Deadly First Day, page 22
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
“Hello, Adrienne,” Mikhail drawls as I approach. “You look nice.” His smile is warm, and I return one of my own.
“Watch out!”
Mikhail whips me around, tucking me into the space between his body and the wall as a soccer ball careens past the spot where my head just was. My heart ricochets around my ribcage as my cheeks flush.
“Sorry!” a guy calls as he rushes past us to retrieve the ball.
Slowly, Mikhail’s eyes move over me, taking me in. “Are you all right?” he asks, finally. His eyes catch mine, arresting me, and I can’t look away. Mikhail is at once too close and too far away. I don’t know whether to push him back, or fist his black tee in my hands and pull him toward me.
He swallows, and makes the decision for me by pushing off the wall, making disappointment simmer in my chest. “That was close. When your father hired me to protect you, I did not think it would be from rogue footballs. Come. Let us go make some cookies.” Nestling his hand on my lower back, we walk down the stairs together.
I smile, trying to ignore the flames shooting out of his fingers and into my back.
“Good evening, Mr. Sokolov. Miss Lewis.”
“Good evening, Officer Morris.”
I gape at Mikhail’s familiarity with the security guard as we pass.
“You’re friends with him now?”
Mikhail shrugs. “It is wise to make friends with the people who have access to the security camera footage, just in case.”
My jaw drops. “I never thought of that.”
“That is why I am paid the big bucks.”
I laugh. “You’re funny. I like it.”
His eyes shine as they catch mine. “I am glad you think so.” He closes the door behind us, and we’re alone in the kitchen. “What would you like to do first?”
His strides are easy and assured as we walk toward the pantry where all of my supplies are stored.
“I’m not sure if I should bake the bread, or fry it in a skillet, so we’ll try both. And I want to experiment with rolling it out versus using a tortilla press. From what I understand, it needs to be pretty thin before it’s cooked so it doesn’t puff up like pizza dough. How are you at cooking?”
Usually, if he’s with me in the kitchen, he watches without participating, but I’m hoping I can rope him into it tonight. Cooking with Mikhail sounds fun.
Mikhail cants his head. “I am not an expert, but I am willing to learn.”
“Perfect.”
Mikhail’s stomach grumbles audibly. “I could eat a pizza right now.”
“I make pretty good pizza.”
His eyebrow cocks as he fixes his eyes on me. “Have you been holding out on me, Adrienne?”
I suck my lower lip between my teeth and shake my head.
“You turn on the lights. I will get your supplies.”
In mere minutes, the counter is sprinkled with flour, yeast, sugar, and dribbles of plain yogurt. I’m pretty sure I also got flour in my hair, but it wouldn’t be the first time Mikhail has seen me like this, so I don’t let it bother me.
“For such a compact woman, you make quite a mess in the kitchen.”
“Shut up.” I swat at Mikhail, but it’s the truth. I bust up laughing, and he joins in. I’ve been down here enough times now that I don’t feel the need to whisper the entire time. It’s far enough from the dorm rooms that nobody can hear us. Besides, I’m too busy replaying how he says “woman,” over and over again in my head.
“What is next?” He turns from the counter to look at me, waiting for instruction.
“We have to let it rise for a little while.” I move to untie my messy apron, but halt when I catch Mikhail watching me. There’s a flicker of something in his expression that makes me pause. It’s almost as if… No, I push the wishful thought away.
Mikhail clears his throat. “You have something on your… Here, let me.” Taking the apron out of my hands, he brushes off my cheeks before dropping it into the bin the kitchen staff uses for the purpose.
“What’s wrong? You look… angry.”
“I am not angry.” He stalks closer, a dark look in his eyes.
My skin goes hot as I back into the stove, not sure what to do.
“Adrienne.” My name is velvety smooth when Mikhail says it, with hints of spicy ginger. He comes closer, his eyes locked on mine. Less than a foot away, he stops, head tilted to the side. His deep-set brown eyes fall to my mouth before sliding back to mine.
What?
My cheeks blaze. I’m imagining this. I have to be. Mikhail doesn’t...
“I have something to confess to you.”
“Yes.” The word comes out quicker and more breathy than I expect. When did the air get so thin in here?
“When I was hired for this job, I took it to be closer to my sister. She lives here in the city, and it has been a welcome change to see her more often. But I did not imagine that protecting two teenage girls would be so complicated. That is, I have developed stronger feelings—”
“I know you’re in love with Charlotte,” I blurt, ignoring the dull ache that takes up residence in my chest.
A muscle in Mikhail’s jaw ticks, and his expression goes blank. He looks like he did when I met him—closed off, watchful. He steps back, running a hand down his neatly trimmed beard.
A tense silence spreads between us, and I wish we could go back to a few minutes ago, when we were joking about pizza.
“Let’s check the dough, shall we?”
I move to do it, even before Mikhail agrees. Disappointment sets in. I had considered asking my bodyguard to escort me to the Winter Summit, just as friends, but I can’t bring it up now. The pall of awkwardness has permeated the whole kitchen, and it’s my fault for blabbing. I should have let him tell me in his own way, and then maybe this wouldn’t be so painful. He’d feel comfortable confessing something private to me, and I would deal with it. Alone. Probably with a fresh batch of black and white cupcakes and some reality TV.
The warm, yeasty smell of rising bread dough greets me as I pull the towel off the top of the mixing bowl to check its progress. The dough bounces back nicely when I touch it. “It’s ready. Want to help me roll it out?”
“If you would like me to, I will get the rolling pin.” He walks over to the fridge and pulls out the heavy marble rolling pin I inherited from my grandma. She used it in her baking as far back as I can remember, and it was the only thing I really wanted when she passed, aside from her brooch. He makes calculated movements, the wall around him firmly in place. Stupid Adrienne. I thought Mikhail would be relieved that his secret is out, but instead it’s alienated him from me. I’ve managed to push away one of the only friends I have here at the academy.
“You roll half, and I’ll use the press for the other half. We’ll see which works better.”
I work the dough with my hands, reveling in the soft stretch of it under my palms. Separating it into two balls, I push half toward Mikhail. “That should make four pieces.”
“Understood.”
He falls silent as he focuses on the dough in front of him, dividing it and setting three small balls aside while using the rolling pin to flatten the fourth. I’m so glad I asked him to help tonight. I was right; baking with Mikhail is fun, and he’s not bad at it, either. The corded muscles in his arms flex as he works the rolling pin back and forth.
As I work, I wonder if his mother or grandmother ever taught young Mikhail about cooking or baking. There’s so little I know about him. I waffle back and forth, but finally I have to ask. “Did your mom cook a lot when you were growing up?”
Mikhail gives half a smile. “My mother is an excellent cook. When I am home, she always insists on making my favorite foods, but she does not let me help in the kitchen.” He doesn’t look up as he says it, instead keeping his eyes focused on his work.
My heart latches on to the picture of Mikhail being pampered by his mother. “That’s so sweet. She sounds nice. And she should definitely let you help. You’re great at it.”
Mikhail nods, not quite a chuckle. His expression grows somber again. “My mom did not want me to come to the United States with my sister. She said it pained her to lose both of her children, but I had to come. Lada is my older sister, but she lacks common sense. It has often led to trouble.”
My breath hitches. What kind of brother follows his older sister to a different country to make sure she’s safe and protected? Mikhail, that’s who. Ugh. Why does he have to be so perfect?
“What about your father?” I’m careful not to look at him, hoping he won’t see my question as prying, but he’s never opened up to me this much, and I don’t want it to stop.
“I have mentioned before that my father is a general. He is a very busy man. We do not see him often, and my mother frets over it. I, too, wish that he was more present with us, but his job is very important.”
What is it with parents and putting their job before their family? I mean, I know that being a general is a huge responsibility, but to neglect your wife and children for work?
I suppress a sigh. I know almost exactly what that is like. I almost never see my father, because he’s busy with his career as a politician. He’s spent his adult life dedicated to helping strangers in his state, but he can’t make the time to see me more than once a year for a few hours in a quiet, overly fancy restaurant.
“Does he know she misses him?”
Mikhail doesn’t respond, so I don’t ask again.
“What about your father?” He surprises me by asking.
I shake my head as I press out the dough. “I barely consider him a parent. He donated half my DNA, but I haven’t spent more than two hours with him at a time in years. Maybe never. Usually it’s an awkward birthday dinner, a present of some cash, and then it’s goodbye until next year.”
“That is not a surprise. He does not seem to know you at all.”
“That about sums it up.”
Mikhail frowns.
I don’t want to talk about the senator anymore, so I let the subject drop. We continue working in silence.
29
My World Literature professor is talking about the themes in the Chinese classic novels to prepare us for the excerpts we’re about to read. Apparently, they were written hundreds of years ago. It’s mind-blowing to me that novels that old have survived, and that they’ve been translated so we can read them. One of the things I’m starting to really enjoy about the academy is the sheer diversity of the topics discussed in our classes. I’ve learned more about different countries and cultures around the globe in the last three months than the rest of my school years in Wood View, combined. If only the trade-off wasn’t suspicious stares and whispered rumors told behind my back when I trip through the crowded halls.
The Winter Summit, and all it encompasses, has been a welcome reprieve from the scrutiny. Everyone is too busy speculating about the event’s menu and decor, or they’re occupied with finding dates and formal wear.
I prop my chin on my palm, Dr. Gregoire’s throaty voice going fuzzy as I recall last night in the kitchen with Mikhail. His gentle smile as he helped me bake. The delicious smell of his cologne.
“Miss Lewis? You’re bright red. Are you all right?”
I snap to attention, shoving off my elbow and blinking rapidly.
Dr. Gregoire waits.
“I’m fine. Sorry.”
My professor’s lips purse, and then she recommences her lecture. I know next to nothing about ancient China, so it’s a little hard to follow, but I force myself to focus. I’ve managed to keep my grades in the B range or above, and I’m not about to let Mikhail distract me from that. Not just because of the headmistress’ watchful way of popping into my classes now and then. Not because I’d do anything to avoid being on the receiving end of the senator’s disappointment. No, it’s because now that I’ve actually applied myself to my schoolwork and seen results, it’s addicting. I’m determined to keep it up.
In the back of the room, someone’s cell phone vibrates. When it doesn’t stop right away, I twist around to see who’s forgotten to turn off their phone.
It’s Mikhail’s.
If I wasn’t flushed before, the embarrassment makes darn sure my face is scarlet now.
The girls at the next table snicker, casting cold glances in my direction.
“Dr. Gregoire, I apologize.” Mikhail pats his pocket as he hurries up the aisle between the tables and steps out into the hallway.
She frowns as she watches him go before turning back to us. “As I was saying before the interruption, The Yuan Dynasty…”
But my focus is once again on something other than the lesson. All of my energy—and my gaze—is trained on the doorway. All I can see of Mikhail is an elbow, but I can’t tear myself away. Who’s calling him now, in the middle of the school day? It can’t be Charlotte, who’s also in class, and I’ve never seen him take a personal call. Ever. So it has to be the senator. Anxiety scrapes inside my skull. A call from the senator does not bode well. Why would my father be calling Mikhail in the middle of class?
A moment later, I hear Mikhail end the call. He moves into the doorway, his black suit filling the space as he looks at Dr. Gregoire. “Excuse me, Professor, but you will have to release Miss Lewis from class. Adrienne, come with me.”
Eyes swivel toward me as I shove my tablet into my bag and hurry out before Dr. Gregoire can get a word in edgewise.
“What’s going on? Who was that on the phone?”
Mikhail puts a gentle hand on my upper back and steers me toward the foyer and the main exit. “That was Ms. Cain. The police have requested that you come down to the station for questioning. I am to take you there now.”
I halt in my tracks. “Again? But, what could they possibly want? I’ve told them everything I know.”
“I do not know, but I will not leave your side. Please, come with me.”
Images of Detectives Cahill and Gupta staring at me, peeling away my layers with their sharp gazes filter into my head, making me shudder. They don’t believe me, I know it. They think I know more than I’m telling.
They’re right.
Callahan sneaking off campus the same weekend of the embassy robbery.
Professor Rook’s pills.
Dali being bullied by Na.
I haven’t told them any of it. Whether I intended to or not, I’ve become a liar, and the detectives can sense it, although the conclusions they’ve drawn are wrong.
How many times can I insist I’m innocent before it starts to sound like a lie?
I’m quiet as Mikhail drives me to the station, debating whether or not I should crack open my vault and spill the secrets I’ve gathered since I started attending the academy. Will Callahan forgive me if I tell them about my suspicion that he is the one who broke into the Chinese embassy all those weeks ago?
I shake my head. I won’t tell the detectives about my stepbrother. They’ll have to find the truth another way. It’s their job to uncover what actually happened. To make sure that justice is served.
Ms. Cain is waiting for me when we walk into the building.
She pulls me aside before I reach the front desk, a light hand on the arm of my uniform jacket. Her pale pink nails are a stark contrast against my crimson sleeve.
“Hello, Miss Lewis. Senator Holt asked me to tell you he tried to be here, but he couldn’t get out of a committee meeting. I’ll be acting as your advocate today. I advise you not to answer any questions unless I say you can. Do you understand?”
“Shouldn’t I just answer their questions? I’m not hiding anything.”
“Let me do my job, Miss Lewis. All right?” Her face is professional, making me wonder how much practice she’s had at appearing unaffected by her surroundings, by the horrible things she sees and hears about on a daily basis. I would never be able to hide my emotions so well.
Ms. Cain leads us to the front desk. “We’re here at the request of Detectives Cahill and Gupta. Please inform them that we have arrived.”
The uniformed woman behind the counter speaks into her phone before motioning for us to go on back. A buzzing indicates the navy blue, metal-plated door is unlocked, and Mikhail swings it open, holding it for Ms. Cain and me.
Activity in the room slows as we step inside, and it seems like every uniform in the place is staring at me. It’s not so different from being gawked at at school, except that these men and women have a lot more power than my classmates. And guns strapped to their waists. It might feel like it sometimes, but my classmates can’t really ruin my life or my future. The police can, if they think I’m lying about Li Na or the circumstances of her death.
We’re lead into the same interrogation room. Dingy gray walls. Scratched metal table and chairs.
“The detectives will be right with you.”
But they aren’t.
We sit in the room for what seems like hours, waiting in silence. There’s no clock on the wall, so I keep checking my phone. It’s been forty-five minutes, and the silence has stretched so tightly over my mouth that I’m not sure I’d be able to speak even if I was asked.
“I’m going to see what is taking so long.” Ms. Cain gets up and click-clacks out of the room on her heels.
I look up at Mikhail, who is standing against the wall. “Why do you think they’re not here yet?”
Mikhail’s face is guarded as he looks down at me. “I do not know how your police work here in the U.S., but in Russia, if my father wanted someone to confess to a crime, he would make them wait. It is a tactic to make one’s opponent nervous, more likely to talk.”
My face blanches. “You think they’re trying to smoke me out?”
His eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t understand my metaphor.
“They’re trying to scare me into confessing.”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t do anything. You believe me, right?”
Mikhail’s brown eyes find mine. “You are a sweet, kind girl, Adrienne. And gentle. I do not think you hurt anyone. But I do not have power here.”
My stomach bottoms out, and my hands start to shake.
The door opens, and my lawyer comes back in, followed by the detectives. One of them is holding an evidence bag in her hand, but I can’t tell what’s inside it.
