Anya didn’t stir much, shaking and curling into a ball as the car sped away.
All I could do as my heart slowed, finally calmer now that I saw my daughter and knew she was alive, was sit here and let Claire take over. In this respect,shewas the boss, asking Anya where she’d been hit and hurrying to compress the bleeding on her arms.
“Hold this here,” she instructed me, yanking her sweatshirt off to shove it at me, then showing me where to put pressure on Anya’stemple. “Head lacerations bleed the worst, but it’s better to have the reaction outward than internal. Anya, can you tell me what hit your head? Did you fall or did someone strike you?”
Anya mumbled, her voice so choppy I could barely understand. If she wasn’t in my lap like a scared animal, I wouldn’t have felt her reply as a vibration between us to know that she had spoken at all.
“Against the wall? Okay. Easy. Just breathe, Anya. Nice and easy.” She coached her through breathing cycles, still sharp-eyed and on the case as she checked her over.
If she needed to go to the hospital, I couldn’t risk it. Not now. I had to rely on Claire’s expertise, astonished at how instantly she got into action and wanted to help. I was touched by her immediate assistance. Even though she struggled to be near me all the time and to acclimate to how my world worked, there was no doubt that she was a good woman, a practiced and skilled doctor, a healer at heart, willing to care and love, no matter what.
“You will be all right,” Claire insisted as we sped toward home. She vowed it, like simply stating it could will it into reality.
Rocking with the momentum of the final turn to get home, I heaved out another deep breath. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to take her word for it, that with all the danger in our intertwined lives, being near her goodness would help us have hope. Her goodwill was only one half of the Yin-and-Yang situation we were thrust into, and it only encouraged me to want to keep her in my life, in my home, for good.
18
CLAIRE
We arrived at the Orlov residence with the same urgency that I felt when ambulances pulled up to the emergency department. The brakes squealed. People rushed out from the front door, ready to help. Anya was too shaken and scared to walk on her own, so Mikhail carried her. Like a doctor on the clock, I ran in alongside them, ready to do what I was trained at.
“Take her to her room,” I said. Ordering this Mafia boss wasn’t something that would happen often. He wouldn’t listen tomewhen he was the one in charge. But on this, he didn’t argue. He trusted me, at least within my specialty.
Together, we hurried into the elevator. Martin rode with us, stoic-faced and calm as ever as Mikhail issued orders. To ensure Andre is handling everything in his stead as he watched over Anya. Then, facing me, he asked, “What else? What do you need? What does she need?”
I couldn’t answer that until I’d really assessed her, but I knew what he wanted to hear. Equipment, materials, resources. He was depending on me to direct her care.
“I can’t tell yet, but I don’t think she needs to go in for a scan or anything.” I shook my head. “If you have a stethoscope or anything…” I hated the desperation to make sure this teen was okay without any resources to do so.
“I’ll get whatever was left from Dr. Young’s things,” Martin said.
The doors opened at the floor where Anya’s room was located, and Mikhail carried her off the elevator. Martin left us, striding quickly in the opposite direction.
“Our former physician,” Mikhail explained as we went.
I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I recalled, faintly, that he’d said he used to employ his own medical staff. Now wasn’t the time to elaborate on it.
“Wait!” I stopped him at Anya’s room and shook my head. Down the hall, Martin doubled back.
“Is there a guest room she can have instead of this one? In case the memory of…”
Mikhail let out a deep breath, as if glad I'd thought of that. She might freak out being back in the bedroom she’d been in when she was kidnapped. He nodded and carried her down the hall, Martin suggesting another room to use instead.
Mikhail lowered to set Anya down on the bed, and I didn’t stray far. A maid appeared, concerned but serious, and I issued more requests to her. Gauze and towels would do me the most good so far. Mikhail stepped back, watching as I gently urged Anya to lie back and let me check over her. She acquiesced, no longercurled in a fetal position. Perhaps being in her room gave her the illusion of protection, and she didn’t need to hunch over in such a severe defensive pose.
Mikhail didn’t speak, but I felt every second of his presence behind us. Martin appeared with a doctor’s bag full of basic instruments. Behind him, a guard wheeled in a vitals cart. After him were a couple of Orlov men pushing an ultrasound machine inside.
If I weren’t in the zone and focused on Anya’s care, I would’ve let the surprise in. Why would they have all this stuff? What happened to this former doctor? Questions would have to wait. Or they could be forgotten entirely. It wasn’t my business, was it?
For an hour, I cleaned the scared girl up. Compressing her wounds was the first matter, and as I gently probed at the spots where she indicated that she had been hit, I checked for any signs of damage inside. Using the ultrasound machine, I made sure that we weren’t looking at any internal bleeding or swelling. Based on her stilted and choppy account of how she’d been hurt in the past twenty-four hours, I wasn’t concerned about a concussion either.
“Perhaps we could clean you up,” I said at last once she was stable. “Would you like to shower or sit near the bathtub to wash up at all?”
Mikhail frowned behind me. Glancing at the maids, he flicked his hand, dismissing them all.
I raised my brows at him, silently suggesting that he give her space too.
“Don’t go,” Anya begged, reaching out for my hand.
