I was sitting in a curtained bed in Emergency. I had a blanket wrapped around me, and a nurse was cleaning my scratches.
A cop stood a few feet away and fired questions at me.
“You said you were meeting Viktor Mikhailov at the aquarium?”
“No. I thought I was meeting him at the aquarium, but it wasn’t Viktor who texted me. Do you know where he is? Did he come to this hospital?”
He ignored my questions. “Who texted you?”
“The guy who put a needle into my neck. I need to find out where Viktor is.”
“When we’re done here. Did you get a good look at this guy?”
“No, he was wearing paint on his face and it was very dark.”
I could hear shouting in the background. “Why aren’t you helping him? Where are the fucking doctors? Someone needs to talk to me…”
The detective started to talk over the yelling. “How did you guys get to the mine?”
I put up my hand, silencing the detective.
I realized it was Andrusha yelling. I slid off the bed and opened the curtain.
He was standing in the middle of the waiting room, and he looked livid.
“Andrusha.” I rushed toward him. “What’s going on?”
He looked down at me with so much emotion, so much rage and pain, that for a second I thought he might cry. But his voice was icy with fury. “They aren’t helping him. They’re going to let him die.”
“What do you mean?”
“No one helping Viktor. He’s lying in that room alone.”
Holy fucking hell. “Why aren’t they helping him?”
My mind raced. Was he beyond help? Were they waiting for him to die? How bad were his injuries?
Andrusha looked like he was going to hit someone. “It’s because of who he is.” He started to yell at everyone working in the area. “He’s a human being—he deserves the same treatment as everyone else.”
“What do you mean, because of who he is?” I rushed to the desk. “Why aren’t they helping Viktor?”
The person at the desk was on the phone. They shrugged and turned their back on me.
I stood there, breathing hard, thinking. Then I turned back to Andrusha. “I can fix this. I need my phone.”
He looked nonplussed. “Excuse me?”
I escalated my tone. “It has all my contacts in it. I can help him. Where is my phone?”
I looked around the room and saw the cop who had bagged all my items for evidence. “He’s the one who took my phone and keys.”
“That cop?”
“Yes, him.”
Andrusha strode up to the guy. “Where is her phone?”
The cop looked between us, obviously caught off guard. “I’m taking it all to evidence.”
Andrusha grabbed the cop by the upper arm. “Her phone. Now.”
“You can’t have something back once it’s in evidence.”
Andrusha’s tone became something to fear. “I’m only going to ask you once.”
Without speaking, the cop nodded toward the gray plastic bin on the desk. Andrusha reached over the counter and started carelessly tossing out bags of evidence until he found the plastic bag that held my phone.
He ripped off the bag and handed it to me.
The cop sounded scared. “You know I can have you arrested for that.”
“Piss. Off.”
People—not just that cop—seemed to scatter.
I scrolled through my contacts, finding Jason Blakely, the president and CEO of British Columbia Health.
I hit dial, and the phone rang once.
“Hello?”
“Jason, hi. This is Blaire Asterdam. Remember me? My family is making a twenty-million-dollar donation to your new cardiac wing.”
“Yes, Blaire, of course I know who you are.” Jason tripped over his words.
“You have a dying patient in your general hospital emergency ward by the name of Viktor Mikhailov. This man is the love of my life. Your staff are neglectful. No one is helping him, and no one is listening to us. If he dies, I will rescind our entire family donation and will also stop all future donations to your organization, which will amount to tens of millions of dollars.”
Jason didn’t even pause. “Viktor Mikhailov? Give me one minute.”
I hung up, breathing hard. I spoke to Andrusha. “He said one minute.”
He gave me a sharp nod. We stood there waiting, both of us staring at the clock. It was the longest minute of my life.
And then… nothing happened.
Andrusha looked at me. Resignation made his voice heavy. “You tried.”
“Wait!” I whispered.
Thirty more seconds, and suddenly there were a dozen people running toward Viktor’s room.
“Hold those doors open! Why the hell hasn’t he been taken down?”
“Surgeon didn’t show, he was busy.”
“Heads are going to roll on this one. Let’s make sure they aren’t ours.”
“Where are we taking him, people?”
“Surgery number four.”
“Hold the elevator, coming through.”
“Call down and ask for three more bags of O negative.”
“Who are we meeting down there?”
“Cleats, McKaw and Davids have all been pulled off other surgeries.”
“If they can’t save him, no one can.”
“This guy is off to a rough start. Let’s hope he’s tough.”
And then the elevator doors shut, leaving us standing in their wake.
Andrusha looked at me with solemn respect. “That was better than my way.”
My phone started ringing. It was Jason Blakely. I let it go to voice mail. “What was your way?”
“I was going to start shooting the place up.”
Laughter bubbled out of me for a hot second, and then I dissolved into tears.
He put one strong hand on my shoulder, and he looked into my eyes. “He’s going to make it.”
“Okay.” But I wasn’t sure I believed it anymore. How much could one man endure? I had never seen someone consistently abuse their body near to death like Viktor did. And I had no idea how I would live the rest of my life without him in it.
He held my gaze. “No, you have to believe, Blaire. He’s going to make it. Say it with me.”
“He’s going to make it.”
He nodded. “Good. Now let’s finish getting you patched up, and then we can go wait for him.”
“Okay.”
I sat curled up on the chair in the waiting room. Andrusha sat beside me, and the detective sat across from me. My cuts and scratches had been bandaged up, and Andrusha had gone to the gift shop and bought me a dry sweatshirt, which I wore with the hospital scrub pants they had lent me.
Viktor was still in surgery. My eyes were glued to the large clock on the wall behind the detective’s head. I was counting the seconds until I could be by his side.
“Just bear with me.” The detective checked his notes. “You said Viktor texted you.”
“No, that’s not what I said.” I glanced at Andrusha. “Do I need my lawyer here?”
“Stop with your games,” Andrusha growled at the detective.
He cleared his throat. “You said someone texted you, but you thought it was Viktor.”
“That is correct.”
“Then what happened?”
“The person texted me and told me to meet him at the aquarium. While I was there, Viktor phoned me. I felt a prick in my neck, and then I woke up tied to a chair.”
“In the mine.”
“Yes.”
“And can you describe your captor?”
“He was tall and muscular. He was wearing a toque, and his face was covered in dark paint. He said that either he was going to shoot Viktor when he tried to save me or the ropes would burn and I would fall to my death.”
“What you’re telling me is that you never saw his face.”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“He left, and, about fifteen minutes later, I heard Viktor come down the path.”
“After Viktor showed up, did you see the sniper?”
“No, but he shot some flaming arrows at me.”
“You said Viktor fired a shot at him.”
“I think he might have gotten one shot off.”
He stood up. “We’ll keep you posted. They are searching the crevice for any sign of a body. We’ll know more in a couple of hours.”
Behind him, I saw two surgeons walking down the hall toward me. My mouth went completely dry. I stood up, but my legs were so shaky I had to sit back down again.
“Are you family of Viktor Mikhailov?” one of them said solemnly.
Both my hands covered my face. I wasn’t sure I could handle the truth if Viktor hadn’t made it.
“We’re his family,” Andrusha said beside me.
