Chapter Ten
In which Ava cannot get over Dmitri's perfectly symmetrical eyebrows.
Ava…
Like the last few times I regained consciousness, I sit up with a shriek, grabbing at the tube inserted into my hand.
“Hush, Malen'kaya soroka. You’re safe.” A warm hand holds my flailing one. “Don’t rip out the IV. You’ve already done that once.”
Focusing, I suck in a slow breath. “Dmitri?”
“How are you feeling?” he asks. His tie is gone, the sleeves rolled up on his dress shirt, and there are dark shadows under his eyes.
“Have you been here this whole time?” I ask, gratefully reaching for the water he offers me.
Dmitri shrugs, nodding at a laptop sitting on the recliner. “I had some work to catch up on. I didn't feel like going home.” That makes warm, fuzzy feelings spread through me and I quickly shut that shit right down.
He is an investigator. I remind myself. He wants to crush these trafficking bastards. God, almost as much as I want him to.
“Have you found anything out yet?” I ask. “Caught any bad guys? Beat the hell out of them with brass knuckles that the police aren’t supposed to have but we know they do?”
A slight frown appears between his exquisitely shaped brows. I would like to believe he gets them waxed but I know he doesn’t. The rest of him is too symmetrical and perfect to be brought down by something like poorly-shaped brows. They’re natural.
Fuck, Ava! Focus.
“We found a lot of what isn't rather than what is,” Dmitri says.
“Such as?”
“There is no Cynthia Watkins,” he says. “Not in relation to The McManus at any rate. In fact, there's only one Cynthia Watkins listed as a real estate broker in five boroughs and she's 63 and close to retirement.” He shows me a picture on his phone.
“No, that's definitely not her,” I sigh. My head’s beginning to throb again. I knew this was an after-effect from those electrical shocks. I also knew this will be one of many headaches I’ll have to endure for a long time.
“You're also not listed on any lease at The McManus,” he continues. “There's no record of that apartment having been purchased.”
My heart sinks. “What about the man I…” I look down at my hands. I'd pledged to heal with those hands and instead I killed that man.
I wasn't sorry. I almost enjoyed it.
Clearing my throat, “Um, what about the man I killed?”
“He had a couple of identifying tattoos,” Dmitri says.
“What, like gang tattoos or something?”
“We think he's a member of a Romanian mafia,” he says. “He would just be a thug though, he wouldn't have any high-level information. Fortunately, we were able to get a clear image of the gray-haired woman.”
I shudder, cold sweat beading on my forehead. His hand lands lightly on my shoulder for a moment. “Did she ever give you a name?”
“Oh yes,” I say, giving a bitter laugh that tastes like ashes. “She told me to call her Mistress.” His fingers tighten just slightly before he removes them. I regret him taking his hand away.
“We have an excellent tracking system with facial recognition software that the Department of Defense could only dream of,” he says. “We’ll get her.”
“Do you know anything about the man who claimed he bought me?”
He smiles, and it’s not a pleasant one. The sharp points of his canines show, giving him a wolfish cast that was distinctly threatening… though I felt certain it wasn’t to me. “Robert Meyers. He works for an equity group in Manhattan.”
I snort. “I knew it.”
“What?” he asks.
“He looked like a douchebag stockbroker. You know, the suit and the pinky ring?”
His smile is more restrained this time. “I know that type. He's being pulled in for questioning as we speak.”
“I'm so glad.” I pull my knees up, resting my forehead on them. “I'm so glad you’re getting him. I hope you can get him to tell you more about where to find the bastards that created this shit show in the first place.”
Then, I remember work. What the hell is wrong with me? That should've been my first thought when I woke up again.
“Could I use your phone?” I ask. “I have to call Bellevue and let them know what's happened. It's been almost four days now. I'm sure my friend Priya is freaking out.”
He sits on my bed, just one hip, carefully watching my reaction to make sure I’m not cringing away from him.
“We contacted Bellevue on your behalf,” he says gravely.
“To let them know you’d been a victim of a crime.
They claimed that you sent a resignation letter four days ago stating your intention to leave the state and practice medicine elsewhere. ”
“You're kidding me!” My hands clench into fists. “They just bought it? Just like that? I’m in the middle of my residency!”
“According to the HR person I spoke with,” his speech is clipped and his blue eyes turn, if possible, an even chillier hue. “She told me they had corroboration from a man who claims to be your ex fiancé.”
“Fucking Kevin?” I snarl. “God he's such a prick! What did he say?”
“He told them that he’d ended your engagement and you’d been struggling with it. That you probably resigned because you couldn't bear working with him any longer.”
“He's been saying this to the other surgeons,” I rage.
Dmitri glances at my monitor as my pulse speeds up.
“I caught him six weeks before our wedding cheating on me - and at the hospital, mind you - he picked up someone there because it was convenient, I guess.
He's been telling everyone that he ended the engagement because I was so jealous and unstable.”
“So, his claims fit the narrative,” Dmitri nods.
“Yeah, well, he's going to be very unhappy when I show up at the hospital then,” I say between clenched teeth. “I'm going to lodge a complaint about false testimony and slander with HR and-”
“We'll work on it,” he says, putting his hand on my arm.
It feels wonderfully warm and I don't want him to take it away.
The heat of his hand is tethering me, while my brain wants to cut loose and scatter in a million different directions.
It's been a while since I've had my ADHD meds and that's certainly not helping.
“You said you had a close friend that you wanted to contact?”
“Yeah, my friend Priya, she's a surgeon there,” I say.
“It's important that she knows you’re safe,” Dmitri says. “However, because this is an ongoing investigation. It's crucial that you don't give her a lot of details. We need to craft a narrative because if there is someone at the hospital that might be involved, we don't want to give them warning.”
“What- You mean- Do you think they're poaching women from Bellevue?” I press my hand against my churning stomach. “Oh my God!”
“The point is,” he says patiently, “we can't trust anyone right now. Even if you trust your friend, you don't want her giving out information that could compromise this, do you?”
“No,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Of course not. We can work out what to say.” His hand is still resting on my arm and it feels nice. I wonder what it would be like to link my fingers with his and that I push the thought away.
Focus.
***
“Where are you!” Priya is crying so hard that it’s making me weepy again. “I’ll come get you. How do-”
“Deep breath, Pri,” I say, wiping the tears off my face with my hospital gown.
I’m expecting another round of sobbing because the girl is a champion class weeper.
Unfortunately, so am I. Loud, noisy sobs with excessive phlegm.
We’re no longer allowed to watch sad movies together, banned from every movie theatre in New York City.
Most specifically, we’re barred from Priya’s living room because last time we watched The Notebook together, her husband Kabir locked himself in their bedroom and had a quiet nervous breakdown. He’s thoughtful like that.
Instead, her voice turns sharp, focused. “Do the doctors know how many shocks you received? Any idea about the voltage? Have you had any seizures? Vision loss? Have you read your chart? What’s the result of the MRI? Is there nerve damage?”
“Hold up, Pri. You can’t control this by turning doctor on me. Though I appreciate it, you know I already asked all these questions. You’d love Dr. Morozova, by the way, she’s a genius.”
“Dr. Ella Morozova? She used to be legendary with surgical suturing for internal organs,” Priya says. “I think she’s stepped back a bit, though.” She snorts disapprovingly. “Work-life balance and all that shit. This is great news!”
“This is the most important part-”
“You getting kidnapped and tortured isn’t the most important part?” she asks incredulously.
“You’d think, but no,” I rub my forehead. The headaches might be getting a little better or I’m just getting used to them. “It’s possible I got targeted because this human trafficking ring might be operating in the hospital.”
“I love you but yes that might be more important,” she says. “Is this why I’m not breathing a word of this to anyone? Because I already marched down to HR and told them you would never skip out on your residency.”
“Kevin apparently corroborated the resignation letter, claiming I was too heartbroken from yearning after him to work there,” I snarl. “This makes his shitty stunt at Heaven and Hell look almost caring by comparison."
Dmitri looks up abruptly, frowning when I mention the club.
“Yeah, he’s a saint,” she sneers. “A giver. I’m going to stab him in the kidney when this is over. So what do you need me to do?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” I cringe. She’s going to hate that.
“Blow off anyone who asks about me with an, ‘I dunno’ kind of response. See if you’ve heard of any staff abruptly resigning, maybe vulnerable patients that didn’t return for follow-up care.
But do not put yourself in a position where anyone could question what you’re doing, please. ”
“Understood.” There’s a rustling of tissue before she loudly blows her nose. “But I want to come see you. Right away. I was going to file a police report tomorrow if I didn’t hear from you.”
There’s another frown from Dmitri.
“Absolutely. Let me talk to D- uh, the detective and I’ll see when we can meet,” I say.
“Okay. Can I call you on this phone?”
“It’s the detective’s but he won’t mind, I don’t think. I’ll get a new phone tomorrow,” I promise. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” she says warmly. “It’s weird, though… You said you were at Dr. Morozova’s private clinic, like a boutique kind of place?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Priya says. “That’s unusual. Not to spread gossip, but there were rumors that her husband Maksim - met him just once when he was with her at a convention, he’s a scary bastard - is in organized crime.”
A shadow falls over me, it’s Dmitri, coldly circling his finger in the ‘wrap it up’ motion.
“Talk to you soon, Priya,” I promise, staring at his glacial blue glare.