Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Dr. Lipovsky mumbles something, but I miss what she says from my heels pounding the tile floor as I race into the room across from the nurses’ station.
Yulia’s room is empty, and her bed has been stripped.
Dr. Lipovsky rubs my shoulder when I fail to bite back a sob. “Why are you upset? You wouldn’t have discharged her if she still needed monitoring.”
“I didn’t discharge her.” Yulia’s recovery after her medical episode was as fast-moving as Maksim’s mother’s, but she still had a little to go before she was well enough to return home. “I suggested to Lev that we could discuss the possibility of her being discharged for the weekend so she could meet her baby sister, but I hadn’t commenced the paperwork yet.”
“Oh.” After checking Yulia’s file, which has been placed onto the records officer cart to be collected instead of in the slot outside her room, Dr. Lipovsky says, “The paperwork states that you discharged her.” She twists the discharge paperwork around to face me. “Is this your signature?”
I almost nod until I remember that I’ve been using my married name for the past week. I had nothing but words to thank Maksim for funding Yulia’s medical expenses, organizing a one-on-one meeting with my father so I wouldn’t be required to go to a maximum-security prison, and for every other wonderful thing he has done, so I’ve worn my rings every day since we reunited, and used the last name he chose to reinvent himself on every document I’ve signed.
Dr. Lipovsky appears worried when I say, “That is not my signature, but I have the means to find out who wants us to believe it is.”
She watches me with wide eyes when I skirt by her, pick up the nurses’ desk phone, and dial a frequently called number.
For the first time, Ano doesn’t answer my call.
Upon spotting the concern on my face, Dr. Lipovsky stops a nurse whizzing past us so fast she is almost a blur by grabbing her elbow. “Who authorized Yulia Petrovitch’s discharge?”
“Um.” She looks worried, but since her concern is more based on Dr. Lipovsky’s anger than the repercussions for snitching, she says, “Dr. Sidorov.”
“Dr. Sidorov?” Dr. Lipovsky sounds as uneasy as her gaunt expression makes her look. “He hasn’t worked in a ward in years.”
“So why would he discharge Yulia?” I jump in, confused.
As quickly as my confusion rose, panic sets in.
What if Dr. Abdulov wasn’t working alone?
What if he had a co-conspirator?
Anger envelops me when theory after theory smashes into me. Is this why he offered me a promotion that far exceeded my qualifications? Was he seeking a scapegoat—a fool he could puppeteer?
My brain is screaming yes, but my heart doesn’t agree.
If Dr. Sidorov was a part of the criminal entity that stole my mother’s organs and attempted to steal Maksim’s mother’s organs, why didn’t Maksim take him down with the others?
I need answers, and since I trust my husband far more than I trust anyone else, I snatch my winter coat off the coat rack and then tell Dr. Lipovsky I’m going home because I am not feeling well.
She snatches my wrist as quickly as Maksim does whenever I lie. Her eyes bounce between mine, the wish to call me a liar beaming out of her. She just can’t get her mouth to cooperate with her brain.
“I’ll let you know anything I find out,” I promise, finally clueing in to the cause of the worry blistering in her kind eyes.
Her nod is brief but full of punch. “Please be careful.”
I return her hug before racing to the elevators that will take me to the underground garage. I want answers, but I don’t need to get Ano in trouble while seeking them.
As the elevator arrives at the underground loading bay, I’m stunned to find men unloading produce from a truck at the central loading bay. They’re veering straight past Maksim’s SUV parked directly across from the elevator, but Ano’s tall frame, which usually stands above any crowd, is nowhere to be seen.
“What is that smell?” I murmur to myself when an unusual scent impinges the air.
I take another whiff of the weird aroma before shifting on my feet to face the delivery truck. I almost slip when my stubbornness has my soleless shoes skidding over a shiny blob on the floor.
My wardrobe is brimming with designer clothes and shoes, but I refuse to wear them until Maksim allows me to contribute to the household bills.
It’s been one argument after another for the past week, only ending once we’ve wrestled each other from our clothes and fucked the anger out on one of the many solid surfaces in our apartment.
My throat works through a stern swallow when I bob down to inspect the cause of my near slip more closely. It appears to be blood but has been watered down with something. It drips from the service entrance to the truck and seems to have been recently spilled.