One Kiss In… Moscow. Кейт Хьюит

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      ‘It does, actually,’ she informed him, managing a wry smile despite the panic plunging icily in her stomach. She was starting to realise how awful this really was. No passport. No money. Missing her flight. In Moscow.

      All bad.

      ‘Perhaps you should have thought of that when you wandered around Red Square,’ the man returned. ‘You might as well have hung a placard around your neck declaring you were a tourist, ripe for the taking.’

      ‘I am a tourist,’ Hannah pointed out in what she thought was quite a reasonable tone. ‘And I don’t know why it’s got you so worked up. It’s not your money, or your passport.’

      The man stared at her, his expression turning from fierce to something close to bewildered. ‘You’re right,’ he said after a moment. ‘There’s no reason for me to be worked up at all.’ Yet he didn’t turn away as she’d half expected him to, just kept staring at her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

      ‘In any case,’ Hannah said, ‘I don’t mind that they took my money.’ Well, she wouldn’t have minded, except that it was the only money she’d had left. And as for the passport …

      She lifted her chin, staring the man down. Sort of. ‘They need it more than I do, and at least now they can buy food—’

      ‘You think they’re going to buy food?’

      She shook her head. ‘Don’t tell me they must be buying drugs or something awful like that. Even children who live on the street need to eat, and they couldn’t have been more than twelve—’

      ‘Twelve is plenty old on the street,’ the man informed her. ‘And food is easy enough to score, just steal from a fruit and vegetable stall or wait out in the back of a restaurant. You don’t use money to buy food. Not unless you have to.’

      Hannah stared at him, surprised by his knowing tone, discomfited by the fierce light in those ice-blue eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘And thanks for helping me out. If you hadn’t come along—well, if I hadn’t interfered, maybe I’d still have my money.’ And her passport.

      The man jerked his head in a semblance of a nod. ‘You’ll go to your embassy?’ he asked, sounding almost as if the words—the concern—were forced from him. ‘You know where it is?’

      ‘Yes.’ She didn’t, but she wasn’t going to give this man any more reasons to think her an idiot. ‘Thank you for helping me out.’

      ‘Good luck,’ he said after a moment, and, nodding her own farewell, Hannah turned and started walking across Red Square.

      Now that she was no longer dealing with that man and his forceful presence, the panic lodged icily in the pit of her stomach was becoming heavier. Icier. She swallowed, squared her shoulders—just in case he was watching—and strode towards the other side of the square. She’d look at her map then, and figure out where the American Embassy was.

      Two hours later she’d finally reached the window in the consular department of the American Embassy, only to be rather flatly told that she had to report the theft to the Moscow Police Department, fill out a form, and bring it back to the embassy before she reapplied for a passport.

      ‘Reapply,’ Hannah repeated, not liking the word. She’d been hoping—praying—that they could just give her some sort of stamped form, like a get-out-of-jail-free card that would let her on the aeroplane. Get her home.

      The woman behind the window looked at her without a flicker of sympathy or interest. To be fair, Hannah told herself, she probably heard this kind of sob story all the time. And it wasn’t her job to help Hannah, just give the information. Still, Hannah had to swallow past the lump in her throat as she explained, ‘But my flight leaves tonight.’

      ‘Reschedule,’ the woman said. ‘It will take days to get a passport, and after that you have to reapply for your entry visa.’

      An entry visa? ‘But I’m leaving.’

      She shrugged. ‘Your Russian contact will have to vouch for you.’ She passed a paper under the window and Hannah stared at it, saw the hundred-dollar fee for a passport application.

      ‘My contact is just a hotel,’ Hannah said, desperation now edging her voice. ‘I don’t think—’

      ‘Talk to the police,’ the woman advised. ‘You must do that first.’ Already she was looking over Hannah’s shoulder, indicating that the next person should come forward.

      ‘But—’ Hannah leaned forward, flushing as she spoke in a whisper ‘—I don’t have any money.’

      Still no sympathy. ‘Use the ATM. Or a credit card.’

      Of course. That was the normal, expected thing to do. Except she didn’t have that much money in the bank to withdraw, and she’d cut up her credit cards after seeing the bills her parents had racked up before their deaths. Maybe not the wisest decision, but now that she’d finally paid the bills off she’d been determined never to be in debt again. The woman must have seen something of this in her face for she said, a touch impatiently, ‘Call someone, then. In America. They can wire you money.’

      ‘Right.’ It was finally sinking in just what kind of trouble she was in. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said, and fortunately her voice didn’t wobble.

      ‘Any time,’ the woman said in a bored voice, and the next person started forward.

      Hannah walked slowly outside; there was a chill to the spring air now, and the sky had darkened to a steely grey.

      She was really trying hard not to panic. She normally wasn’t a panicker, tried to see the best in everything and everyone.

      Only now it was getting dark and she had no money, no passport, no options. She could call a friend, as the woman had advised, but Hannah resisted that option. She’d have to reverse the charges of the telephone call, and then explain her awful predicament, and then whomever she called—and no names sprang readily to mind—would have to drive fifty miles to Albany to wire the money, and that money would have to be hundreds of dollars at the very least. Passport fees, hotel stays, food, perhaps even another plane ticket. It could be thousands of dollars.

      She didn’t have friends with that kind of money, and she didn’t have that kind of money either. She’d used the last of her own savings to fund this trip, knowing it was foolish, impulsive, everything she never was. Except maybe she was foolish, and stupid even, as that man in Red Square had so obviously thought, because if she had any sense at all she wouldn’t be standing on the steps of the American Embassy, people and traffic streaming indifferently, impatiently all around her, with no place to go, no idea what she could do. Nothing.

      She swallowed the panic that had started in her stomach and was now steadily working its way up her throat. She wasn’t completely lost. She had a little money in the bank, enough to give her some time—

       And then?

      ‘There you are.’

      Hannah blinked, focused in the oncoming dusk, and then stared in surprise as the man from Red Square strode towards her, his leather coat billowing blackly out behind him, a scowl on his face. He looked like an avenging angel, his blue СКАЧАТЬ