Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Detective Boone was stubborn and while Anatoly liked that about her, he could tell that sometimes it shot her in the foot, too.
She should have been resting, but instead of sitting quietly, she was pacing her hospital room like a caged beast. Ever since she had read the threatening sympathy card, she had been on edge.
Not that he blamed her, he just really wished she would relax!
“Perhaps it would be best if you sat down, Detective,” he suggested, though he was certain she wouldn’t heed him.
Sure enough, she grunted an, “I’m fine,” and continued her trek across the floor.
Anatoly was tempted to give her some privacy and leave the hospital entirely, but every time he thought to do so, he felt equally compelled to keep an eye on her.
Sure there were nurses and doctors here, but none of them had the time to stay with one patient constantly.
Nobody else had showed up to relieve him and so he remained, his worry increasing the longer she refused to rest.
His gray eyes went to her forehead. The laceration had been treated, but she was waiting for other tests to come back before they would release her.
He couldn’t help but think that perhaps if he’d not distracted her from driving, she might have noticed the truck and been able to avoid it.
The one time he’d tried to bring it up, she had shut him down and refused to hear an apology let alone accept it.
No doubt, she was still mulling over the card and while Anatoly was very curious about it, he could tell she needed a distraction. If he couldn’t get her to sit, perhaps he could at least save the floor from being worn down by her pacing.
“So, did you grow up in Anchorage?” His tone was conversational.
Maggie paused, just as he’d hoped she would. “No, we moved around a lot,” came her clipped answer. She was still wound up tight, but she seemed to latch onto the distraction, which suited him just fine. “What about you? I take it from the accent you’re from Russia.”
“Nyet, Belarus actually,” Anatoly replied with a soft smile. “I have not been back in long time.” He realized too late that she was purposefully guiding the conversation away from herself and he pivoted to keep her on track. “It must have been difficult, moving from place to place as child…”
She shrugged, looking away from him to the wall that was full of medical equipment; a monitor, several plastic packages, and a hard, plastic container marked for sharps being the most notable items. She seemed to study the monitor, even though it was blank as she’d refused to be hooked to the blood pressure cuff.
“A loaded statement, Mister…?” A voice from behind startled Anatoly and he spun to see that a tall, middle-aged woman had joined them. He’d been so intent on helping Maggie that he hadn’t heard the curtain whisper open and closed again.
The newcomer was tall, only a few inches shorter than him in her high heels.
He recognized her straight away as a relative of Maggie’s, except while Maggie was somber, this woman was severe.
The term ‘hard as nails’ came to mind as he took in her impeccable business suit, stern expression, and tightly bound bun.
Nothing was out of place, not even a single strand of hair.
“Brusilev. Anatoly Brusilev,” he answered, finding the words came out of his mouth as obediently as if God himself had asked a question.
“What are you doing here, Mother?” If Maggie had been tense before, she was more so now. He could hear it in her tone. There was bad blood here and Anatoly was standing right in the middle of it all.
The woman raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Well, ‘mother’ is an improvement over you calling me Patricia,” she muttered scathingly. “I’m your emergency contact still, dear. Did you really expect me not to show up when my own flesh and blood is in the hospital after a terrible accident?”
Anatoly adjusted his stance so he could take in both women and was just in time to see Maggie roll her eyes like a bored teenager. He opened his mouth to excuse himself from the room, but Patricia, as she had called herself, turned her cutting green eyes to him and he snapped it shut again.
He could tell she was inspecting him, judging him, and he stood tall through the scrutiny. Her gaze scanned over his attire, landing on his white collar, and her eyebrows shot up. “My daughter doesn’t need a priest,” she sneered.
“I am afraid you misunderstand,” Anatoly said quickly. “I am consultant on police case. I was with Maggie in crash.”
“Were you now?” Patricia’s eyes narrowed as though she didn’t quite believe him.
Maggie took that moment to step in between them, her back to Anatoly. He saw the tension in her shoulders and couldn’t help but think that her mother’s presence had only made the situation worse.
“Don’t interrogate him, Mother,” Maggie commanded, folding her arms across her chest. She wasn’t as tall as her mother, but that didn’t seem to deter her.
Maggie stood her ground, blocking him from Patricia’s line of sight as though that were enough to keep her from doing as she liked. He’d known her for all of a few minutes and could plainly see she was not the sort of woman to be impeded.
Patricia gave her daughter a knowing look, then flicked her glinting gaze to Anatoly over Maggie’s head. “Has she confessed her sins, then? Told you all about her fling with Declan—”
“Get out,” Maggie interrupted, all emotion gone from her voice.
“He’s a captain now, isn’t he?” Patricia pressed on, her eyes gleaming with a mix of disgust and anger.
This was only the surface of the wedge between them and though Anatoly was used to seeing interpersonal conflict, even mediating it, he was taken aback by the sheer ferocity in which the older woman spoke to her daughter.
“We both know finding religion won’t solve your problems, young lady. ”
Maggie scoffed a callous laugh. “Believe what you want. We’re done,” she said it with such finality, but beneath the coldness of her tone, Anatoly could detect a hint of sorrow. To his surprise, when Patricia showed no sign of leaving, Maggie walked herself out without a backward glance.
Still not trusting she was safe to be on her own, Anatoly gave Patricia a quick nod and a polite, “Farewell.” Then, he strode through the curtain and cast his gaze about, looking for where Maggie had gone. She had moved quickly, but he caught a glimpse of her golden hair and started after her.
“You must think me a terrible person…” Patricia’s voice stopped him.
“Nyet,” Anatoly didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder and continued walking. He was more concerned with Maggie’s wellbeing than sticking around to absolve her clearly misguided mother.
It didn’t take him long to find where she had gone. A passing nurse was willing to point him in the direction of the stairwell, and sure enough, he found Maggie sitting alone on the steps, crying.