Page 103 of Savage Warrior

Jack’s eyebrow lifts. “You were busy over there.”

“Not guilty, sadly. It was one of his elite bodyguards who did the deed. I guess the news hasn’t reached Olaf yet.”

“Bloody hell. We’re not the worst of his problems, then.”

“No. And when he does find out about his underboss, he’ll have no reason to connect the assassination to us, so that wouldn’t be a motive either.”

“So, we’re no further forward.”

“I’ll keep digging,” Casey says. “Should be there in around eight hours. Let me know if there’s any change.” She ends the call, just as Megan emerges from the ward itself.

“Well,” I demand.

“I saw both of them and conferred with their individual nurses. As ever, the next twenty-four hours are critical,” she informs us.

“Can I sit with Ethan?” Cristina is fighting back tears.

“I expect so. I’ll ask.” Megan slips back inside, to return a couple of minutes later. She beckons Cristina forward.

“I’ll come and check on Aaron.” Jack follows them through onto the ward.

“Hello, you.”

Now that it’s just the three of us, me, Arina, and Natalija, things are suddenly awkward. We haven’t spoken, at least not with both of us conscious, since we were crouching behind the Land Rover in Scotland, dodging bullets. Now, I have no words.

Arina’s lip quivers. “This is all because of me,” she blurts. “It’s all my fault.”

I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t that. “How do you make that out?”

“If you hadn’t gone looking for my family…”

“Then these bastards would have hit us at another time,” I reason. “This has probably been planned for months.”

“But you—”

“We fly back and forth all the time,” I tell her. “They most likely tracked the chopper and picked their moment. They got lucky, with so many of us on board at once.”

“Are you sure?” she whispers.

“To be honest, I’m not sure of anything right now. But I can’t see this being Sokolov, and I can’t see it being about you.” It’s the most reassurance I can offer. I hope it’s enough.

“What about you? How badly are you hurt?” She frowns at the wheelchair my nurse found for me.

I assure her there’s no permanent damage, but I’m stuck here until the surgeons can get their hands on my ankle. “The biggest problem right now is convincing this lot not to change the dressings on my thigh. I don’t fancy trying to explain away a three-weeks-old bullet wound.” I’ll be relying on Megan to keep her fellow medical professionals at bay.

“Oh. Right. I… Does it hurt a lot?”

“The thigh or the ankle?”

“Either. Both. Your wrist, too.”

“I’ve had worse.” Actually, I don’t think I have, but my injuries are not the main issue here. “Natalija has a concussion, that’s all,” I add, by way of changing the subject.

“I know. I can’t believe it. You could both have been killed. I thought… I was so sure…” She collapses onto a chair, sobbing.

There’s a lot of it about right now. For what seems the umpteenth time in the last twenty-four hours, I enfold a weeping woman in my arms. I should be getting good at this, with all the practice I’ve had recently.

“I’m hungry.”

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