Page 19 of Capture Me (Capture Me)

I’m on my own.

Iwaituntil the nurse leaves with the pile of sheets, and then I get up again, without any interference this time.

The panic circling through me is stronger than any painkiller. I’m barely cognizant of my headache as I walk over to the cabinet that held my bag and look inside.

As I’d hoped, my clothes are there too, folded neatly. I cast a quick look at the room entrance to verify that the door is closed, then strip off my hospital gown and put on the clothes I was wearing earlier. As I do so, I realize the lump on my head is not my only injury. The entire right side of my body is bruised, and I have scrapes all over.

That stupid drunk. I so should’ve shot him and his hyena friends when I had the chance.

No.I draw in a calming breath. Anger is pointless now. It’s a distraction I can’t afford. There’s still a small chance I may be able to get out of Russia. I can’t give up hope.

Not yet, at least.

I pull my hair up into a bun to make the long blond locks less noticeable, and then I do a swift check of the contents of my bag. Everything is there, except cash in the wallet and my gun. But that’s to be expected. I’m lucky the bag itself wasn’t stolen while I was unconscious. The lining at the bottom of the bag has some emergency cash sewn into it, and the thieves didn’t find it, as confirmed by the lack of rips inside.

Gripping the bag tightly, I walk to the door and step out into the hallway. The nurse is nowhere in sight, and nobody pays me any attention as I approach the elevator. Well, one elderly man in a wheelchair gives me an appreciative once-over, but there’s no suspicion in his gaze. He’s just looking, likely reliving his youth.

The elevator doors open with a soft ding, and I step inside, my heart beating much too fast. Despite the ease of my getaway thus far, my skin is crawling, all my instincts warning me of danger.

My room is on the seventh floor of the building, and the ride down is torturously slow. The elevator stops on each floor, with patients and nurses coming in and out. I could’ve taken the stairs, but that might’ve drawn unnecessary attention to me. Nobody uses those stairwells unless they have to.

Finally, the elevator doors open on the first floor. I step out, surrounded by several other people—and at that moment I see them.

Three policemen entering the elevator on the opposite side of the hallway.

Shit.I duck my head and hunch my shoulders, trying to make myself look shorter.Don’t stare at them. Don’t stare at them.I keep my gaze on the floor and stay close to a tall, heavyset man who lumbered out of the elevator ahead of me. He walks slowly and so do I, doing my best to look like I’m with him.

They would be looking for a woman on her own, not a couple.

Thankfully, my unwitting companion heads for the exit, and there are enough people around us that he doesn’t pay me much attention. His massive bulk provides some cover, and I use it as much as I can, maintaining my stooped posture.

Walk faster. Come on, walk faster, I silently beg the man. Every muscle in my body is tense with the urge to run, but that would destroy any chance I have of leaving this hospital undetected. At the same time, I know I need to be out of here within minutes. As soon as those policemen realize I’m not on the seventh floor, they’ll put the entire hospital on alert.

Finally, the man and I are by the exit, and I see a cab pull up next to the curb.

Yes!I’m due for a little luck.

Leaving the man behind without a second glance, I hurry to the cab and get in just as the woman inside climbs out. “The Lubyanka station, please,” I tell the driver as the door is closing. I say it in case the woman is paying attention. That way, if she’s questioned later, she’ll tell them my supposed destination and, hopefully, muddy the trail a bit.

The driver nods and pulls away from the curb. As soon as we’re on the street, I say, “Oh, actually, I forgot. I’m supposed to pick up something at the Azimut Moscow Olympic Hotel. Can you please drop me off there instead?”

He shrugs. “Sure, no problem. You pay, I take you wherever you want.”

“Thank you.” I lean back against the seat. I’m too anxious to relax fully, but the worst of the tension drains out of me. I’m safe for the moment. I bought myself some time. There’s a car rental near that hotel. Once I get there, I’ll find myself a disguise and get a car. They’ll be watching airports, trains, and public transportation, but there’s a small chance I can make it to the Ukrainian border via some less popular roads.

The drive seems to take forever. The traffic is bad, but not nearly as horrible as yesterday. Still, with the driver braking and accelerating every couple of minutes—and the numbing effect of adrenaline wearing off—my headache comes back in full force, as does the pain from all the bruises and scrapes. On top of everything, I become aware of a gnawing emptiness in my stomach and a cottony dryness in my mouth.

Of course. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since yesterday afternoon.

To distract myself from my misery, I think of Misha as he was in the last picture Obenko sent me. My baby brother had his arm around a pretty brunette girl—his current girlfriend, according to Obenko. The girl was smiling up at Misha with adoration that bordered on worship, and he looked as proud as only a teenage boy can.

For you, Misha.I close my eyes to hold on to the picture in my mind.You’re worth it.

“Well, that’s not good,” the driver mutters, and I open my eyes to see the cars coming to a complete stop ahead of us. “Wonder if there was an accident or something.” He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, peering into the distance.

“Is it an accident?” I ask, resigned. It’s like the fates are conspiring to keep me in Moscow. It’s not enough that Russia has winters brutal enough to decimate its enemies’ armies; now it has spy-detaining traffic, too.

“No,” the driver says, pulling his head back inside the car. “Doesn’t look like it. I mean, there are a bunch of police cars and all, but I don’t see any ambulances. Could be a blockade, or they caught someone—”

---