake of her shoulders and the two deep breaths she’d gulped as she entered the kitchen.

      “Ask her what she knows,” Arkady said, following them both into the room.

      Vicktor shot a look at him. The chief leaned against the counter, watching the American’s body language like a psychiatrist. After a moment, he turned his gaze to Vicktor, a hard edge to his brown eyes.

      “Zdrastvootya,” he said with a biting tone, “you can still speak English, right?”

      Vicktor glared at him. “Miss Benson, could you please tell us what happened here?”

      She breathed a sigh of palpable sorrow, but she tucked a stray blond hair behind her ear and lifted her chin.

      “I came this morning to check e-mail. When I arrived, the doors were open.”

      “Both of them?”

      “Da. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

      She nodded. “It was creepy. Evelyn is very careful about keeping her doors locked, so I knew something was wrong. I never guessed…” Her voice plunged to a whisper and Vicktor fought the urge to take a step toward her. His face must have revealed pity, however, for Arkady shot him a scowl.

      Vicktor fisted his hands in his pockets. “Where did you find her?”

      “The bedroom. I checked the house and decided to do e-mail before I left.”

      “Do you often check your e-mail here?”

      Her eyes sparked. “I don’t have my own computer.”

      He couldn’t imagine life without his laptop. Odd for an American.

      “What did you do when you found her?”

      Gracie’s shoulders shook, but her voice emerged steady. “I untied her hands. Then I called my friend Larissa. She told me she would call the police.”

      Vicktor translated her answer for Arkady, who lit a cigarette. “Ask her why she took off.”

      “Why did you leave, Miss Benson?” He wanted to cringe at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes.

      “I was afraid. I thought the murderer might still be in the flat.”

      “Smart,” he said, and was instantly glad when he saw one side of her mouth tug up.

      Arkady scowled at him. “Did you ask her what these Americans were doing here? What organization were they with? Did they have any enemies?”

      Vicktor waved him quiet. “This doctor and his wife—what did they do here?”

      Her eyes aged before him, and he found himself wondering how old she was.

      “They were missionaries. Dr. Willie worked mostly with the leaders of the church, but sometimes he would help out a few doctors he knew.” She shook her head as if anticipating his next question. “No, I don’t know any names. It seemed like Dr. Willie knew just about everybody, but I can’t tell you whom.”

      “Did they have any enemies?”

      Her eyes locked on his. “No.”

      He turned to Arkady. “She doesn’t know anything.”

      “Tell her to stick around.”

      “She’s headed for the border, Chief. I pulled her off the Okean to Vladivostok.”

      “Take her into custody.” Arkady let the ash from his cigarette fall to the ground.

      “Right. And have the U.S Consulate hound me for the next decade? No thanks. She doesn’t know anything.” Vicktor glanced at her. “Let her go home.”

      “She’s hiding something.” Smoke puffed out of Arkady’s mouth with each word. “Did she see anyone? Ask her again.”

      Vicktor shot Arkady a crippling look. “Is there anyone else that could have come here today?” he asked in English.

      She frowned, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to her. Then she closed her eyes and rubbed her index finger between her pinched