Chapter 4 #2
It’s already heading over to the closet, moving in the direction of the shelf stacked with jeans.
As I pluck a pair from the pile, I tell the nurse, “I’ll be by in half an hour or so.”
She hesitates. “Okay. I’m sure she’ll be glad.”
I’m not so sure about that.
As I end the call, I think about the narrowed glare Sofia gave me as I came into her room. And the bitter note to her voice as she told me she didn’t need my help.
So, no, I’m not sure she’ll be glad to see me.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I reach for a sweater and tug it over my head.
She might not be happy to see me, but I’m going—if for no other reason than to ease my own tangled up feelings.
Besides, I tell myself while I gather up my coat and keys and head to the front door, if Sofia was a client, I wouldn’t leave her alone at the hospital. Not in these circumstances.
The truth is, if Sofia was a client, I wouldn’t have left her alone at all.
I would have called in a small team to stand guard at the hospital, one outside her door and another by the reception desk.
I would have assumed that the threat to Sofia was still active and insisted on taking the necessary precautions.
I wouldn’t have just left, leaving nothing but a business card behind.
Shit.
Did I let my emotions take precedence over logic and training?
While I wait for the elevator to arrive, I curse my own weakness.
It’s been almost twenty years, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t still be allowing ancient history to affect me.
By some miracle, there’s a taxi driving by just as I emerge from the building. And thanks to the late hour, we’re able to make the drive from my place, through Central Park, and over to the hospital in under ten minutes.
From there, it’s a quick trip up to the fourth floor, where Sofia’s room is.
Unlike when I arrived five hours earlier, the reception area is quiet.
There are no patients in sight. Two nurses sit behind the reception desk, talking softly to each other.
As I step out of the elevator, a custodian enters it, pushing his rolling mop bucket ahead of him.
Though I’ve been in plenty of hospitals over the years—more often visiting friends than for myself—I can’t remember it ever being this quiet before. But then again, how often do I show up at one AM instead of waiting for a more reasonable time?
The nurse I remember from earlier spots me and gives me a little wave. “You made it. I’m sure you remember where your friend’s room is?”
“I do,” I reply. “Is she still asleep, do you know?”
“She was the last time I checked on her. And that was just after you called, so maybe—” She glances at her watch. “Twenty minutes ago.”
“Okay.” I give her a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll just go take a look. I won’t wake her up, though.”
She gestures at the hallway that leads to Sofia’s room. “I’m sure you won’t.”
My footsteps echo quietly on the linoleum floor as I make my way down the hallway. Soft beeps and raspy coughs and the low hum of a TV filter from the other rooms as I pass. Sofia’s is the fifth one on the right, and my pace slows unintentionally the closer I get.
Is it hesitation because it was a bad idea to come? Reluctance to be drawn back into any kind of relationship, friendly or not, with Sofia? Or fear of the emotions I’ve locked away for years?
When I reach the doorway to her room, I stop before entering.
I take a deep, steadying breath.
I lift my chin. Set my shoulders. Remind myself that I’m not here because I’ve forgiven her, but because I would do the same for anyone in this situation.
Would I, though?
Come all the way to the hospital at one in the morning just to make sure she’s okay? When I already established that she’s not suffering any life-threatening injuries? And she made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want my help?
Shit. When did I get so indecisive? That’s not me. I gather intel, make a decision, and don’t look back.
I look inside her room, but unlike before, I don’t see Sofia straight away. Instead, there’s a curtain drawn around her bed, which makes sense given that she’s trying to get some sleep.
I’ll just take a peek, I decide. Then I’ll wait in the chair over by the window for her to wake up. Keep an eye on things, like I would for a client.
Then I spot the sneakered feet peeking from beneath the curtain, and my body tenses.
Who’s in here with her?
Another nurse?
But wouldn’t the woman I just spoke to have said something?
Inner alarm bells start clanging.
My hand dives into my pocket, searching for my switchblade.
On silent feet, I approach the bed, holding my breath.
There’s a rustle from behind the curtain. Then another.
Someone grunts; a low, irritated sound.
Not a woman. A man.
Something is very wrong.
Leaping forward, I grab the curtain and drag it back.
My heart stops.
It is a man.
Dressed in a custodian’s uniform, bent over the bed, pinning Sofia down with one arm while he holds a pillow to her face with the other.
She’s struggling, but weakly. Her movements are slow and uncoordinated. The blanket has slipped off her body. Her pale legs are barely covered by a hitched-up hospital gown.
Even as the sight is still registering, he presses the pillow down harder.
Sofia’s legs twitch like she’s been electrocuted.
Horror streaks through me.
Then rage ignites; a supernova of it.
“Get off her!” I roar.
As I’m lunging towards him, he spins towards me.
His face is disguised by a latex mask, the same kind you see bank robbers wearing in the movies.
A lanyard bounces on his chest, but I’d bet anything it’s not real.
Eyes dark as coal meet mine. His gaze flickers with surprise. Then fear.
My fist is already flying towards him as he turns again, so it glances off the side of his head, rather than flush in the center of his face, as I intended.
The pillow falls to the floor.
“Don’t touch her,” I snarl. My voice promises death. And right now, I’d deliver it gladly.
Just as I’m about to hit him again, he grabs Sofia, lifting her like she weighs nothing, and flings her at me.
Fuck!
I instinctively catch her, clasping her limp body against mine.
And that fucker, who knew exactly what he was doing, takes the opening and rushes past me.
“Stop him!” I bellow. “Red alert!”
Somewhere down the hallway, I hear a startled shout. Metal clangs. Something heavy hits the ground.
I want to go after him. I could still catch him, I’m sure.
But Sofia.
Shit. Sofia.
Fuck. Is she still alive?
Lifting her high in my arms, I put my cheek close to her mouth.
For a moment, there’s nothing.
The walls close in.
My pulse stutters.
No. She can’t be.
Then a whisper of breath brushes my cheek.
And she gasps.
Her eyes fly open, filled with confusion.
A beat later, recognition replaces it. Then she croaks, “Nico?”
The relief is so overwhelming, my legs go weak with it.
My arms tighten around her. “Yeah. It’s me.”
She blinks. “What…”
Though a deep-down part of me is loath to release her, I set Sofia back down on the bed and take her wrist in my hand. Her pulse is fast but steady, and as I inspect her face, color seeps back into her cheeks.
“What’s going on?” a woman asks from the doorway. “What happened?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I bark, “Call security. Now. Someone just tried to kill her.”
“Nico?” Sofia’s voice wobbles. I turn back to her. My heart splinters at the fear in her eyes. “Someone held me down,” she whispers. “I couldn’t move. He was too strong.”
Ah, fuck.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
She stares at me. Her features twist the way they used to when she’d try to hold back tears. “It’s not your fault.”
Rationally, I know it’s not. But it sure feels like it is.