Page 3 of Wicked Arrangement

“I thought as much. Artem, call Chief Johnson and make him aware of the situation and to handle things on his end. We don’t need any eager rookies digging too much into why I was targeted,” I instruct.

“Will do, boss. What about the girl? Do we think she has anything to do with it?” Artem asks, jerking his head over toward her.

“No,” I reply truthfully, “I think it was a case of wrong place wrong time, pure coincidence, if it wasn’t for her crashing into me, I’d have been in that car and lying on the mortuary slab with Ivan. But, even so, I don’t want to leave any avenue unexplored. Find out everything you can about her. Ivan was in the process of doing that when the bomb went off.”

Any further discussion is interrupted by the woman stirring in the bed beside me. Without being told, my men know better than to discuss business further in case she hears anything she shouldn’t. Artem and the other three of my menleave to do as instructed, leaving only Ivan in the room. He discreetly goes to stand near the window, giving us some privacy.

Her big brown eyes flutter open, blinking in confusion as she tries to figure out where she is. The beeping of the heart monitor she’s attached to increases and she becomes distressed, no doubt recalling the events before blacking out. She scrambles to a sitting position, wincing in pain as she does so.

“Lie back down,” I order, unable to help myself from giving commands.

Her gaze darts over toward me as she realizes she’s not alone. “Oh, it’s you,” she says softly.

She doesn’t seem upset to see me, something which I feel strangely grateful for. She merely seems a little confused and scared. The vulnerable young woman in front of me is nothing like the firecracker who argued with me after the crash, despite being the one at fault. Her beauty is even more apparent like this, though she looks younger than I initially guessed. She’s undeniably beautiful, I noticed that the moment I first laid eyes on her. Even in that ridiculous uniform, I couldn’t help but notice her toned and curvaceous figure.

We both look at each other for a moment, uncertain of what to say. I notice with some amusement that she’s actively trying to avoid looking at me, a slight blush creeping up her neck. The doctors had to take off my ruined jacket and shirt to treat my wounds, so I have no top on.

I want to thank her for saving my life, but the words won’t come. I’m not accustomed to being in someone’s debt.

Instead, I ask, “What’s your name?”

She looks momentarily confused as to why I’d ask her, but then she replies. “I’m Kimmy. And you?”

“Yaroslav,” I reply, pleased to finally know her name.

I don’t get the opportunity to speak to her further as at that moment, the doctor enters. She’s a harried-looking woman with big bags under her eyes that suggest this is the end of a long shift for her.

“Good, you’re awake,” she says nodding toward Kimmy before checking her chart.

She bustles around Kimmy checking her pulse and flashing a light in her eyes to check for her pupil’s responsiveness.

“Now, I’m going to ask you to confirm some basic details about yourself for me so I can check for your comprehension and make sure that knock to your head isn’t anything more serious than a mild concussion and whiplash. First of all, please can you confirm your full name?” the doctor asks, checking her clipboard.

“Kimberly Walsh.”

“Age?”

“I’m twenty, I’ll be twenty-one next month,” she replies.

So, I was right in thinking she’s young. Too young for me to be thinking of her the way I have been.

“Occupation?” the doctor asks.

Given her age, I expect her to respond that she’s a student—though she was in a diner uniform, so I assume she also works part-time.

“I work at Dom’s Diner and in the art supply store downtown,” Kimmy replies, shooting me an embarrassed glance.

The doctor nods, seeming pleased with her answers. “Is there anyone you’d like us to call for you? A friend or family member?”

Kimmy shakes her head, “No, there’s no one. It’s fine. Will my insurance cover my treatment?” Kimmy adds before the doctor has the chance to ask any more questions.

She nervously bites her lip anxiously awaiting the reply. It’s obvious that money is a concern for her, given her question and the fact she works two jobs. I wonder if she’s an orphan, it’s surprising to me that there’s no one she wishes to contact after such a frightening experience. Is there no one that cares for her? I can’t help myself from feeling a little bit pleased that she didn’t mention a boyfriend and quickly push the thought aside.

The doctor doesn’t seem surprised by her question about treatment costs, it is a common concern for most people, no doubt. “You’d have to consult with the front desk and your insurance company about that.”

Kimmy nods, crestfallen, her eyes well up with unshed tears and she chokes out a reply. “Okay. Can I leave now?”

The doctor surveys her, a slight furrow of disapproval on her brow. “Well, since you hit your head, I’d ideally like you tostay in overnight for observation. But, if you want to discharge yourself, that’s your call.”

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