Page 10 of Fallen Roses

The first thing I’m aware of is the pounding in my head as my eyes struggle to open. My memory is playing catch up because when I open my eyes I haven’t got the first clue where I am.

Did I die? Am I in heaven because the room I’m in is completely white? It’s as if I’ve gone ten rounds in the ring with a heavy weight as my limbs refuse to work and as my mind checks in, I move my limbs tentatively.

At least they work but not with any strength and I attempt to sit and am surprised when a familiar soft voice whispers, “Take it easy. Try to relax.”

I turn in the direction of the voice and Ana is sitting on a chair beside the bed, the concern on her face strangely endearing.

“What happened?” I groan as my voice breaks against the dryness in my throat and she hands me a glass of water that I’m grateful for.

“You were about to be shot by a man who was straight out of a cheap movie.”

“Victor?”

“Was that his name? I didn’t get introduced before he died.”

“He’s dead?” I blink, wondering what the hell just happened, and Ana shrugs, a triumphant gleam in her eyes that tells me there is a lot happening I know nothing about.

She tosses a packet of Advil toward me. “Take two of these. You hit your head when you fell.”

“But–”

I have so many questions, but she presses her finger to my parched lips and whispers, “We’ll talk later. Take your time and I’ll be in the adjoining room when you’re ready.”

“I want to talk now.”

I edge to a sitting position and she sighs heavily. “Well, I don’t. Take a moment and come and find me when you can understand what I’m saying.”

The firm look she directs my way silences me far more than her words and as she leaves, I still have many questions for the woman who is definitely not all she appears to be.

It must bean hour later before I head into the next room and find her facing the window, a mug ofsomething in her hand and a pensive expression on her face.

She turns and the blank expression in her eyes makes me wonder about this woman, compared to the one I met that night in the bar. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe she wasn’t capable of lowering her guard and giving into the moment because the Ana Starling who walked into The Rose Foundation is a very different one to the one who took my arm when we left the bar.

“How’s your head?” Is her first question and the dull throbbing reminds me it took a battering.

“I’ll live.”

“You were lucky—wewere lucky.”

She sighs and nods to a table where a pot is resting on the side. “Coffee?”

“Thanks. Black, no sugar.”

She pours some into a mug and as she hands it to me, our fingers touch and the yearning in her eyes is quickly masked when she turns away.

“Where are we?” I ask in an attempt to break the mounting tension and she shrugs.

“My apartment.”

“Oh yes, the one that wasn’t ready.”

She nods. “Thankfully, it didn’t take long, and I moved in, well, this evening.”

“Why were you following me?”

I don’t waste time with pleasantries and she shrugs. “Who says I was? I saw you in the distance and noticed you disappeared down an alley and two men followedyou in. I didn’t like the look of them and I was concerned. It’s hardly a crime.”

“But you got involved. Why?”

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