Page 41 of Girl Anonymous

CHAPTER 17

For three of the longest days of Maarja’s life, Alex hovered on the brink of death while Octavia and Maarja spoke to her, held her hand, cried silent tears, and prayed for a miracle.

Peripherally, she knew Dante had hired a firm of trusted private nurses to monitor Alex’s care, and she suspected he’d hired guards to mingle with the staff. She didn’t ask why. She knew why. If the hospital administration was not happy, and she suspected they weren’t, he would have no one “interfere” with Alex’s continued survival.

Maarja wholeheartedly endorsed that.

When, on the fourth day, the private nurse announced, “She’s made an improvement,” and Alex’s eyes fluttered open, Maarja burst into tears, which brought Octavia off the cot where she slept. As she had learned to do, Maarja swiftly controlled her outburst to explain to Octavia they’d turned a corner, and Octavia held Alex’s hand and cried on Maarja’s shoulder, and Alex seemed to recognize them and respond to their joy.

Within moments, the room was full of doctors and nurses and Dante. He stood with them, against the wall and out of the way, but he watched with that cold judgmental air that grated on Maarja’s nerves like a metal rasp.

Within moments, Alex was scheduled for an MRI, and withinhours, for her first surgery. From now on, all procedures would be aimed to secure and hasten her recovery.

That was the news Maarja and Octavia had wanted.

Dante waited until Alex was asleep once more, then he came to Octavia’s side and asked, “I have a two-bedroom suite in a nearby hotel. Can I coax you to go there and sleep in a comfortable bed?”

“No. I’ll stay with Alex, but you must take Maarja.”

“Mom!” What was Octavia thinking? Maarja didn’t want to go with him.

Octavia paid her no attention. “Maarja is still recovering from that explosion and every time I ask her, she says she’s fine. I can tell by her voice she’s exhausted.” Before Maarja could object again, Octavia turned to her. “Please remember I spent months in a hospital and rehab environment. I’m used to this bustle. I can sleep through the comings and goings. Strange people make you twitch, and you need your rest.” She put her arm around Maarja’s shoulders and walked her toward the door. “Go with Dante, dear. You trust him.”

Dante took over from Octavia so smoothly Maarja knew they’d discussed this. He guided her through the labyrinth of corridors to an elevator, his hand resting on the small of her back in that proprietary gesture that made her want to smack him. He murmured in her ear, “Your mother’s always right,ma petite amie, or so my mother always told me. Octavia has been caring for Alex. You’ve been caring for them both. If you don’t rest, you’ll collapse and frighten Octavia and perhaps set Alex’s recovery back.”

As they descended to the first floor, he maintained that contact, as if he thought if he didn’t stay close, she’d faint or run away or…or she didn’t know what he thought, but she knew he irritated her.

He walked her through the lobby and out to the hospital’s portico. “The car’s right here.”

She blinked at the sunshine. She hadn’t been outside, she realized, for days.

Nate waited beside a black sedan. Dante helped Maarja into the rear seat and slid in after her, and as the car drove off, he pulled her close to rest on his shoulder.

She wanted to ask what he thought he was doing, handling her like this, but the harrowing days and nights caught up with her and she was asleep before they got to the hotel.

* * *

When she woke, she was alone and ensconced in a lovely king-sized bed with fluffy white linens that smelled faintly of lavender, and she felt better than when she’d arrived. That was to say, better than dirt. She wore her panties. Huh. She didn’t remember removing clothes, but she might have. Or Dante might have. Or he might have hired someone to… Naw. No matter what he thought of her, and she was confused about that, he’d do that himself.

Outside, the sun was shining, so it was either later the same day or the next morning, and she was pretty sure it was later the same day because she didn’t think she could have blacked out for so long, not with all that was on the line.

Sitting up, she reached for the phone, but found a note propped up that said in black ink,Alex is through surgery. The doctors are congratulating themselves. Octavia is rested and well-fed. Sleep more or find me in the sitting room.

Dante’s handwriting. She knew without even having seen it before. She was no expert, but she could read his character in the sharp scrawled edges. The words themselves seemed to offer her a choice:Sleep more or find me in the sitting room. But she noted this was not a choice of freedom, not an offer to return her to the hospital or provide a meal. She could sleep. Or she could speak with him.

She didn’t want to do either one of those things.

Defiantly she showered. Not one of the choices—but a rebel,that was her. She dressed in the, again, new clothes she found hanging on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Whoever Dante was consulting had great taste, for the dress clung comfortably to her, the dark red matched her hair roots and emphasized the color, and three rhinestone daisies climbed the lapel to give it pop. She brushed her teeth, fluffed her dubious coiffure, applied moisturizer and sunscreen, and went out to the sitting room—which in her world was big enough to be called a living room—where Dante sat at a desk surrounded by computers and screens.

An attractive unknown woman bent to speak to him, and she slanted a look at Maarja that clearly told her she was an intruder.

Dante flicked his fingers to dismiss his assistant. “Go, Tabitha.” When she didn’t immediately remove herself, he looked at her. She froze, her eyes widened, then she backed through the open door and into the kitchen—really this was a massive suite—and started rattling pans.

He didn’t raise his voice to say, “Tabitha, you’re no more than a temp. You can be replaced. Shut the door.”

She heard him, for the pocket door slid closed…most of the way.

Maarja knew what Tabitha had seen in his eyes; that flat black, utterly without molten gold gaze would suggest the chill of the grave. If Maarja had any sense, she would pay attention. Instead she said, “Charming as always.” She knew the basics of negotiation; she should force him to speak first. But she wanted this finished. She wanted out of here. She wanted to go back to the hospital, then return to normal life. “I’m better. Alex’s better. We’ll be fine without you. Go home. Grieve for your mother. Find her killer. Take your revenge.”

---