“Hospital records get flagged. Bogdan will show up to help his case and make things worse.” I crouch in front of her and add, “I know a doctor. Someone who works with your family quite a bit. I think he’s in town for a conference. He’ll come here and examine her, so there won’t be any paperwork.”
“But if someone sees him?—”
“I know it’s a risk, but Kira needs help, and I’m not going to let anything happen to her, even if it means Bogdan’s people spot the doctor coming in. He can’t get into the apartment like he could a hospital room.”
She stares at me with fear warring with trust on her face. Then, she nods.
I make the call from the hallway. Dr. Orlov answers on the fourth ring, his voice thick with sleep.
“This had better be important.”
“I need you at an address in St. Petersburg. Child with a high fever. No hospital. No records.”
A pause. “Kozlov business?”
“Close enough.”
He sighs. “Give me the address. I’ll be there in forty minutes.”
I return to Kira’s room with the Tylenol and a glass of water. Daria coaxes her daughter into swallowing the medicine, but Kira keeps crying, reaching for me with one small hand.
“Pyotr,” she whimpers. “Stay.”
Something constricts in my chest, and I swallow hard before replying, “I’m not going anywhere, malyshka.”
Dr. Orlov arrives at 3:32 a.m. to examine Kira like someone who’s spent decades treating children. Daria hovers by the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself.
“Viral infection,” he announces after checking her throat and ears. “Common at this age. The fever should break within twenty-four to forty-eight hours with rest and fluids.” He pulls a prescription pad from his bag. “I’ll leave you with antibiotics in case it develops into something bacterial, but for now, keep her hydrated and comfortable.”
“That’s it?” Daria asks. “She’ll be okay?”
He smiles reassuringly. “Children are resilient. She’ll bounce back faster than you expect.”
I walk him to the door while Daria stays with Kira.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I know this was a risk.”
“For a Kozlov?” He shrugs into his coat. “I’ve taken bigger risks. This was a refreshingly normal visit. Take care of that little girl.”
“I intend to.”
I watch him disappear down the stairwell, then inspect the street from the window. One of Bogdan’s watchers is standing near the corner with his phone to his ear. He’s looking right at the building entrance.
He saw the doctor leave, at the very least.
I close the curtain and push the thought aside. Kira needed help. We’ll deal with the rest when it comes.
The next few hours pass in a haze of cool cloths, temperature checks, and Kira’s small, fevered whimpers.
I send Daria to sleep around 7 a.m., promising to wake her if anything changes. She argues, but exhaustion wins, and she curls up on the couch in the living room where she can hear if Kira calls for her.
I glance toward the living room. Daria’s curled up on the couch. Something in my chest pulls tight.
I settle into the chair beside Kira’s bed and keep watch.
At some point, she reaches for my hand in the dark. Her fingers are so small against my palm, and her grip is weak but insistent.
“Don’t leave,” she mumbles, half-asleep. “Promise you won’t leave.”
