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Mariya is annoyed, but I’m terrified. For myself. For my babies. But also for Yakov.
Why isn’t he answering the phone? Is it because Nikandr has taken a turn for the worse? Or did he find Pavel? Images of Yakov bleeding out on the ground flicker through my mind before I can stop them.
“I’m sure he’s busy,” I choke out, breathing through another cramp.
Mariya stares at me before she picks up her phone. “Fuck this. I’m not waiting for him.”
Three minutes later, lights and sirens blare down Vera and Usev’s street. The couple have disappeared, ducking out of sight while Mariya leads me out to the porch.
“I can’t believe you called an ambulance!” I yell over the sirens. “Yakov is going to kill us.”
“If I didn’t call an ambulance, he might not have gotten the chance! You are bleeding and he isn’t answering. I didn’t have a choice.”
The ambulance pulls along the curb in front of the house, but I don’t move. “We can’t trust them. They could be working for Pavel.”
“I called them,” Mariya argues. “They are here to help you.”
“I want to wait for Yakov.”
“He isn’t answering!” she snaps. “Yakov’s paranoia is rubbing off on you. Despite what he tells you, not everyone is out to get us. Some people are just trying to do their jobs.”
Two EMTs hustle out of the ambulance, bags and gear in hand. As they approach the porch, I push Mariya aside and hold out a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”
“We’re here about a pregnant woman in distress.” The taller of the two glances at my stomach. “That’s you?”
I shake my head. “It was a mistake. I’m fine.”
I feel vulnerable out here on the porch. The sun is just starting to creep over the horizon, but the red and blue flashing lights are illuminating everything. Someone across the street is standing on their front steps in flannel pajamas.
So much for our presence here being low-key.
“Luna,” Mariya hisses under her breath, “let them check you over. Think about the babies.”
I am. I’m thinking about the babies, but I’m also thinking about Mariya. There’s a reason no one knows she and I are staying here. Calling an ambulance and having our names logged in some first responder database online could ruin everything. Pavel probably has eyes everywhere.
The second EMT steps closer to the porch. “We’re already here. If there is any concern at all, we might as well check you over.”
“I don’t need to be checked over. I’m fine. I need you both to leave.”
“We can’t leave until we know that you are thinking clearly, alert, and understand your situation. We just need to ask you a few questions to verify all of that. Okay?” the man asks, not pausing for me to answer before he dives in. “What is your name?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
He frowns. “What’s your address?”
“I don’t need to prove anything to you. I didn’t call you and I don’t want you here. Please leave.”
“We can’t,” the other EMT says. “Not until we ensure no one here is in danger.”
“I’m not in danger!” I bark.
Except, I actively am in danger. It’s why I’m living in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere. It’s why no one—including these EMTs—should be standing on the porch.
Suddenly, a car squeals to a stop in front of the house, almost crashing into the back of the ambulance.
My heart stops. Instinctively, I reach for Mariya, pulling her back towards the house.
Pavel has found us. Somehow, he’s found us, and now, he’s here to take us away or worse.
