Page 27 of Blood & Snow
I stare at it for a long time wondering why that man placed an ad in the newspaper like a common employer looking for an average worker.
Surely, he didn't suspect he'd get a forensics student who knew what they're doing.
It's likefate's red string had tied me to him in some past life, and this is my karmic punishment or something.
The phone buzzes at eleven thirty, vibrating across the kitchen table.
I sit in a trance watching it light up and spin but don't answer it until the fifth ring.
I don't want to go.
I don't want to be a part of this or be anywhere near that man.
Especially after the way he made me feel the last time I was with him, when he suggested that I could "work" for him every night.
The gall of that man, thinking I’d fuck him for money…
But if I don't answer, I'm risking my family’s lives.
So I reluctantly answer.
"Yes?"
"Apartment Four-B at Sixty-Seven Leninsky Prospekt. Come alone. Bring medical supplies."
Xander's voice sounds different tonight, strained and tight with pain.
"Medical supplies?"
"Bandages, antiseptic, anything useful for treating wounds. Move quickly."
The line goes dead before I can ask more questions.
Now I feel frantic.
I gather first aid materials from Irina's nursing supplies, taking bandages and antiseptic she keeps for treating minor injuries at home.
Whatever happened tonight requires medical attention rather than crime scene cleanup, which suggests whatever the fuck he was doing didn't go according to plan.
The taxi ride across Moscow takes forty minutes through empty streets slick with fresh snow.
My heart is pounding the entire time.
If he needs medical help, this is the sort of thing Irina would be good for, not me, but I won't involve her in this.
The best I can do is clean him up, but if it's bad, I'll have to insist that he go to emergency.
The apartment building looks abandoned from theoutside, windows dark and entrance unguarded.
I climb three flights of stairs to the fourth floor and find the door to apartment B standing open.
Xander's voice calls from inside when I knock.
"Come in and close the door behind you."
He sits shirtless on a kitchen chair, pressing a bloody towel against his left shoulder.
The wound bleeds steadily through the makeshift bandage, dark stains spreading across his chest and down his arm.
