Page 24 of Savage Beauty

“Oh, a nurse came and removed her IV. I think we’re ready to go, unless there’s any paperwork?”

“I’m supposed to be discharging you. Who came in?”

“I don’t remember her name. Do you Sloane?”

I’m a horrible liar. I don’t want to be a good liar. Lying is wrong. Instead of lying, I shake my head, which is still lying, but it’s not verbalizing a lie. There is a difference.

“Is she feeling okay?” The nurse’s question to Max offends me because I’m standing right here and she’s asking him. I hate it when people do that. People used to do that to Sage all the time, and I don’t know how she remained calm.

They are speaking to each other, and I interrupt. “I’m okay.”

My gaze returns to the window. Green grass and leafy trees adorn the golf course. It’s warm outside. I won’t fit in with everyone else in the airport in my sweatshirt and sweatpants, but I am cold. Freezing.

“I’d like to get her home so she can rest.” Max lies easily. “Are we good to go? It’s my understanding our company handled payment?”

“Yes, yes. You may leave. I wonder who came by. You’re my patient.”

Her tone is playful, not irritated. If it were my lab, I’d be indignant. She steps closer, as if she’s going to touch me. I step away and accidentally bump into Max’s arm.

“Thank you for being so good to me. I will never forget you.” I heard Sage say that to someone at a hospital once. It made the nurse happy. It’s a lie, but if a lie makes someone feel good, then it is acceptable.

Max and the nurse speak as we leave, but I focus on the exit. In one of those closets is a dead body. If they find her before we leave, will they come after us? Will I be in prison for a long time? How does Malaysia handle internationals who commit a crime? I doubt statistics are readily available. If I had a phone, I could search.

But I have nothing. How am I going to get through customs?

I peer up into the bright sun as Max opens the back door of a waiting sedan.

“I don’t have any identification,” I tell him.

“We already handled that. The US Embassy sent documentation. It pays to have connections.”

“Sage is my only connection.” What connections is he referring to? I had my brother and my parents, but they died. I have William, but he doesn’t know me well. We have sex. Had sex. We haven’t communicated since he moved away. Most people annoy me. If I spent enough time with William, he would have grated my nerves.

Max places a passport in my hand. It’s my passport. It looks like my old passport, except the pages are crisp and new.

Max talks to the driver, and I look out the window. I want to ask Max what is going on, but the driver can hear. Max types away on his phone. There are many people like him who get obsessed with their phones.

It doesn’t take long before the car approaches the airport. The covering over the departures deck reminds me of a series of circus tents with stunningly curved plank boards on the ceiling. The architecture is memorable. Luxurious. Much like the hospital. I think I would have liked Malaysia if we’d had time to stay.

But time is something we don’t have. I need to figure out what is going on. Who have I angered? Or threatened? The most obvious would be the source of the transplant data. But when I was reviewing study results and comparing variables, I didn’t pay close attention to the source. It wasn’t a relevant factor. But that’s the information we need. It has to be.

I also need to confirm Dr. Kallio is okay and they don’t have her locked away somewhere.

Max leads the way. His hand heats my cold one. The security line isn’t a long one, and we don’t have luggage, so we’re through the line rather quickly. Signs in multiple languages hang throughout the airport, but English is omnipresent. Bright, colorful advertisements for shopping and restaurants within the airport abound.

“We should go to a restaurant that serves with knives. We can carry knives on the plane.”

Max stops and pulls me to the side, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. Travelers pulling wheeled suitcases continue speeding past us. Many wear masks, but not all do.

“We’re going to be okay.” He lightly touches my arm. I don’t flinch, but I also can’t stop looking at the veins traversing the back of his hand and his short, clean nails. “They won’t do anything at the airport. We’re safe. Do you hear me?”

He pulls me flat against him, and his body heat warms me like a wood stove on a cold winter’s day. “Christ, you’re cold. Do you want to get some hot tea?”

The furnace dims the sharp effect of cold. The tip of my nose seems icier, so I press it into the nape of his neck. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight.

“We can stand here for a minute. You don’t need to be afraid. Do you hear me?” Obviously, I hear him. His lips are quite close to my ear. “The Kuala Lumpur police are working with Interpol. They located and picked up Solonov’s associates and are questioning them now.”

“The nurse?”

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