A Rose for Sergei | Book Promotion

A Rose for Sergei

by K. Kidd 

Sergei Kourdakov is a real person.  Alone at a young age, he was raised in Soviet orphanages.  In that oppressive environment, he learned that only the strong survive—leading him to become the strongest and the best at whatever he did.  Sergei’s job in the Russian police was to inflict terror on Christians.  He defected when he could no longer face the life he was leading.  He was incredibly strong and jumped ship when his Russian trawler was off the coast of Tasu Sound, Canada.  He barely survived his treacherous swim in the stormy ocean.  Sergei and I met a year later, at my Federal Government office in Washington DC, and that’s where my story begins.

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Excerpts from Reviews:

“I could feel the fear.  I could feel the love.  I could feel the heartbreak.”

—Lynn via Amazon

“I absolutely loved this story.  It is a true story.  From the very first chapter the story just grabs you and keeps your interest.  In Russia sending a red rose to someone means their heart is bleeding for you….  It is such an emotional story.  You will become attached to the characters.”

—Erin via justagirlkindling

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Sergei Kourdakov - They Are Looking For Me!

I was seventeen when I started working for the Federal Government in Washington DC.  My book, A Rose for Sergei, is the true story of a young woman…me, searching for independence and a career.  At age twenty-one that journey ended up surpassing my desire for mystery and intrigue when I met Sergei Kourdakov, a handsome Soviet KGB defector.

Excerpt from A Rose for Sergei:

Fall 1972

Sergei was so different from anyone I had ever met, let alone dated.  He was a Russian defector whose past history with the KGB was nothing to take lightly.  It was serious business, and the element of danger was not lost on me.

* * *

We grabbed our coats and headed out the door.  Before I could close and lock the door, Sergei told me to wait a minute.  As we both stood on the landing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches.

“What do you need matches for?”  I was puzzled.

“I always carry them,” Sergei informed me.  “Look, I will show you.”

He carefully pulled off a good match and then reached up and placed it at the top of the door as he slowly closed the door.  He was tall enough to easily place it there so it was barely visible.  I could not see it at all.

“This way, we will know if anyone came in while we were gone.”  He spoke under his breath, “I do this all the time.”

I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was serious, and a sense of fear slowly crept over me.

“Who is going to come in, Sergei?”  I whispered gravely.  “Who?”

“People from my country.  They are looking for me,” he said firmly.

Then he smiled down at me, threw an arm over my shoulder, and held me close as we walked down the stairs to my car.  The pit in my stomach gradually softened, but the idea of Russians breaking into my apartment did not sit well with me at all.