“I have to look in that truck.” She took a deep breath and stepped out of his grasp.
Stubbornly, she pushed through the splitting pain in her head and the bout of nausea that assailed her. It seemed to take hours to cross the distance to where the truck had been abandoned when in reality it didn’t take long at all.
The car had rolled over a couple times before coming to a halt and while it was definitely totaled, the garbage truck would probably haul trash again. It’s front end was smashed, the bumper and headlights toast, but otherwise it had come out ahead between the two. Maggie was glad the car belonged to the department and that her own mode of transportation was safe in the police parking garage.
As she got closer, she drew her side arm and held it at the ready. The first thing she noted was that the driver’s side door was still open. Whoever had been driving hadn’t stuck around long enough to shut it.
She frowned.
Had they realized they hit a cop and then ran away? That seemed foolish, but not unlikely.
Being cautious, Maggie rounded the open door, aware that anything could be waiting for her. She didn’t let the thought deter her, but as she swept the cab, she was relieved to find it empty.
She felt more than heard Anatoly approach, but she didn’t acknowledge him just yet. They’d have to talk about his boldness later when she wasn’t preoccupied. Until then, she holstered her gun and pulled a pair of disposable gloves from her pants pocket.
“Stay here and don’t touch anything,” she instructed the priest as she wiggled her hands into the nitrile gloves.
Not waiting for a response, she climbed up into the cab and immediately regretted the sudden motion. Queasy, her head spinning, Maggie paused to gather herself and then she began to rifle around.
“What are you searching for?” Anatoly asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.
She didn’t answer. She was going through the glove compartment hoping to find out who had been driving or some other pertinent information. That’s when she spotted an envelope with her name written on it in sloppy, scrawling letters.
Without hesitation, she snatched it out and found it unsealed as she flipped it over in her hands.
Anatoly’s voice reminded her of his presence. “Perhaps it is better not to open until police arrive,” he cautioned.
Too late. Maggie slid the card out where he could see it, too. On the front in elegant cursive surrounded by watercolor flowers was the word, “Sympathy,” followed by a poem about loss.
“Is sympathy card?” Anatoly echoed the confusion that Maggie was feeling.
“Seems to be,” she answered, hesitating for just a second before flipping it open. The card was blank inside except for the phrase, “I’m coming for you, bitch.”
Chapter Seven
Detective Boone was stubborn and while Anatoly liked that about her, he could tell that sometimes it shot her in the foot, too. She should have been resting, but instead of sitting quietly, she was pacing her hospital room like a caged beast. Ever since she had read the threatening sympathy card, she had been on edge. Not that he blamed her, he just really wished she would relax!
“Perhaps it would be best if you sat down, Detective,” he suggested, though he was certain she wouldn’t heed him.
Sure enough, she grunted an, “I’m fine,” and continued her trek across the floor.
Anatoly was tempted to give her some privacy and leave the hospital entirely, but every time he thought to do so, he felt equally compelled to keep an eye on her. Sure there were nurses and doctors here, but none of them had the time to stay with one patient constantly. Nobody else had showed up to relieve him and so he remained, his worry increasing the longer she refused to rest.
His gray eyes went to her forehead. The laceration had been treated, but she was waiting for other tests to come back before they would release her. He couldn’t help but think that perhaps if he’d not distracted her from driving, she might have noticed the truck and been able to avoid it. The one time he’d tried to bring it up, she had shut him down and refused to hear an apology let alone accept it.
No doubt, she was still mulling over the card and while Anatoly was very curious about it, he could tell she needed a distraction. If he couldn’t get her to sit, perhaps he could at least save the floor from being worn down by her pacing.
“So, did you grow up in Anchorage?” His tone was conversational.
Maggie paused, just as he’d hoped she would. “No, we moved around a lot,” came her clipped answer. She was still wound up tight, but she seemed to latch onto the distraction, which suited him just fine. “What about you? I take it from the accent you’re from Russia.”
“Nyet, Belarus actually,” Anatoly replied with a soft smile. “I have not been back in long time.” He realized too late that she was purposefully guiding the conversation away from herself and he pivoted to keep her on track. “It must have been difficult, moving from place to place as child…”
She shrugged, looking away from him to the wall that was full of medical equipment; a monitor, several plastic packages, and a hard, plastic container marked for sharps being the most notable items. She seemed to study the monitor, even though it was blank as she’d refused to be hooked to the blood pressure cuff.
“A loaded statement, Mister…?” A voice from behind startled Anatoly and he spun to see that a tall, middle-aged woman had joined them. He’d been so intent on helping Maggie that he hadn’t heard the curtain whisper open and closed again.
The newcomer was tall, only a few inches shorter than him in her high heels. He recognized her straight away as a relative of Maggie’s, except while Maggie was somber, this woman was severe. The term ‘hard as nails’ came to mind as he took in her impeccable business suit, stern expression, and tightly bound bun. Nothing was out of place, not even a single strand of hair.
