Page 22 of Savage Beauty

“You okay coming down in that gown?” I ask Sloane. It ties in the back, and I’m not about to mention this to her, but I have a view of her spine and the top of her ass. My gaze catches on the divots along her spine and her noticeable ribcage. Christ, they must’ve starved her for the last several weeks. Hopefully, that IV loaded her up with nutrients as well as hydration.

“I can’t go down like this. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Her statement doesn’t exactly surprise me. I’ve got a sister, and I’m pretty sure Natalie would say the exact same thing. Trouble is, we’ve got two tangos in the wind. The nurse must sense my apprehension.

“I can stay with her if you like. The shopping center is just?—”

“I’ll go to the gift store. Where’s that?”

“Main level. There’s an information desk you can ask for directions, but it’s around the corner from the elevators.”

I come around to face Sloane. Her gaze is on the ground, making it a little difficult to get a read.

“You okay with that?” I ask.

It’s not exactly my preferred plan, but we need to be quick. My other option would be to wait here with her until Knox made it over with clothes. Sage had already thought about clothes for her, and I’m pretty sure she has some back at the hotel. But I don’t want to risk exposing Knox and Sage. And we need to get on the move.

“I’m fine,” Sloane says. “I need to go to the restroom, anyway.”

All right. She probably doesn’t want me here for that. There’s a thin panel bathroom door that does nothing to muffle sounds.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

The nurse smiles brightly. “I’ll stay with her. She’ll be fine.”

I don’t waste any time making my way to the elevator and then locating the gift store. As I’m paying for an oversized sweatshirt with the words “Kuala Lumpur” down one sleeve, sweatpants with a hospital logo on the top right side, plain white socks, and silky slippers decorated with golden dragons, I read the name tag of the person checking me out.

A vision of the nurse flashes before me. No name tag.

My gut twists. It’s got to be nothing. Solonov’s associates would be men.

At the elevator bank, I stand around checking my phone for any updates, blending in with all the others waiting, but with every glance seeking a green arrow, I wonder if I shouldn’t find a stairwell. But no. By the time I found a stairwell, the elevator would’ve arrived.

I shoot off a text to Erik, requesting details on the associates.

The elevator dings, and I, along with five others, shuffle on. One nurse pushes an elderly man in a wheelchair. She’s speaking to him in Mandarin. A middle-aged woman holds the hand of a young girl. The girl is holding a small teddy bear and a balloon. They were in the gift shop with me. And there’s a man in scrubs, lost in the phone in his hand. He’s wearing a name tag that identifies him as Hilmi.

When we arrive on the second floor, the nurse pushing the old man’s wheelchair moves as slow as molasses. It takes every bit of self-control not to push her aside and shove the wheelchair into the hallway.

Forty-five seconds later, we’re on my floor, but damn if it didn’t feel like forty-five minutes.

I barge down the hallway, ignoring the greetings from the front desk. Sloane’s suite door is closed, and I shove the door open, scanning the room like I’m on deployment.

Blood coats the tile floor.

Sloane stands over the nurse’s body, a bloody scalpel in her hand. The nurse’s eyes are open in surprise, but her eerie gaze tells me all I need to know. She’s no longer alive.

“Are you okay?” I close the door behind me as I scan Sloane for injury.

“She told me I needed to come with her. I refused. She picked up a needle. It was self-defense. They aren’t taking me again.”

I nod, approaching slowly. She’s still holding the scalpel, no doubt processing what happened. “It’s okay. Sometimes death preserves life.” It’s a phrase I held to my heart over the years as a soldier.

“I know that,” she snaps, holding the scalpel higher. “My fingerprints are on this.” Is she in shock? “The scalpel was on a tray of instruments. If I could’ve put it through her eye, there would be less blood, but I didn’t have the right angle. I like this scalpel better than any of Sam’s knives. It slices easily.”

“Sam taught you knife skills?” I continue my cautious approach, careful to steer clear of the pooling blood. We don’t have the time to get caught up in an interrogation. We have a flight to catch, and the sooner we get to the airport and out of this place, the better off we are. If she’s in shock, I’ll have to ease her out of here.

“He wanted to teach me to shoot guns. But I don’t like guns. I refused. I will not touch a gun. He taught me how to use knives.”

---