I nod slowly, wincing as the mariachi band who has taken up residence in my skull chooses this moment to start up again. “That makes sense. It was so slick. I thought I was smarter than this.”
“Don't feel that way," he says kindly. “These bast- these people have been doing this for a long time. They know what buttons to push and they can make it look legitimate enough that it's difficult to tell until you're trapped. Do you remember any names?”
This time I'm able to hold the cup for myself, taking another sip. “Cynthia Watkins. I have her card in my purse.” I break off. I don't have a purse. Or a phone. I don't know how long I've beengone so I'm not sure I have a job left at Bellevue. “I have to call the hospital,” I say, my pulse speeding up again. “They need to know what happened so that they don't fire me, so I don't-"
“Hang on,” he says. “Take a breath. We’ll contact your employer. You're not going to lose anything. You are the victim of a very serious crime.”
“Okay,” I manage. “Okay. The real estate agent approached me in a deli where I was having lunch with a friend from the hospital.”
Priya,I think,oh shit she must be going nuts right now.
“She was at the next table, listening to me talk about my terrible roommates and she suggested I fill out an application for low-income housing in a new apartment building where she was selling units. She said that phase had just opened.”
Dmitri exchanges a glance with Dr. Morozova. “That's a perfect enticement,” he says, “and just credible enough that of course you would believe it.”
“Anyway,” I continue, “my application was accepted a couple of weeks ago. Cynthia even sent three guys out to pick up my stuff on moving day. They were strange. I got a weird feeling but you know how movers are here in New York, am I right? A friend of mine put everything she owned in a truck and they called her from Ohio and-” I start babbling and it takes me a minute to calm down.
Focus.
“She walked me through the apartment, and then my head started swimming after I’d finished that glass of champagne. I remember her pushing me onto the couch and I passed out."
“Cynthia Watkins,” he says, pulling out his phone and texting someone. “Go on.”
Dr. Morozova is eyeing my vitals on the monitor and she frowns a bit. “Maybe we need to take a break, let Ava catch her breath.”
He doesn't look happy but he nods. “Do you need a moment?"
“No,” I say, “though I would very much appreciate some Tylenol.”
“We can resume when you're ready," he says. “I’m going to make a call.”
After giving me the blessed Tylenol, Dr. Morozova sits with me for a moment, talking about the private clinic and why I'm here and not at a public hospital. “You arrived as a Jane Doe,” she explains. “Based on the extraordinary circumstances of your rescue, the investigator-” Her mouth twists slightly like something is vaguely entertaining. “The investigator wanted you under heavier security since you're clearly at risk.”
The man – Dmitri – is out in the hall. I can see him pacing in front of the window in my room, his brows drawn together as he listens. Ending the call, he slips his phone back in his pocket and looks through the glass at me and I nod reluctantly.
Coming back into the room, Dmitri asks, “Are you doing all right, Miss Blue? Do you feel like you can talk?”
No. I don’t want to talk at all, but sucking in a deep breath, I begin.
Back In the apartment…
When I opened my eyes, it was dark. I was on the big California king in the bedroom, expensive linens, and a dark gray duvet.There was a flame glowing in the glass fireplace, one of those weird parallel ones where you can change the color of the flame and it doesn't emit any heat, just a chilly, artificial light.
“Oh good, you're finally awake."
Someone rose from the armchair by the window and walked toward me eagerly. I didn’t know him. He was in his early fifties, maybe, dressed like a stockbroker with an expensive suit and wearing a signet ring on his pinky like a pretentious douchebag. I bet he's one of those guys who jogs in place at the crosswalk and checks his pulse.
Maybe the drugs weren’t completely out of my system.
I tried to move to the other side of the bed until my leg was yanked straight and I realized I'm chained to it. Ripping back the covers, I stared at the cuff around my ankle, the chain leading from it is bolted to a hook in the bed.
“Clever, isn't it?” he said. He had dead eyes, but there was something horrendously avid about his smile. “I hear the girls are upset at first. Don't worry, I'm not a bastard like some ofthosemen.” He finished his drink and set the glass carefully on the table. “Unless you make me one."
There is a nasty taste in my mouth, cloying and chemical. Like eucalyptus cough drops. Terror tastes like cough drops.
“You have to know I was kidnapped and I am not here willingly,” I try to sound calm. “The police will look for me. If you keep me here, this is not going to end well for you."
"Oh, all that's been taken care of,” he said with a shrug. “No one's looking for you, Ava.” His head tilted thoughtfully. “I don't like that name though, I'm just gonna call you Baby. It's the name on your collar.”
