Page 4 of Wicked Arrangement

“Yes, I do,” Kimmy says eagerly, already moving to get up.

“The police want to speak with you alone first though, they’re just outside,” the doctor adds.

“I’ll speak with them outside now,” Kimmy replies.

The doctor nods her approval, “Very well. I shall let them know,” she says before leaving.

Kimmy gets out of bed, practically racing to the door. It seems to occur to her that I’m still there and that we didn’t resolve our dispute over the crash, though that’s somewhat redundant given the fact that my car is a pile of smoking metal now. She glances back at me about to speak when two police officers enter the room.

“Miss Walsh. The doctor tells us you’re ready to answer a few questions,” the one says.

“Yes,” she says with a nod.

“Please, follow us. Our colleagues will be in momentarily to speak with you, sir,” the officer says to me as they leave.

I jerk my head toward Vova, silently ordering him to follow and keep an eye on Kimmy. I don’t want her to go before I get a chance to speak to her. He nods and leaves the room. Moments later, two different officers enter my room, Artem and my lawyer are close on their heels.

The officers introduce themselves and ask some basic questions first. I confirm my full name, Yaroslav Olegovich Volkov, that I’m thirty-seven, and I provide them with theaddress of one of my properties in Atlanta. They of course ask how long I’ve lived in the States, and I tell them almost seven years, and that I moved here for business. When asked where I was going today, I explained I was on my way to a business lunch and the only reason I was out of my vehicle at the time of the explosion was because of an unfortunate collision with Miss Walsh.

“Do you have any enemies or anyone you can think of who would wish to cause you harm?” the detective asks.

“None whatsoever, of course, as a businessman there have been times when there are disgruntled ex-employees, and like any good business we have rivals, but certainly no one who would do something like this,” the lie rolls smoothly off my tongue.

“What about your driver, the man who died in the attack?” they ask suspiciously.

I fix him with a steely glare. “I can think of no reason why anyone should wish to kill Ivan or myself. It’s a miracle no one else got hurt. I do hope that you do everything you can to find whoever did this.”

The detectives continue to pepper me with questions, clearly suspicious of why I was targeted. It’s no secret that they have their suspicions about the legitimacy of my business, and they make it clear that they don’t believe me. Luckily, they don’t need to. It will soon be taken over by more senior officers and they will be told to drop their investigation if they know what’s good for them. I will make sure that whoever is responsible pays for their attempt with blood.

Before long, my lawyer steps in. “Detectives. Mr. Volkov has been more than patient and has answered your questions to the best of his ability. But I must now interject, we’re going around in circles. My client was the victim here and therefore should not be being treated like a suspect or as if he had any involvement. Any further questions you may have can be directed to me at a later date. For now, my client needs to go home and rest.”

Sensing they’d be fighting a losing battle if they press any further, the detectives thank me for my time and exchange business cards with Artem and my lawyer before finally leaving.

Right now though my main concern is whether Kimmy has left yet or not, I need to speak to her.

Chapter 3

Kimberly

Iknow I should feel lucky to be alive, but right now as I stare at the cracked screen of my phone and the extortionate medical bill in my hand, all I can think is, how the hell am I supposed to pay for this. I’ve been sitting in the hospital reception area waiting to hear back from them about how much my insurance will cover. I guess a silver lining is that at least my car insurance won’t go up since I won’t have to pay out for the damage to Yaroslav’s car…

Shit.That reminds me. My car’s probably been towed, so that’s another expense to add to the ever-growing list.

Of all the shitty days I’ve had, this has to be up there as one of the worst.

I’m grateful that one good thing about this awful day is that the police weren’t too hard on me. They seemed to believe my version of events, that I’d collided with another car and while I was discussing insurance with the passenger, the car had blown up. They dismissed my initial assumption that the car somehow blew up as a result of the crash, stating that there was evidence of a bomb. They also confirmed that the driver was trapped inside and killed. That poor man… I feel sick just thinking about the explosion and how close to death I was.

The police were initially very interested in Yaroslav, asking how I knew him and what possible reason someone might have for targeting him. It was only after my reassurances that I didn’t know him at all, that it was a case of bad timing—orgood as it turned out, because if I hadn’t crashed into him then he’d be dead too—that they dropped it. But now thoughts of the mysterious man are spinning through my mind, and I can’t help asking myself the same thing. Of course, I’m grateful he shielded me from the blast, but why was someone trying to kill him in the first place?

As though summoned by my thoughts, Yaroslav comes sauntering down the corridor into the waiting area. Thankfully, it seems someone brought him a shirt to put on, I’m not sure I could have handled seeing his bare chest again, bandages or not, that is one athletic and ripped man. He turns to speak to the two men that are with him, one big and brawny, the other small yet proud-looking with round glasses and a briefcase. The latter nods and says goodbye, striding out of the building with purpose, the bigger one heads over to the reception desk.

To my surprise, Yaroslav makes a beeline toward me, sitting down in one of the uncomfortable well-worn chairs beside me.

“How are you holding up?” he asks me, his tone gentle yet not condescending.

I’m mortified to find that tears well up and I have to hold myself back from breaking down completely. I feel so hopeless yet so absurdly grateful at the same time.

“Thank you… for saving me… are you badly hurt? I’m… I’ll pay for your medical bills, it’s the least I can do. After well… everything,” I ramble, unsure of how to find the words to console him on the loss of a man he knew, to ask why someone tried to kill him, or why his first instinct was to shield me from the blast.

---