“I understand.” Happy to get even a glimpse of Diya, I followed the nurse upstairs. The woman with the unread book was gone from the waiting area, but the couple was still there; they offered me small, tired smiles when I passed by—and I realized they must’ve told the nurse I’d gone downstairs with the police.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to them before we turned left to close the short distance to the ICU.
It was easy to find my wife once I was through the doors; the three patient beds I could see were placed in a generous space directly in front of the nurses’ station—from where the staff could keep a constant eye on them and intervene at a second’s notice. However, thatwas the secondary level of care—the first would come, I saw, from the nurses seated at the small stations directly in front of the beds.
One nurse to one patient.
The seats and desks for the assigned nurses were higher than the beds, so they could easily monitor their patients.
Each bed also had a curtain that could be pulled fully around it for privacy—as long as the nurses never lost their line of sight.
Only Diya’s curtains were pushed all the way back right now.
And Diya, my Diya, looked so small and pale, far too many lines going out of her, far too many machines surrounding her. The intricate mehndi of which she’d been so proud stood out stark and dark, almost as if it was hovering above her skin…but for the spots marred by white strips of plaster to hold various lines in place.
Heavier wound dressings covered the side of her neck and the skin by her collarbone on the other side; no part of her body visible above the blanket was free of the evidence of violence. There was even a large, square dressing on the side of her skull.
I hadn’t realized she’d been stabbed there, there’d been so much blood everywhere. Her hair must’ve been matted to the wound. I wondered if the doctors or nurses had had to shave off a patch to check the wound.
Diya would no doubt scrunch up her face when she woke and realized. Then she’d laugh and shrug and probably go hunting for a vintage hair clip to help cover up the spot while her skin and hair recovered.
“Baby, I’m here.” I gently touched her foot through the blanket.
“I can arrange something for you if you want to stay here,” the nurse who’d brought me in said a few minutes later, “but I suggest you go home and get a few hours of proper sleep. You can talk to the surgeon tomorrow—she had to respond to another patient or she’dbe here now. I can tell you that your wife’s been placed into a medically induced coma due to…”
I wasn’t listening, my focus on the rise and fall of Diya’s chest, the butterfly beat of her pulse against her skin. She was alive. The woman I loved with all my heart and soul, the woman I’d watched put out seeds for baby birds every spring morning, the woman who’d danced with me in the glitter and glamour of Vegas, was alive.
I wanted to stay with her all night, just watch her breathe, but I knew the nurse was right. I had to start thinking, had to start trying to figure out what had gone so horribly wrong. Not just for Diya, but because right now, I was the perfect gift-wrapped suspect in the multiple murders and attempted murders of the Prasad family.
Sweat broke out over my back, my tongue feeling too fat in my mouth.
Because this time, I was innocent.
Chapter 12
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Dec 11
Time: 10:17
Interview with Tavish Advani. Full record in official file.
Good-looking, articulate, highly intelligent. Cooperated fully, admitted that Virna had given him a monetary “gift” in the range of a quarter of a million, and appeared embarrassed when I pointed out the client-adviser relationship he’d had with Virna.
“I screwed up,” he said. “We became friends, and when she offered, I was in a tight spot. She told me it was loose change to her. I still should have said no, but she was so insistent that I allow her to help me.”
Not sure what I think of him, but I can see why Virna was charmed. He’s barely a couple of months past twenty-six, but he knows how to talk and say exactly the right words. None of that bullshit young asshole stuff—man is smart and smooth. Big difference between running a love con on a rich and vulnerable older lady and murder, though.
Perez says it’s a slippery slope. He’s definitely got Advani as his number one suspect.
Especially since unconfirmed rumor is that Advani was fired from his job a couple of days ago after Jason Musgrave kicked up a stink at Advani’s old investment firm. That job came with a serious six-figure pay packet—which leaves us the question of why Advani was in a tight spot in the first place.
Man should’ve been swimming in money.
Chapter 13
Aleki had left a duffel bag for me with someone he knew at the hospital, and shot me a text:Hey man, they said you were up in the ICU and I wasn’t sure if I could get in. My auntie JJ has your stuff with her at the nurse’s station in Maternity. Call me if you need anything—I mean it.
