Page 82 of Benjamin and the Thief

“I don’t care. We have all the evidence we need. How old are you? Sixty-two? Sixty-three? You’ll die in prison. I’ll make sure of it.”

“But—”

Benjamin slapped him across the face with the back of his hand, whipping his head to the side. Blood seeped from his nose, and he groaned in pain.

“Did I tell you to speak?” he growled, his fangs extending.

“Bro,” Damian said, putting his hand on Benjamin’s forearm. “I can take care of him. I’ll make it look like he resisted arrest. Why don’t you go to the clinic? You don’t need to be here. We’ll deal with the police and forensics.”

Slowly, Benjamin nodded. His brother was right; he didn’t need to be here. He needed to be with Catalina, even if there was nothing he could do for her right now. At least at her bedside, he could watch over her and pray that she would make it. And hope that she would forgive him for the new life he’d forced upon her.

36

The first sense that cut through the cold, dark nothingness was her sense of smell. She inhaled deeply, so deeply in fact that it felt like this was the first true breath she’d ever taken. With it, different scents drifted to her, and her brain tried to analyze them. They were more intense than she’d ever realized. The scent of rubbing alcohol was overpowering, as if her entire body was bathed in it. Underneath it, she recognized the scent of clean sheets.

Slowly, her body seemed to be awakening, and her sense of touch returned. She felt as if she were loosely wrapped in luxurious cotton sheets that caressed her naked body. No, not entirely naked. She was wearing something akin to a nightgown.

Then she smelled it. It had a metallic scent, and she was drawn to it. Blood. Her memory came back, assaulting her with images and sensations she would rather forget.

She remembered the bullet that had hit her in the chest. The pain was vivid in her mind, even if she couldn’t feel it anymore. It could only mean one thing: she was in a hospital, and they’d operated on her and pumped her full of morphine to ease the pain so she could heal.

Yet, her mind was clear, even clearer than before, not foggy like it would be if she was on opioids. How could that be? Something wasn’t right.

When the bullet had hit her, she hadn’t expected to survive. She’d felt the impact in her left upper chest where her heart was located. Nobody could survive a shot like that. But she could feel and hear her own heart beating stronger and faster than before. When she concentrated, she could even hear the blood rush through her veins. It wasn’t the only thing she could hear.

She heard a faucet drip, while at the same time the sound of the clacking of a keyboard drifted to her. Everything seemed so close yet so far away. Was she in a coma?

She had to move. If she could move, it would prove that she wasn’t in a coma, that she was alive. Concentrating on her hands, she ordered her fingers to move. They did. Relieved, she took another breath. As her lungs filled with air and her chest expanded, she forced her eyes open. Another breath, and she sat up without much effort.

She’d been right. She was in a hospital, though the room was less sterile than she’d expected. There was even a sofa in one corner. She’d survived the gunshot. She touched the spot where the bullet had penetrated. To her surprise, there was no bandage. She looked down at herself and lifted the hospital gown away from the spot. Beneath it was nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. No sign that she’d ever been shot, no scar, no blood.

Her heart raced. How could that be? Was she dreaming? What was going on? What had happened?

The sound of a door opening made her snap her head to it. A dark-haired woman in a white doctor’s coat entered. Her name was embroidered above her left breast pocket: Maya Giles, MD.

“You’re finally awake,” she said and approached. “I’m Dr. Giles. But you may call me Maya. How are you feeling, Catalina?”

“Did you operate on me?” Catalina asked automatically.

“Yes, I took the bullet out.”

“Thank you. You saved my life.”

“I didn’t. Benjamin did.”

Catalina gasped. “Benjamin? No, no, that can’t be.” Panic rolled over her. “You can’t let him in here. Promise me. He’s going to hurt me.”

Maya sat down at the edge of the bed and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“But Benjamin brought you here. He’s been by your bedside almost the entire time you’ve been here.”

She shook her head. “No. He’s not what he seems. Please, you have to help me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. When her gaze fell onto it, she jerked back. There was blood on her hand, and when she looked up at Maya again, she saw her through a red haze.

“What is happening to me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Catalina, you’re fine. But you’re different now. I’ll get Benjamin. He needs to talk to you.”