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right shoulder. The satchels dwarfed her lean body, but she was crisp and pretty in a black leather skirt, hose and matching jacket. Yanna knew how to pull off European fashion.
    “Do you have a game tonight?” he asked, melting into her stride.
    “Against the Vladivostok Torrents. They’re still unbeaten.”
    “Until tonight.” He winked at her. Yanna’s volleyball team had taken the championship for the city and was smoking their way toward nationals. Yanna’s serve could melt butter and her spike sent him to his knees in terror and admiration. He didn’t have a prayer when they played one-on-one down at the beach.
    “Come and watch the game tonight. It’s at Dynamo Stadium.” Yanna flicked back her silky brown hair and looked up at him, those brown eyes so clear and genuine. His heart twisted. Why couldn’t he find a girl like Yanna? Roman was right: his life was desolate. Never mind about the Savior garbage, but maybe he could be persuaded to let someone quiet into his life. Someone supportive. Forgiving.
    Yeah, that was likely. Especially if he let them close enough to get a glimpse of the real Vicktor.
    He returned Yanna’s smile. “I’ll try and make it to your game.”
    “Great!” She bounced through the door he held open.
    They fell silent walking in the back entrance of FSB Headquarters. The mustard-yellow building covered nearly a city block and loomed five stories tall. The rumors ran as deep as the dungeons but few had involuntarily ventured lower than the first floor and lived to tell about it. Vicktor and Yanna walked through the gray corridor in silence, their feet echoing against the cement. They passed abandoned interrogation rooms and doors that led to the secrets below. Vicktor wondered at the wisdom of the FSB occupying the same building its predecessor, the KGB, had occupied for sixty years. Fear was embedded within the walls.
    They climbed the stairs and entered the lobby. “I’m ducking into Personnel,” Yanna said. “I’ll see you tonight.”
    “Yanna, wait.” He caught her arm, a lump rising in his throat. His voice stayed low. “Sorry about missing the chat last night.”
    She blinked twice at him, as if he’d dashed her with a bucket of ice. She gave a furtive look around the lobby. “No problem.” Whirling, she nearly sprinted away from him.
    Vicktor stared after her. He was making all sorts of friends this morning.
    He took the steps two at a time to his office on the second floor, then threaded his way through a minefield of desks to his office.
    Vicktor snorted as he rounded Maxim’s desk, buried somewhere under an avalanche of paper. Yesterday’s teacup soiled a stack of notes and Snickers wrappers littered the floor, but the desk chair remained empty. Annoyance flooded him as he recalled the major’s words. The rookie was slightly difficult to mentor when he never showed up for work. Partners. The word made him cringe. Maxim didn’t have a clue what it meant and Vicktor didn’t have the time or desire to teach him. Vicktor shrugged out of his coat and hung it in his wardrobe.
    Grabbing his coffee mug, the one with Mount Hood glinting off the side in gold etching, he scooped in a generous amount of instant coffee, added a spoonful of cream and plugged the samovar in, waiting for it to boil.
    He turned on the ancient paperweight they assigned him a month ago, a.k.a. his desktop PC, coaxing it with a few sweet words. While it eased to life, he weeded through his phone messages. Two distraught families from cold cases who would never know what happened to their mafia-connected kids, and a call from Arkady. Filing the other two in the Maxim pile, Vicktor flicked his fingers on Arkady’s note while he dialed his father.
    Nickolai caught it on the sixth ring. Vicktor didn’t know if he should be glad or brace himself for the inevitable.
    “Slyushaiyu!”
    Vicktor forced a cheery tone. He thought he’d make a great undercover cop. “ Privyet, Pop. How are