Page 28 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
“I’m close with my family too,” she says. “It’s one of the reasons I took this job. My parents need help, and I want to be able to give it to them.”
I watch her for a moment longer. She parts her lips to say something, but color drains from her face and her hand darts to her stomach.
“Excuse me,” she mutters, brushing past me and hurrying into the bathroom.
I straighten instantly.
I’m not sure what to do. Her retching echoes from the bathroom, and instinct says to give her space to recover. After all, she’s the nurse. I have no idea how I could be of any help in this situation. But I don’t want to just leave her there, sick and weak on her first day in my home.
A prickling unease tells me something more is going on. I can’t pin it down, but I’m sure she meant to tell me something before bolting. In the end I force myself to back away; she probably doesn’t want to open the door to find me hovering.
11
NICOLE
When I wake, my first thought is that everything feels wrong. This isn’t my bed. This isn’t my room. Even the air feels strange. It takes a full minute to remember why.
I stretch slowly, savoring the weight of the luxurious comforter a little longer than I normally would. I’m not used to this level of luxury, with these high-thread-count sheets and silk curtains. I’m also not used to the quiet. Sergei’s home sits well outside the city’s hustle and bustle, and it feels like another world. Back home, taxi horns and the downstairs neighbors’ shouting serve as my alarm clock.
I pad across the floor barefoot and slip into a bathroom larger than my entire bedroom back home. White-marble counters, gold fixtures, and a rainfall shower big enough for a football team gleam under recessed lights. There’s even a separate bidet. I feel like I’m in a five-star hotel.
After I shower and dress, I step into the hallway with my phone in hand. It buzzes with a new message, and I smile when I see Mia’s name flash across the screen.
Just checking in. Still alive?
I laugh under my breath and tap out a quick reply.
Haven’t been murdered yet if that’s what you mean. Call?
Her reply pings back almost instantly.
Duh.
I press the call button and tuck the phone to my ear as I make my way downstairs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifts up, and my stomach growls at the hint of something sweet and fresh-baked. Needing less temptation, I veer toward the back of the house and into the sprawling gardens. Sunlight spills across my skin, a soft breeze curling around me as I push open the glass doors.
“I’m glad to know you haven’t been kidnapped or trafficked,” Mia teases the second she answers.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say, already smiling. I step barefoot onto the warm stone path, letting my fingers brush against a bed of blooming hydrangeas as I walk. “You would not believe this place. It’s like something out of a fairytale.”
“Or Dracula’s castle?” she quips.
“I mean…” I trail off, taking in the riot of blooms surrounding me. The garden is like something out of a regency romance, almost timeless. There’s a wrought-iron gazebo tucked beside a koi pond, rows of manicured hedges framing elegant stone benches, and walking trails that snake off toward what looks like an orchard. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You should see this garden. It’s unreal.”
“Send pics,” she demands. “I need to hate you in full color.”
I laugh again. “It’s absolutely beautiful and peaceful." Honestly, this is exactly what I needed right now. It’s almost like a vacation.”
There is a pause on the other end before Mia says, more softly, “I’m glad you’re okay, Nic, and that you’re even enjoying it. Just remember, if he so much as breathes weird, I’m driving out there with my taser and a shovel.”
“I’ll send up the Bat Signal,” I joke.
Low voices carry on the breeze, followed by comfortable, friendly laughter. I slow, round a bend in the path, and spot six men in perfectly tailored suits. They stand in a loose circle near the far side of the garden, half hidden by a wall of roses.
They puff on cigars, oblivious to my presence. Something about them scratches at my brain—familiar yet foreign all at once. When one of them turns, recognition slams into me, and my breath catches.
It’s the man I saw outside the coffee shop after my night with Sergei. He looks so much like Sergei, only younger. Up close, it’s even more obvious. Even though he was with Sergei yesterday when we got Liliya settled, I was focused on my patient and paid him little mind.
Now, however, my brin brings him into sharp focus.
