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“Looks like the app was installed a few months back,” Alina says, rooting through the settings. “But there were two updates since: one in July right after your arrival, and another, much bigger one more recently. A week ago, in fact.” Her eyes meet mine. “Right around the time I started seeing Kolya glued to this screen.”
Also right around the time I told him I loved him.
Maybe it’s all a coincidence. Maybe it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the email Alina reacted to so strangely, but my instincts tell me otherwise.
The cameras are there for me. To watch me.
My husband’s obsession with me is growing, terrifyingly so—and because I’ve kept my head in the sand like an ostrich, I still don’t know what he’s truly capable of.
41
Nikolai
“The tests just came back,” the doctor informs me when I return to Slava’s room after a brief bathroom break. “Salmonella poisoning.”
My breath escapes my tightly clenched throat as a wave of relief crashes into me. They’ve already stopped Slava’s vomiting and gotten him on IV fluids, but until this moment, we’d had no idea what’s made him so sick.
Salmonella.
Not some exotic designer poison from which there may be no cure.
Fucking salmonella.
I round on Lyudmila, who has the misfortune of being the only other person in the room. “Did you let him touch raw meat or eggs?”
She blanches. “No, I swear! He didn’t even eat eggs today, unless—” Her eyes widen, and she presses her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.”
“What? Spit it out.”
“Cookie dough,” she whispers, her round face pale. “I think he must’ve sampled raw cookie dough. Pavel was making those chocolate chip cookies for dinner, and Slava and I came in to get some fruit for a snack…”
Fuck. What awful luck. There must’ve been an egg that had the bacteria, and of course Slava had to eat that cookie dough. In hindsight, it had to be something like this; I’ve personally vetted each and every single guard, and with our security being as tight as it is, the odds of some assassin being able to sneak poison into the compound were near zero. Still, I couldn’t rule it out entirely—not until these tests came in.
“These poisonings are way more common than you’d think, especially among the elderly and the young,” the doctor interjects, discerning the gist of my conversation with Lyudmila despite it being in Russian. “Salmonella is notoriously hardy if it’s inside the yolk. You’d have to boil the egg for over eight minutes to ensure that you kill it all, and hardly anyone does that.” He sighs. “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who land in the ER after your standard omelet or scramble—and I’m not even talking about sunny-side-up or hollandaise sauce and what-not. Those are pretty much a Russian roulette… no offense.”
I’m too relieved to be annoyed. “What are the next steps?” I cast a concerned glance at the adult-sized bed where Slava is sleeping, his small face pale and drawn from all the vomiting and diarrhea. He’s already looking better from all the fluids, but I still shudder at the recollection of our frantic drive here, during which all I could think about was whether or not he’d make it.
“Normally, we’d just let the illness run its course, but he’s got a fever, so we’re giving him some antibiotics just in case. Between that and the fluids, he should be feeling meaningfully better soon. I’d like to keep him for observation for another day or so, though.”
“Of course.” If I’d known it was salmonella, I would’ve arranged for a medical team to take care of Slava at home, the way I did for Chloe, but I was so terrified that my son had been poisoned or exposed to some exotic neurotoxin that I couldn’t risk not having the right specialists or equipment on hand. And now that we’re in the hospital, it doesn’t make sense to unhook Slava from all the machines and drive back in the storm. For fastest healing, he needs to rest and let the antibiotics do their job.
I just have to hope the Leonovs won’t catch wind of our presence here—or that by the time they do, we’ll be long gone.
The doctor leaves, and a contrite-looking Lyudmila excuses herself for a bathroom break as well. The two of us have been waiting by Slava’s bedside while Pavel and the guards patrol the hallway. Not that I’m expecting an attack in an American hospital—at least I’m not now that I know my son wasn’t deliberately poisoned. The compound is probably not in any greater danger either, though I’m not telling the guards to shift down from code red until we’re back.
I’ve forgotten my fucking phone, and though Lyudmila’s been texting with Alina and I know everything is okay back home, not being able to watch Chloe through the cameras makes me deeply uneasy.
