Page 2 of White Rabbit
“How did she fall?” I asked, picking up on how bullshit he thought that scenario was.
“No explanation given.”
“Who reported it? Who called for help? Who comes to see her?” I asked in sharp, staccato words.
“Boyfriend.”
Studying her pale face with sooty lashes forming crescents against her cheeks, I couldn’t restrain my growl at the word boyfriend.
Couldn’t and didn’t bother to try.
That was over. Whatever she had with him... It was done.
“Find out who he is. Everything about him.Everything. And I want all you can find on her, as well.”
I couldn’t see the sharp nod Anatoli gave before the slight squeak of his shoe pivoting on tile indicated his departure.Still, I knew the gesture had been given. By the time I got home tonight, he’d probably know when this guy got his last erection, what he had for lunch a year ago, and all the other minutia that comprised his likely pathetic life.
An assumption. But Anatoli’s doubt as to Brecklyn’s fall and the fact this room didn’t have so much as a single personal touch, even a fucking dollar store greeting card told me all I needed to know. Theboyfriendwas an asshole.
And Brecklyn… I knew nothing about her, save that she was exquisite, breathtaking. Still, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, I realized two things: I wanted her to be mine, but if that wasn’t to be so, I would do whatever was needed to ensure her security.
My curled fingers, stroked along her cheek. “Moya kokhána, you are safe now. Whatever has happened, you are safe.”
Chapter 2
Valariy
I stretched out my legs as I sat in the low, uncomfortable chair beside Brecklyn’s bed. My fingers wrapped around hers while I spoke quietly to her, sometimes in English and sometimes in Ukrainian.
“Moya kokhána, you must wake,” I implored, murmuring as I leaned close to her ear. “Show me your lovely eyes. Tell me everything even my best spies cannot find out. You’re a mystery, my love. I need answers. I need to see your smile.”
A rustle behind me alerted me to someone stepping into the room—either one of my men or a member of hospital staff since Ivan and Anatoli stood guard outside during my daily visit with Brecklyn.
“Mr. Kloboucnik, I have the latest test results.”
Gently setting down Brecklyn’s hand on the blankets, I drew my fingers along the back of her wrist then stood and turned to the physician, Dr. Mason. Thoughthe boyfrienddidn’t know, I had taken over supervision on Brecklyn’s care and to hell with HIPAA laws. With enough money, one could get whatever information they wanted; give whatever authorization they wanted, as well. And I had forked over enough to get her records handed over to me with gold engraving if I wanted.
Plus, I’d had my brother, Kazimierz, a private practice doctor—and our clan’s physician, intercede for me. Not that I would have let anything stop me.
“Go ahead,” I ordered, the two words clipped.
“The latest scans showed no change,” he said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “They still look good, showing normal brain activity. We should continue with your sensory stimulation, and I’d like to discuss trying brain stimulation or a possible pharmacological course of treatment.”
“Brain stimulation?” I asked, the question low and modulated despite my horror at the idea of them shocking her or probing and scrambling her brain.
He took a half step back, holding up one palm at the tone I must not have hidden as well as I thought.
“Non-invasive,” he rushed out.
I crossed my arms, my suit coat pulling across my shoulders and echoing my tension. “Explain.”
“Transcranial magnetic stimulation uses a coil on the surface of the scalp to deliver magnetic pulses to stimulate the brain cells. Transcranial electrical stimulation uses electrodes on the scalp to do the same but with weak electrical currents rather than with magnetic. The hoped-for end result would be exciting her neurons to encourage a shift in brain function. Both are non-invasive and painless, other than, possibly, a slight temporary headache.”
I studied him. Dr. Evan Mason was slight in stature with a slight pot belly, an unruly mop of curls, and a bright pink bow tiesprinkled with white polka dots. A stethoscope hung around his neck and a thick gold band adorned his left hand.
“You’re married?” I asked.
He nodded. “Finally,” he sighed. “We eloped five months ago.”
