She woke in the same damn bed she’d spent an entire week in, with her chest wound sore and re-bandaged, but at least the stupid chest tube hadn’t been replaced. Hopefully, that meant she’d be released from this dungeon soon. Kingsley had Bethany, and the first thing Katarina was going to do was hunt that bastard down and rescue her daughter.
The bed clicked and hissed before the mattress shifted, making Katarina jump, then yelp when the movement pulled on her fresh stitches. “I swear, I’m going to hunt down a baseball bat and beat the ever-loving shit out of you if you don’t stop that,” she hissed.
She stared at the white ceiling and groaned. Great. Apparently, she’d been stuck in the hospital for long enough now that she’d resorted to threatening beds. This one really did deserve a good beating, though, along with the genius who’d invented the damn thing. Stupid piece of junk moved on its own every fifteen minutes. She’d just be getting comfortable or dozing off, and then…click…hiss! The mattress she was pretty much chained to would self-adjust the air volume and wake her up.
Earlier in the week, she’d all but begged a gray-haired nurse to switch her to a different bed, but the frumpy woman had barely spared Katarina a glance as she’d bustled around the room, checking monitors and jotting notes into the keyboard. “We keep all of our ICU patients on these beds. They help prevent pressure ulcers and deep vein thromboses. And young lady, you’ve been through enough, as I’m sure you know. You keep ripping out those stitches and getting infections, you’re never going to leave this place.”
Upon further prodding, the nurse had simplified those terms down to “bedsores” and “blood clots.”
Katarina gritted her teeth. Bring on the blood clots already. She’d happily trade one of those for a bed that minded its own fucking business and stayed put.
She sighed, opened her eyes, and found the ancient TV bolted to an adjustable stand on the wall. On the screen, a couple argued with dramatic hand gestures. Katarina curled her lip. Soap operas. Before last week, she would have bet money that they no longer existed.
She only wished that she’d been right.
Not only were the abominations to the TV world still around, but here she was stuck watching this stupid, melodramatic crap. How many times could characters in one town suffer from amnesia, anyway?
Katarina cast a longing glance at the remote bolted to the table. A foot away, but with her hands in restraints, it might as well have been a mile.
The only way to watch a different show was if she called in the nurse to turn the channel for her. Katarina clenched her jaw and settled in. As bad as the acting was, she hadn’t quite sunk that low yet.
Besides, she needed to spend all her waking moments coming up with a plan on how to get the hell out of this place. As annoying as they were, cringe-worthy dialogue and yet another plot twist where the main character came back from the dead was the least of her concerns.
Click. Hiss. The mattress moved again, inflating beneath Katarina’s hips and deflating under her shoulders.
She growled deep in her throat. How could she possibly get anything accomplished with the monstrosity beneath her serving up constant interruptions?
After punching the mattress with both secured fists, she forced herself to concentrate. Bethany. How was she going to find her daughter?
Before she got very far in her planning, the door opened, and a man in blue scrubs walked in. Late twenties, with stubble on his chin, blue eyes, and brown hair just short of a buzz cut. Cute, in that Midwestern, corn-fed, broad-shouldered sort of way. He even had dimples when he smiled, as he was doing at Katarina right now, and the motion spotlighted a small nick by the left side of his mouth, likely from a shaving mishap.
“How’re you feeling this afternoon? Sore, I bet, after all the excitement. You’ll be happy to know that you didn’t do any lasting damage. In fact, the doctor said your pneumothorax was all drained, so we didn’t even have to replace the chest tube.”
Even his voice was warm and sweet, matching his twinkling eyes and reminding her nothing of Clayne. Neither did the way he fussed over her by adjusting her pillow and pushing the rolling tray with the water bottle closer. Still, now she couldn’t stop thinking about Clayne and how he’d begged for his life in those last few moments before she’d slit his throat.
Beep, beep, beep.
The nurse frowned when the heart rate monitor picked up the pace. “Everything okay?”
A week ago, I killed my boyfriend to save my daughter’s life, and now she’s missing anyway. Kidnapped by the same vicious man who stole her from me at birth. What do you think, does any of that sound okay to you?
She asked a different question instead. “When am I going to be released?”
“Whenever the doctor agrees that you’re ready.” He laughed at the disgusted snarl Katarina made. “I know the hospital isn’t much fun, but you have to remember that you were shot. In case you didn’t know, that’s kind of a big deal. We need to make sure you’re okay before you leave. Otherwise, you’ll wind up here again, only in worse shape next time.”
The hell she would. “Can’t I just sign some papers and leave against medical advice?”
“Someone’s been watching too much Grey’s Anatomy. Just kidding. That might have been an option…before you attacked the doctor.”
Katarina punched the mattress again. “Oh, right. That.”
The man shot her an amused look. “Yes. That.”
So stupid. She hadn’t meant to attack the doctor, not exactly. The nightmare had freaked her out, and when she’d woken, all she knew was that his hair and build reminded her of Kingsley, and it was like her brain had just snapped.
During the brief time she’d fought him, she’d been half out of her mind, convinced that the man wasn’t
