Page 65 of Savage Warrior

Weeks? My heart sinks. I shake my head vehemently. “I do not have weeks. I cannot stay here that long. I need to leave, to fly back to Belarus. My family will be worried.”

“Maybe we could send a message to them to let them know you’re all right. Is there a phone number? An address?”

“No. No phone number.” I repeat the address of the grotty little flat in Lida, and Megan writes it down in her notes. “I do not even know if they are still there. The rent has not been paid…”

“Please, try not to worry,” she advises. We both know that won’t be happening. “Get some rest. I’ll be back to see you soon.”

“I have good news.” Megan presents herself in her usual spot at the foot of my bed, a wide grin plastered across her face. “The surgical team here are so pleased with your progress that they’ve agreed to discharge you.”

I sit up with a jerk, sending a sharp wave of agony slicing through my body. “I can go home?” I manage, once I finish groaning.

Megan shakes her head. “You still need medical care.”

“I can see a doctor when I get home.”

“No. You’re not fit to travel. Nowhere close. You can barely stand on your own, let alone get on a plane. And there’s the matter of your passport…”

All our possessions, including my precious documents, were abandoned in the Land Rover when we fled for our lives. I know I’ll have to acquire another, but maybe ?tefan could help. If he ever reappears.

“You need to recuperate,” Megan continues. “I’ve made arrangements to transfer you to my private clinic where I can oversee the rest of your recovery.”

“A private clinic? Oh, no, I cannot do that. I cannot pay you.” I have no funds and really can’t expect ?tefan to keep on spending his money on me. I already owe him an eye-watering sum.

Megan waves away my concerns. “Don’t worry about any of that. You’re already in a private clinic, and they charge way more than I would. I’m thinking we can make the move tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

My head is spinning. Private clinics cost a fortune. How much debt am I in? And that is not my only concern. “What about ?tefan? If I leave here, he will not know where I am…”

“Oh, he will,” she assures me but offers no further explanation. “So, that’s settled. I’ll get the paperwork sorted.”

Megan is back the next day, accompanied by a tall, blond man pushing a wheelchair. I might have mistaken him for a porter were it not for the expensive designer jeans and Armani T-shirt. He introduces himself as Jack and claims to be a friend of Rome’s. I am fast realising that I am the only person who refers to the man who saved my life as ?tefan. Everyone else uses his nickname.

“We have met before, but you probably don’t remember,” Jack assures me. “I was there, in the forest.”

“Oh, I see. Thank you. But I’m sorry, I do not…”

“Jack’s the guy who shot the Russian bastard who would have killed you. Got there just in time.” Megan is filling in the details while she unhooks me from the paraphernalia surrounding my bed.

I try once more to thank him for what he did, but he waves my words away.

“You’re welcome, Ms Kovalyova. Do you need any help getting out of bed?”

Between him and Megan, they manoeuvre me from my bed and into the wheelchair, then he pushes me through the door and along the white-tiled corridor beyond my room. We reach a lift, and he wheels me into the car. Megan follows carrying a file with my notes in and a bag containing my clothes from when I was brought in. They were bad enough before the attack but are in tatters now. I’d tell her to throw them in the nearest incinerator, but I don’t have anything else to wear. Sooner or later, I’ll have to get dressed.

I’m surprised when the lift starts to ascend rather than go down to the ground.

“Why are we going up?” I ask.

“The helicopter is on the roof,” Jack explains.

“Helicopter? Are we going a long way?”

“A hundred miles or so. It’s over water, though, so this is easiest and quickest.” He leans over me to open the doors when the lift comes to a halt.

We emerge onto the roof and the wind hits me. Sure enough, there is a helicopter waiting for us, rotors slowly turning. With no further ado, Jack lifts me from the chair and carries me across to the aircraft, then up the three or four stars into the passenger compartmen. He settles me in one of the passenger seats, the centre one in a row of three, and fastens the harness to secure me in place.

A man of around thirty is in the pilot’s seat. He twists around to yell a cheery ‘hello’.

Overwhelmed, I manage to return the greeting, then clutch both my armrests nervously as we take to the air.

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