Chapter Eight
In which terror tastes like cough drops.
Ava…
Sweet baby Jesus, my head hasn't hurt this much since that crackhead in the ER slammed an IV stand into me trying to escape.
Opening my eyes doesn’t help anything. The lighting may be low, but it's stabbing through my eyeballs. It takes me a minute to realize I'm not in my old bedroom, with the sounds of Carla’s uncomfortably noisy sex leaking through the wall.
There was a new apartment…
A surge of nausea rises at my throat, nothing comes out but I dry heave for a moment until the door opens, and a woman hurries through.
“Take a breath,” she urges gently, rubbing my back and pulling out a basin and putting it next to me, just in case. “Slow, deep breaths. Do you remember where you are?"
“Is this…?” I'm trying to think. The fact that this is a hospital room is instantly soothing.
The hospital is where I belong, right? Where I do my best work.
But I'm here as a patient. The woman is so pretty.
In her mid-fifties, maybe, with pale green eyes and long dark hair back into a sensible ponytail. She's wearing a white doctor's coat.
“I'm Dr. Ella Morozova,” she says. “My son, Dimitri Morozov, brought you here after he found you in the hallway at The McManus high-rise covered in blood and screaming for help. Do you remember that?”
The soothing cadence of her words is making my heart rate slow down, like it’s trying to match the calm melody of her voice. “I remember…”
There had been a giant standing in the hallway, phone to his ear.
I saw icy blue eyes, wide with surprise as I barreled down the hallway, he dropped the phone and his arms reached out instantly to catch me.
I remember the agony of the electricity rhythmically surging through me, frying my ganglia, and setting my nerve endings on fire.
The involuntary twitch of my muscles, the spasms, yeah, I sure as hell remember that.
The laughter of that evil fuck who…
"I was kidnapped,” I say, forcing the words out.
“I was lured into the apartment by a real estate agent who told me it was low-income housing.” I laugh a scratchy little laugh because my throat feels like I've been screaming for a week.
“She even took me in through the back entrance.
You know, how they make the lower income tenants do so the rich people don't see them?”
She nods with a right smile. “Yes, a charming building plan."
“We got to the apartment. I knew it couldn't possibly be low-income housing, it-” My shaking hand comes up to my forehead.
It's icy cold and sweaty at the same time.
“It was obviously a million-dollar property.
At least a million. She gave me champagne to celebrate.
We were drinking it while she was trying to distract me with the amenities in the kitchen. "
How could I have been so fucking stupid?
“Mother, is she-” I recognize the man who strides into the room immediately.
He’s the giant who rescued me in the hallway.
“You're awake,” he says, a pleased smile spreading over even white teeth. “I'm Dmitri.” He’s as huge as I remember, 6”5 at least, broad shoulders, thickly muscled with dark hair.
His eyes, though. I could never forget the color.
Like the icy blue hue of a glacier, clear and cold.
"I remember you. From the hallway. You saved my life” I put my hand over my mouth, blinking the tears back from my stinging eyes. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you for rescuing me.”
“You were doing a pretty good job by yourself," he says wryly. “I don't know how you managed to short circuit the death voltage with a scrap of rubber, but that was some beautiful work. That's what saved your life.”
Death voltage? It really would have killed me.
Nausea tries to claw its way back up my throat.
“Hey,” he says, seating himself on the chair next to the bed, “don't think about that right now. According to the search we ran on you, you are indeed Ava Blue, P.A. at Bellevue Hospital, well-respected by the medical staff. Is that how you knew exactly where to cut that slab of beef to make him bleed out in seconds?”
“All those things are correct,” I agree. What I want to say is that I’ve never killed anyone before. I’ve never even lost anyone on the operating table. But I watched the blood drain from that man and I can’t be sorry. Even now.
Dmitri is watching me with a faint smile, like he understands what I’m thinking. “Tell me what you remember after you were drugged.”
I don't want to think about it. I definitely don't want to say the words out loud and make them real. I want to pretend this is an especially shitty dream brought on by too much stress and the horrible coffee from the hospital's cafeteria.
“I don't…" I focus on my breathing for a moment. “Could I please have a drink of water?"
“Of course,” Dmitri says, there's already a pitcher of water on the table next to the bed.
I can hear the clink of the ice as he pours some into a glass and he holds it up to my lips.
The doctor has moved into the corner of the room, watching us thoughtfully.
He holds the straw for me as I take a sip.
Nothing has ever felt this good, the cold water soothing my sore throat and making it easier to draw a breath.
"You’re with the police? Which division?"
The two of them exchange a brief glance and he looks back at me with a smile. “Special investigations. We have reason to believe that you are the victim of a human trafficking ring. But it's not like anything we've seen before.”
I nod slowly, wincing as the mariachi band who has taken up residence in my skull chooses this moment to start up again. “That makes sense. It was so slick. I thought I was smarter than this.”
“Don't feel that way," he says kindly. “These bast- these people have been doing this for a long time. They know what buttons to push and they can make it look legitimate enough that it's difficult to tell until you're trapped. Do you remember any names?”
This time I'm able to hold the cup for myself, taking another sip.
“Cynthia Watkins. I have her card in my purse.” I break off.
I don't have a purse. Or a phone. I don't know how long I've been gone so I'm not sure I have a job left at Bellevue.
“I have to call the hospital,” I say, my pulse speeding up again.
“They need to know what happened so that they don't fire me, so I don't-"
“Hang on,” he says. “Take a breath. We’ll contact your employer. You're not going to lose anything. You are the victim of a very serious crime.”
“Okay,” I manage. “Okay. The real estate agent approached me in a deli where I was having lunch with a friend from the hospital.”
Priya, I think, oh shit she must be going nuts right now.
“She was at the next table, listening to me talk about my terrible roommates and she suggested I fill out an application for low-income housing in a new apartment building where she was selling units. She said that phase had just opened.”
Dmitri exchanges a glance with Dr. Morozova. “That's a perfect enticement,” he says, “and just credible enough that of course you would believe it.”
“Anyway,” I continue, “my application was accepted a couple of weeks ago. Cynthia even sent three guys out to pick up my stuff on moving day. They were strange. I got a weird feeling but you know how movers are here in New York, am I right? A friend of mine put everything she owned in a truck and they called her from Ohio and-” I start babbling and it takes me a minute to calm down.
Focus.
“She walked me through the apartment, and then my head started swimming after I’d finished that glass of champagne. I remember her pushing me onto the couch and I passed out."
“Cynthia Watkins,” he says, pulling out his phone and texting someone. “Go on.”
Dr. Morozova is eyeing my vitals on the monitor and she frowns a bit. “Maybe we need to take a break, let Ava catch her breath.”
He doesn't look happy but he nods. “Do you need a moment?"
“No,” I say, “though I would very much appreciate some Tylenol.”
“We can resume when you're ready," he says. “I’m going to make a call.”
After giving me the blessed Tylenol, Dr. Morozova sits with me for a moment, talking about the private clinic and why I'm here and not at a public hospital.
“You arrived as a Jane Doe,” she explains.
“Based on the extraordinary circumstances of your rescue, the investigator-” Her mouth twists slightly like something is vaguely entertaining.
“The investigator wanted you under heavier security since you're clearly at risk.”
The man – Dmitri – is out in the hall. I can see him pacing in front of the window in my room, his brows drawn together as he listens. Ending the call, he slips his phone back in his pocket and looks through the glass at me and I nod reluctantly.
Coming back into the room, Dmitri asks, “Are you doing all right, Miss Blue? Do you feel like you can talk?”
No. I don’t want to talk at all, but sucking in a deep breath, I begin.
Back In the apartment…
When I opened my eyes, it was dark. I was on the big California king in the bedroom, expensive linens, and a dark gray duvet.
There was a flame glowing in the glass fireplace, one of those weird parallel ones where you can change the color of the flame and it doesn't emit any heat, just a chilly, artificial light.
“Oh good, you're finally awake."
Someone rose from the armchair by the window and walked toward me eagerly.
I didn’t know him. He was in his early fifties, maybe, dressed like a stockbroker with an expensive suit and wearing a signet ring on his pinky like a pretentious douchebag.
I bet he's one of those guys who jogs in place at the crosswalk and checks his pulse.
Maybe the drugs weren’t completely out of my system.
I tried to move to the other side of the bed until my leg was yanked straight and I realized I'm chained to it. Ripping back the covers, I stared at the cuff around my ankle, the chain leading from it is bolted to a hook in the bed.
“Clever, isn't it?” he said. He had dead eyes, but there was something horrendously avid about his smile. “I hear the girls are upset at first. Don't worry, I'm not a bastard like some of those men.” He finished his drink and set the glass carefully on the table. “Unless you make me one."
There is a nasty taste in my mouth, cloying and chemical. Like eucalyptus cough drops. Terror tastes like cough drops.
“You have to know I was kidnapped and I am not here willingly,” I try to sound calm. “The police will look for me. If you keep me here, this is not going to end well for you."
"Oh, all that's been taken care of,” he said with a shrug. “No one's looking for you, Ava.” His head tilted thoughtfully. “I don't like that name though, I'm just gonna call you Baby. It's the name on your collar.”
My hand flew up to my neck. There was a thin ring of metal around it, and it felt like the two ends were fused together.
“I picked it myself,” he continued. “When I saw your picture at the auction? Fuck, you were so pretty. Even wearing those shitty doctor scrubs, I could tell you were a beauty. Everyone was bidding for you.”
This couldn't be right. This couldn't be happening. My medical training surged back into my battered brain and I used my calm doctor's voice that I use on people strung out on coke or terrified children who come in with a broken arm after falling off the swing set at school.
“Help me understand. You bought me an auction?"
“Yeah,” he said, sitting on the bed and chuckling as I pulled the chain taut to get away from him. “Well, you and the apartment, you're a package deal.” He put his hand on my thigh, squeezing me and I slapped it away.
“You're not going to touch me,” I said coldly.
He sighed theatrically. “I see you’re going to need a little demonstration. He pulled a remote out of his jacket pocket and clicked it.
I remember plugging a lamp into a crappy outlet at my old apartment and didn’t see the exposed wires until a jolt shot up my arm, muscles twitching spasmodically, through my neck and rattling my teeth. It knocked me backward and I’d laid there on the floor until I could catch my breath.
This was nothing like that.
Fire erupted under my skin and my body stiffened in agony, muscles locked and jaw rigid. It went on forever. Twenty years at least and when the bastard’s thumb came off the button, he laughed.
“Relax. That was only a fifteen second charge.” He leaned closer until I could smell the nasty whiskey on his breath and his body odor, buried under a generous helping of cologne.
He clicked on the lamp next to the bed. “Technically, I’m not supposed to move in until you’ve been trained.
” My hands are still shaking, my breath coming out in little gasps.
His gaze roamed over me appreciatively. “In fact, I’ve got a business trip, my flight leaves in a couple of hours.
But I had to get a look at my new baby.” He flicked the metal ring around my neck. “You gonna be a good girl?”
I wanted to tell him exactly what I intended to do to him, but my jaw is still clenched. The best I could manage is a stuttered breath of “F- f- fuh. Y…”
“Anyway,” he said, rising. “I work hard. So, when I come home, I want you to be… fun. I’ll have friends over. I expect you to be nice to them.” Getting up with a grunt, he heads for the bedroom door, pausing to look back at me. “You’ll learn.”
I thought that was as bad as life could get until the next day.