Page 45 of Gone Before Goodbye
But one day, Maggie took too many pills before stepping into an operating room. Or she toxically mixed them with something else in her bloodstream. Or maybe she didn’t get enough sleep the night before, so they hit her harder. Something. Something with the pills and her metabolism went very wrong that day.
And now she’s here.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Ivan Brovski says. “Your husband was a hero. I don’t know if that’s a comfort at all—”
“Thank you,” she says, cutting him off. “Could you please give me back my phone?”
Ivan stares down at it for a moment. Then he puts her phone in his jacket pocket. “Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I can’t let you have it. The features are too advanced. Perhaps you can reach a person in the outside world with it. Perhaps even your sister.”
“The app is self-contained. That’s how I’ve been able to use it.”
“Is it? Are you sure? Doesn’t AI keep learning? You and I don’t know what it can or can’t do. How about if I give it back to you afterthe surgeries?” Then, with an almost mocking tone, Ivan adds, “You don’tneedyour griefbot, do you?”
She knows what he’s doing—needling her like this—but the shame still hits her deep. It’s just an app. It isn’t Marc. Like an advanced computer simulation. Nothing more.
“Unless,” Ivan continues, “I mean, if youreallyrely on it—”
“Fine, I get it,” she snaps. “Keep it.” And in truth he’s right—Maggie doesn’t know all of the app’s capabilities. Perhaps Sharon could use the app to reach her or at least figure out where Maggie is.
That could put Sharon in danger.
Maggie checks her watch. “I have to go. I’m supposed to talk to Oleg’s personal physician.”
Ivan Brovski smiles and spreads his hands. “You are talking to him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ivan Brovski brought her to yet another room.
“How many rooms does this place have?” Maggie asks.
“I’m not sure anyone knows.” He gestures with his arm. “Please.”
It reminds her of Barlow’s conference room. Not an exact replicate like her OR, but then again, all these sleek rooms look the same. Ivan signals for her to take a seat. He moves around the table, sits across from her, and touches the tablet in front of him. The large-screen TV on the far wall comes to life in bright white.
“So you’re a physician?” Maggie says to Ivan.
“Oxford trained.”
“What’s your specialty?”
“I’m a general internist. Nothing fancy. Like you, I served in the military. When I resigned my commission, Oleg hired me to be his full-time physician and liaison.”
“Liaison,” Maggie repeats. “I bet that term is pretty flexible.”
A small smile comes to Ivan’s lips as he taps something on his tablet. The white vanishes from the television screen. “This is Mr. Ragoravich’s electronic medical records.” He taps another icon, and the file slides to the left, making room for another. “And this one belongs to Nadia Strauss.”
“Nadia’s last name is Strauss?”
He gives her a noncommittal shrug and hands her the tablet so thatshe can control the screen. The first page for both patients displays what one might expect: height, weight, date of birth, gender. Unlike the electronic medical files Maggie was used to from the hospital, there are no spaces for billing information—nothing about insurance company, address, social security number, occupation.
“You met your surgical team,” Ivan says.
“Briefly.”
