“Where are you going?” she asks.
“Out.”
“But you can’t walk.”
“Give me my bag and come here.” When she stands, I throw my arm over her shoulders and grab my bag. “Lead the way.” I can’t see anything. It’s dark, I’m dizzy, and I have maybe ten minutes before I pass out. I need to make them count.
I can’t hold myself up, and she can’t hold up my weight. We make it outside. As I crumple, I almost drag her down with me. Collapsed on the terrace, I stare at the stars. Choppers fly overhead, their lights sweeping over the rooftops, looking for me.
Dina drops to her knees and hovers over me, her tears dripping onto my face. She’s saying something about hitting mewith her car. She thinks I’m down because of something she did wrong. Nah, I want to tell her. I was born all wrong.
“Thank God,” Dina says from her position above me. The light shining from behind her head blinds me. I squint and look around. Not in the hospital. I’m on her living room floor. I’m pretty sure I passed out on the terrace, but maybe she dragged me inside.
“Are we alone?” I ask.
“Yeah. Glenda went into surgery, so she’ll come by in the morning, but she told me what to do in the meantime.” Dina tells me what the doctor told her, but I’m not listening. I have limited capacity right now, and I’m trying to figure out how to get out of her apartment.
“What time is it?” I ask
“Three in the morning.”
I try to sit up.
Dina pushes me back down. “Please don’t move! Glenda said to rest. Please. I’m worried you’ll die.” She starts to cry again. “I’m terrified you’ll die here, and then I’ll have to call my dad to help me hide the body because if I report you dead, they’ll convict me. I didn’t mean to hit you with my car. I didn’t even see you. Where were you? Where did you come from?”
I don’t have time for this. “Help me up.”
“What? Are you listening? Glenda said to rest.”
“That’s fine. I’m getting up.” I sit up, and my belly rises with me. I swallow the vomit and stand on one leg, blinking away the blur and stretching out my hands for balance. Dina steadies me.
“I’m coming in and out of consciousness,” I tell her. “I have about fifteen minutes to get to the car and a drop-off point. Let’s make them count.”
“What?”
“Let’s go.”
“No, please. You can’t.”
“Do you want to get rid of me or not?” I ask.
“Yeah, but…”
“Then help me.” Dina practically carries me outside. I don’t look heavy, but muscle weighs more than fat, and I need my bag, which is over her shoulder. I’m thoroughly humiliated, but I have no choice. I’m in a pinch, and I can’t call my family with her around. Every agency in the world—domestic, international, legal, and illegal—is monitoring telephone communications.
The chief of police, a man in my dad’s pocket, will have his units on standby, combing the videos for the identity of the shooter. He’ll see that Endo emptied the magazine into my dad’s chest after Massio went down.
Ivan, dad’s head of security, will hand over everything he has to the authorities. Endo is a foreigner, so the locals can’t do much, and he’s also in his own sovereign territory with connections in high places that might help him. For Endo, the situation with Dr. Pembroke and her father is more important than this. He won’t care if he gets pinned for Crossbow’s murder.
But if the chief wants to investigate, really investigate, which I think he might, he’ll seek other angles and explanations. He’ll figure it out. Eventually. By then, I need to be gone.
On the way down the stairs, I start to sweat profusely and gag multiple times. We’re moving as quickly as possible. I hobble across the street and into her car, where darkness folds over my vision again. I’m still conscious, but I can’t see anything, and the vortex is pulling me under.
“No hospital,” I whisper, fighting to stay awake.
“Please, please, let me help you.”
“No hospital.
