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“Well?” I demand.
“The woman you brought in… We were able to stabilize her.”
The relief that sweeps through me nearly knocks me off my feet. “Can I see her?”
“No.”
The nurse might as well have slapped me across the face and it would have hurt less.
“What do you mean? I need to see her.”
“We have some questions for you, sir. The police are on the way.”
Beside me, Boris grabs my upper arm. He doesn’t say anything, but I get his meaning. I can’t be anywhere near here if the police are involved. Conflict threatens to tear me in two. I can’t just leave Natalya here, but if I stay, I risk arrest… I may keep a low profile, but I’m sure there’s an investigator or two who would love to get their hands on me.
“Sir,” Boris says, clearly stressed.
I can’t stand the thought of Natalya waking up alone, but Boris is right.
I have no choice but to leave.
Chapter 23
Natalya
Ifeel loopy. There’s no pain, no struggle. The fluorescent light panel above my bed is just dim enough to keep from giving me a headache, but still enough to illuminate the room. A steadybeep, beep, beepof the heart monitor next to me keeps me grounded as I struggle to keep my eyes open. I’m strapped to all manner of machinery. Curious, I crane my head to the side to read my own vitals.
From a professional standpoint, everything looks good. My heart rate is steady, my oxygenation levels are within normal range. One glance at the IV bag tells me why I feel the way I do. It’s a morphine drip. I must have been in pretty bad shape to necessitate its use. I’ll be fine for now, but I’ll be in a world of agony the second the doctors decide to take me off.
I struggle to sit up. My stomach is a wall of stone, stiff and tight. Slowly, I push off my scratchy hospital blanket and pull up my blue paper gown to inspect my own injuries. My memories are hazy, likely due to shock, but I can still hear the three bullets Edvard fired. Two of them missed, the other piercing my side and exiting my back. I thank my lucky stars he’s such a lousy shot. It’s frankly nothing short of a miracle.
I lift my bandages. The stitches are neat and tidy, though I personally would have preferred lock-stitch structure, but to each their own, I suppose.
After locating my hospital bed’s remote, I press a button to have the whole frame help me sit up. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, but I think a change in position is well overdue. The electronic whir buzzes in my ear as my thoughts slowly filter in, just managing to override my morphine-induced brain fog.
How did I get here? What happened between the time I was shot and now?
My memories come to me in bits and pieces, but the only concrete thing I can grasp onto is the smell of pine trees.
Was Dimitri here?
My mouth is terribly dry and my throat hurts. I’m in desperate need of a drink. Thankfully, a nurse happens to walk in, dressed in light blue scrubs and a pair of slightly worn-out sneakers.
“Excuse me?” I croak.
“Ah, you’re awake!” she says with a big smile. The nurse hurries over to check my chart. “How are you feeling? Any discomfort?”
“I’m okay,” I answer weakly. “How long have I been out?”
“Only a few hours.”
“Was there a…” My head begins to pound. I swear I can hear myself blinking. “Was there a man here with me?”
“Earlier, yes,” the nurse replies. “Though he left in a hurry when we mentioned the police were coming.”
I gulp, my hands suddenly cold and clammy. I should have known. When I was still working at the hospital, it was proper procedure to call the police when a patient came in with a gun-related injury. Dimitri probably couldn’t have stayed even if he wanted to. Not without putting himself and his Bratva in danger.
Still, I’m sad I can’t see him. He’s the only one I want with me right now.
