He paused at the door, one hand on the frame. "I need a drink anyway. Might as well talk to your boss while I'm there." He winked at her, and then he was gone.
29
DIMITRI
The blankets were suffocating.
Dimitri kicked at them frantically, shoving the heavy layers off his sweat-soaked body. Two blankets. Who had put two blankets on him? He was burning alive under there, his skin slick with perspiration, his clothes plastered to his body.
Air. He needed air. And water. Definitely water.
He grabbed the bottle on the nightstand and twisted off the cap, draining it in long, thirsty gulps. The liquid was room temperature, like everything on this godforsaken island, but it was wet, and it was wonderful, and he didn't stop until the bottle was empty.
Better. Much better.
He lay back against the damp pillow and took stock of his situation. The fever had broken. That much was obvious from the sweat and the sudden clarity in his head. He could think again and form coherent thoughts without them dissolving into feverish dreams and Russian nursery rhymes his grandmother used to sing.
Mattie. She'd been here. He could smell her in the air. He remembered her curled beside him at night, his arm wrapped around her. Then, as the fever claimed him, he remembered her cool hand on his forehead.
Where was she?
He turned his head, scanning the room.
The chair beside the bed was vacant, the basin of water still sitting on the desk, a pile of damp washcloths next to it. Signs of her care, but no Mattie.
He lifted his wrist and squinted at the watch face, trying to make sense of the numbers. It was almost two in the afternoon. Mattie's shift at the bar started at one.
She must have gone to work.
He sniffed the air, recognizing Petrov's scent. Industrial soap, sweat, and vodka.
He had been here. Dimitri's gaze landed on the pill container next to the empty water bottle. Petrov had brought those.
That explained the fever breaking.
There was also a container of soup on his desk, probably courtesy of Petrov as well, and three boxes of crackers.
Suddenly, the hunger registered, and Dimitri walked over to the desk. He removed the lid from the container and, using the spoon he found next to the soup, shoveled it into his mouth until there was nothing left. Next, he attacked the box of crackers, stuffing two at a time into his mouth until the gaping hole in his stomach felt a little less empty.
He was about to open the second box when he suddenly heard the water in the shower running.
What the hell? Had a pipe burst?
Walking over, he opened the bathroom door. Steam curled through, carrying with it the faint scent of the industrial soap the island provided, and beneath it a familiar, gentle whiff. It wasn't a burst pipe, it was Mattie.
She hadn't left.
He should probably close the door and return to bed, wait for her to finish and come out, but his bladder had other ideas.
The pressure had been building while he was gulping down the soup, and it was becoming impossible to ignore. He needed to use the toilet, and he needed to use it now.
"Mattie?" he called without looking in. "Is that you in there?"
He heard the shower curtain being yanked aside.
"Dimitri? You're awake?"
"I'm awake. And I'm sorry, but I really need to use the toilet." He pushed the door open before he could think better of it.
