Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Maggie was cleared and released from the hospital just a few hours before dawn. They shared a cab, first to Anatoly’s parish where they said goodbye and then Maggie continued to her apartment.
Once again, she trekked up the flights of stairs to her floor and once again she was greeted by a hungry Gremlin. By now, her head was throbbing and she was desperate to rest, but her brain wouldn’t shut off.
She spent the first thirty minutes of being home searching the space for anything out of place.
She was looking for something that hinted an uninvited guest had visited while she wasn’t home, but if anyone had been there, they’d left no sign.
The closets were clear, the bathroom and shower equally empty.
Even after checking every lock and window, she was still on edge.
Part of her lamented that she’d had to say goodbye to Anatoly. His presence was so reassuring, it was easy to feel safe, and now that he was gone, she felt nothing but vulnerable.
With a sigh, she moved to the recliner and flopped down. Most days, she slept here rather than in her big lonely bed. Gremlin would frequently join her, curling up at her feet or on her lap. It probably wasn’t good for her spine, but it’s where she felt the most safe.
As the sun rose, Maggie settled under her blankets and was almost asleep when her phone buzzed. The detective let out a groan and grabbed it to see who was messaging her so early. She had exchanged phone numbers with Anatoly and a piece of her wanted it to be him checking in.
It wasn’t.
Her eyes scanned the note from her bad date.
He wanted to try seeing each other again.
That took her by surprise. Hadn’t she run out on him to go to a crime scene?
She almost blocked his number, but her talk with Anatoly stopped her.
It had been difficult since her relationship with Declan blew up in her face, and though she’d tried getting back out there, had she really given it her all?
The answer to that was plain. She’d run out on her last date after all.
Perhaps he deserved a second chance, a real chance, before she severed all contact.
There were no obvious red flags from the guy, he’d just been a bit boring and at this point she wasn’t convinced that was entirely his fault.
She needed this. Even if it didn’t work out, she felt compelled to try.
She tapped out a quick response, asking if he wanted to get dinner soon, and within seconds, he replied yes.
They continued to talk for the next hour, sorting out details and then sharing a bit of small talk.
Then, he had to leave for work and she needed to sleep, so they agreed to see each other in a few days and said goodbye.
Head pounding, body weary from all she’d endured that night, Maggie turned over onto her side, being careful not to disturb Gremlin, and drifted into uneasy dreams.
The next thing Maggie knew, she was being awoken by knocking on the front door. It felt like only minutes had passed and she swore, her body stiff from having been in the same position too long. Glancing out the window, she realized it was after dark. She’d slept all fucking day.
There was another light knock and with a sigh, Maggie threw the blanket off, kicked the foot of the recliner down, and started the short distance to the door.
She’d only made it a couple steps when she realized she had no idea who might be on the other side.
The thought made her pulse quicken. She remembered the threatening note, the one that was now sitting in an evidence locker, and her heart began to hammer like an anvil in her chest.
Anyone could be coming to visit. Should she get her gun? Answer it? Maggie hesitated, barely daring to breathe as she slowed her pace, listening for some clue, but there was only silence.
Gingerly, Maggie began to unlock the door and then wrenched it open, being mindful to use the wood as cover.
She was surprised and relieved to see none other than Anatoly standing there. He was holding a white bag in his hands and there was a wide, pleasant grin spread across his bearded face.
“Dobryy vecher, Detective,” he greeted her, his smile never wavering.
Maggie stood in the doorway and stared at him. “What is this?”
“It is borscht!” Anatoly replied, his tone chipper.
“What the hell is borscht?”
He gave her a mock stern expression. “You speak to God with that mouth?”
“Not if I can help it,” she fired back. “Just give me the damn borscht…”
“It is not damned. It is blessed! It was made by priest.” He winked at her as he passed the bag over.
Unable to resist, she smiled back and opened the door a little wider for him to slip inside. “So, what even is borscht?”
Anatoly didn’t come in like she expected, but remained standing there. “It is soup. May I enter?” he asked.
She blinked at him, indicated the open door, and when he still did not cross the threshold, she relented. “Yes, of course. Though I have no idea how you found out where I live. Should I be worried?”
“No need for concern,” he responded, finally stepping inside so she could close and lock the door. “Lieutenant Martin was kind enough to give me address so I could deliver borscht.”
It was instantly strange to have a priest in her apartment and a relief to be in Anatoly’s soothing presence again.
Whether or not the weird soup was any good, the gesture was thoughtful and appreciated.
Nobody else at the station had bothered to acknowledge she’d been in a car crash, but maybe that was expecting too much.
Hell, the only reason Martin had bothered to give out her address was no doubt to irk her.
“Not a fan of Martin telling people my business, but thank you, Anatoly.” It was the nicest way she could phrase it.
The priest appeared sheepish for a moment, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. “I suspect he only told me to get under your skin and I still asked him. Izvinite, Detective. Perhaps I should have asked you directly, but I wanted it to be surprise.”
So many things ran through her mind as they stood there just staring awkwardly at one another. She wanted to make him feel better, but also be clear that he couldn’t turn this into a habit and yet, that line felt blurry even as she thought it into existence.
“I’ll give you a pass since you brought soup,” she finally blurted, unable to hide her smirk. “I don’t think anyone, in adulthood, has ever cooked for me before…”
His eyes twinkled down at her as he smiled, lighting up his face in a way that made her heartbeat quicken. “I do not cook often, but this felt like special occasion. I hope you enjoy it, it is mother’s recipe.”
Maggie had started to lead him to the kitchen, but stopped short at the bombshell he’d just dropped. “You made me your mother’s soup?” Her jaw clenched and she fought the sting of tears. Was being emotional part of having a concussion?
“Da, is that problem?”
She quickly shook her head and turned away so he couldn’t see her expression. She didn’t want to be a vulnerable mess in front of him again. It took a moment, but by the time they arrived in the kitchen she had swallowed her feelings down, stuffing them into the dark where they belonged.