Dear Reader:

I've written several books where the welfare of a child is at stake, and they never fail to grab me in that special gut-level fear place. It was tough enough to pit two good people against each other, because when it comes to parenting there's never a definitive "right way" to do it. So while I was writing FROM RUSSIA, WITH LOVE, I kept in mind the story of how Solomon determined a baby's true mother by threatening to have him cut in two. Drastic, yes, but nothing brings out true feelings as quickly as the prospect of losing someone you love.

Then again, perhaps that's just the twisted way my mind works. When I was first invited to participate in the Mediterranean Nights series, I didn't think, "Oh, wow, a chance to set a story on a romantic cruise ship." No, my reaction was more along the lines of, "Oh, wow, I can do a story like the Steven Segal movie about the maniacs who take over a battleship."

Don't tell my editors, but I enjoyed myself on this book so much it didn't even feel like work!

Best,
Ingrid

The Mediterranean Nights Series

Beginning in June 2007

FROM RUSSIA, WITH LOVE, Ingrid Weaver

SCENT OF A WOMAN, Joanne Rock

THE TYCOON’S SON, Cindy Kirk

BREAKING ALL THE RULES, Marisa Carroll

AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER, Karen Kendall

BELOW DECK, Dorien Kelly

A PERFECT MARRIAGE?, Cindi Myers

FULL EXPOSURE, Diana Duncan

CABIN FEVER, Mary Leo

ISLAND HEAT, Sarah Mayberry

STARSTRUCK, Michelle Celmer

THE WAY HE MOVES, Marcia King-Gamble
 
 

“Stefan?” Marina called.

The boy didn’t react, but the man did. His back stiffened. Keeping a firm grasp on the child’s hand, he looked behind him to scan the people who strolled along the deck.

Marina had a brief impression of beige clothes, broad shoulders and a square jaw, but she didn’t spare the man more than a glance. All her attention was focused on the child beside him. His hair was as straight and fine as Olena’s had been and only a shade lighter than her own. It lifted in the breeze that blew across the water, fluffing like a halo in the sunshine. “Stefan!” she repeated, striding forward.

The boy turned then, and Marina’s steps faltered. He had blue eyes like Olena’s and a dimple in his chin like Borya’s. He had the same upturned button nose she used to kiss and pretend to nibble. The familiar, adorable ears that curved out a little too far protruded between strands of his hair. He had the face of her nephew...but he had a gaze she didn’t recognize.

There was no mistake: this was Stefan. Yet where was the little boy who used to laugh and launch himself into her arms as soon as he saw her? He wasn’t moving toward her, nor was he smiling. Instead, he was sucking his thumb, a habit she thought he’d given up at three, except when he had stayed up too late or was upset about something.

She choked back a sob. The loss she’d felt these past nine months was nothing compared to what Stefan must have gone through to have changed this much. She hadn’t found him a moment too soon. She closed the remaining distance between them at a run, dropped to her knees and held out her arms. “Stefochka, my heart,” she cried, automatically using Russian. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He didn’t reply. His lips began to tremble around his thumb.

The man, who had to be Anderson, acted smoothly, placing himself between her and Stefan before she could touch him. “It’s okay, son,” he said in English. He kept his voice low and steady, his tone pleasant. “She’s mixed up, that’s all. Ma’am? Please, move away.”

Marina shoved her hair out of her eyes and braced one hand on the deck so she could look at her nephew past the barrier of the American’s legs. It had been almost a year, but he couldn’t have forgotten her already, could he? “Stefan, darling,” she said, still speaking in Russian. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find you for so long, but I’m here now and–”

“Ma’am, for my son’s sake, I don’t want to make a scene, so I’d like you to leave on your own.”

She brushed off his request with a flick of her fingers. David Anderson sounded as passionless as her lawyer. Couldn’t he see how upset Stefan was? And how dare he call Stefan his son? The American couldn’t even speak her nephew’s native tongue.

Yet this wasn’t the time to take issue with the words or the language he used. All that mattered was Stefan. His face was flushing. He looked as if he was about to break into tears. She smiled and tried again. “Stefan, sweetie, I – ”

Before Marina could finish her plea, Anderson caught her wrist and raised her to her feet. She was too surprised to resist at first. She wasn’t a small woman, so she wasn’t accustomed to being hauled around by anyone, yet this man had pulled her up effortlessly with only one arm. “I don’t know what your problem is or how you know my son’s name,” he said. His tone was still pleasant, although his voice had dropped. Keeping a grip on Stefan with his other hand, he leaned his head toward Marina so he could speak next to her ear. “But whatever you’re saying is upsetting my child. Get away from us. Now.”

Marina switched to English. “I have more right to call this child mine than you do, as my lawyer should have already informed you.”

“What?”

“I’m Marina Artamova.”

“Who?”

“Stephan’s aunt.”

Anderson’s fingers tightened on her wrist. “What are you doing here? How did you get on board?”

“I’m taking a cruise vacation, just like you.”

He was silent for a moment, then stepped close enough for his breath to stir her hair. “I don’t care if you’re the Princess Anastasia coming back from the dead to claim the Russian throne,” he said. “You had no right to shock Stefan this way. Can’t you see that you’re making him cry?”

Marina arched backward so she could better see her nephew past the bulk of Anderson’s body. Stefan’s tiny hand was engulfed by the American’s, but he didn’t appear to be trying to pull away. He was leaning against the man’s leg and watching her solemnly. Tears brimmed on his lower eyelids. His cheeks pumped hard as he worked at his thumb.

She didn’t want to believe her impulsive greeting had been the cause of his distress. Yet what did she know about children? Olena had been the maternal one, not her, as she had pointed out whenever Marina had given Stefan a toy that wasn’t safe, or had brought him an outfit that wasn’t practical. She’d always meant well, but -

“I’ll give you three seconds to back off,” Anderson said. “Then I’m going to call the ship’s security and have them escort you away.”

On top of all the emotions that were churning inside her, his threat hit Marina like a slap. He would dare to call security on her? He was the criminal, taking advantage of a bureaucrat’s error to steal her nephew from his only remaining family. She was Stefan’s aunt. Regardless of the mistakes she might make, no one loved this boy more than her.

She tore her gaze from Stefan and glared at Anderson. She had to tip back her head to do it, since he was half a head taller than her in spite of the heels she wore.

He met her scowl with an expression that was as blandly pleasant as the tone of voice he’d been using. On the surface, that is. But there was nothing bland about his features. His square jaw, hawk nose and deeply lined cheeks would have suited a cowboy from America’s legendary Wild West. His eyes were the color of amber and appeared harder than the gemstone they resembled. A network of tiny wrinkles spread from their corners, as if he’d stared across one too many lone prairies.

Marina knew he wasn’t a cowboy. Rudolph had told her that David Anderson was an ordinary schoolteacher from Vermont. Yet apart from the conservative golf shirt and tailored slacks this man wore, he didn’t appear to fit the part of any schoolteacher Marina could imagine. He didn’t seem like the type of person who would want to adopt a child, either. He looked too tough and self-contained.

Anderson shifted his grip from her wrist to her elbow, as if he was preparing to propel her across the deck. “Two seconds,” he said pleasantly.

She glanced at Stefan. He was watching them intently. The tip of his thumb gleamed wetly where it rested on his lower lip. At least he was no longer sucking it. She drew in a deep breath in an effort to calm herself. It wasn’t in her nature to retreat, but for Stefan’s sake she had to take a stab at diplomacy. “Mr. Anderson,” she said. “My emotions have made me forget myself. Please forgive me. This isn’t how I meant to approach you, but it has been close to a year since I saw my nephew and I was overcome. I love him dearly and would never want to upset him.”

“That’s good.”

“Just as I’m sure you wouldn’t want to upset him further by causing his aunt to be taken away by force.”

“I wasn’t bluffing, Miss Artamova. I will do whatever is necessary for the good of my son.”

Her skin began to heat where Anderson was holding her elbow, reminding her of the strength he’d demonstrated earlier. She returned her gaze to his and lifted her chin. “Then in that case,” she said, “you won’t object to discussing the situation we find ourselves in.”

“A situation you created.”  A muscle twitched in the hollow of his cheek. “Why are you really here, Miss Artamova? And don’t tell me you’re taking a vacation.”

“Obviously, I’m here to see my nephew and to talk to you.”

“Why?” he repeated.

“Because I don’t want to have our discussion in a courtroom.”

“Neither do I.” He released her arm. “But this is hardly the right time or place to arrange a visitation schedule.”

“It’s not visitation I wish to discuss, Mr. Anderson, it’s custody.”

Although he didn’t move so much as a muscle, Marina had to fight the urge to step back. The mild expression he’d managed to maintain was slipping, she realized. The lines on his face seemed deeper, his eyes harder. Had she been wrong to think the man was passionless? Yet when he finally spoke, his voice was as steady as before. “Whatever we discuss will be done through proper channels. My lawyer’s name is Harold Rothsburg. Have your lawyer contact him. He’s in the Burlington, Vermont, phone book.”

Afterward, Marina was never sure whether she would have actually accepted his dismissal and left of her own volition then or not. She realized she should have, no matter how much it would have broken her heart to have walked away from Stefan now that she’d finally found him. She’d made a mess of her opening foray, so the smart move would be a strategic retreat. At least until the ship had left the harbor. Once they were at sea Anderson couldn’t avoid her indefinitely.

But when she tried to take a step back, she found that she was still being held in place. She glanced down.

With one hand firmly in his adoptive father’s grasp, Stefan had reached out with the other and was clutching a fold of Marina’s skirt. A circle of dampness darkened the silk near his thumb. He was hanging on so tightly, his knuckles were white. “‘Tyo Nina?”

It was what he’d called her when he’d been a baby. For an instant, time collapsed and she felt as if she were back on the train platform at the Murmansk station and was about to step into the arms of her family.

But the rest of her family was gone. Only this precious little boy remained.

It was no longer any use to try and hold back her tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks as she laid her hand over Stefan’s. “Da, Stefanichka. It’s Aunt Nina.”

He grabbed her fingers hard, as if he were afraid she would pull her hand away.

Marina licked a tear from the corner of her mouth and leaned down to plant a noisy kiss on her nephew’s fingers.

Diplomacy was overrated.

Retreat had never worked for her anyway.

And unless David Anderson was willing to pick her up and throw her overboard in front of a ship load of witnesses, there was no way he was going to keep her from this child now.

FROM RUSSIA, WITH LOVE
by Ingrid Weaver
Harlequin, June 2007
ISBN 0373389604