“Camille,” I whisper.
“Shh.” She leans forward and touches my face. Her hand is cold and soothing. “You need to rest.”
“What is wrong?” I ask, my voice a rasp.
She brings a cup of water to my lips. I sit up, ignoring her exasperated expression, and with a shaky hand take the cup in my hand. I sip slowly, my entire torso crunching in upon itself as I swallow.
“What’s that?” I wipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “Pictures of Rob?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs.
“It does,” I say, as firmly as I can. I want to say more, but I can’t find the energy to make my lips move more than that. Everything hurts.
She smiles, her breath trembling like she could break into sobs any second.
“Mom is devastated, but she’s strong. She’ll be okay. She doesn’t blame you, by the way. When I told her, she didn’t even look surprised. That broke my heart. I think part of her always expected that Rob would end up like this.”
“And you?”
She shrugs, grabbing my hand and rubbing it up and down her cheek. I wish I could jump from the bed and take her in my arms or, better yet, pull her onto the bed and fold myself around her.
“He wasn’t a bad man,” she says quietly. “Like you said, he had his flaws. Maybe an extra helping or two—or five. But at the end, he tried to save me. He put himself out there for me. He was … I think he redeemed himself, you know?”
“He did,” I assure her. “He will have a hero’s funeral.”
“No,” Camille says. “Let Mom bury him the way she wants.”
I incline my head as much as I am able.
“Oh God, Erik, is it over?” She blinks back tears.
“You do not have to be strong around me, Camille.”
It takes all my effort to coil my hand around her neck and give her a soft tug. She slinks onto the bed, curling up next to me and sobbing into my chest.
I wince when the door cracks open, my instincts willing me to jump up and grab the first thing I can use as a weapon. The instinct does not vanish when I see that it’s McCauley, though the fact that his air of arrogance has vanished amuses me.
“You are interrupting, Detective,” I say. I’m feeling a little stronger, though the pain screaming at me from every inch of my body has hardly diminished. “I would shake your hand, but, as you can see, I am a little indisposed.”
Camille returns to the chair, rubbing at her face.
“You can’t just barge in here,” she snaps.
“I won’t be long,” McCauley grumbles. “I’m just here to let you know we’ve discovered that your man Fyodor was behind the murders at the hotel.”
It seems Anatoly has been busy.
“I have to correct you there,” I say. “He was not my man. He simply handled the finances for my nightclubs.”
“Yeah, and I guess you don’t know shit about his disappearance, either?”
My smile twitches.
“You guess correctly.”
He leans his hands on the bed railing, sneering. “You might’ve slipped outta this one, Ivanovich, but you won’t get by me a second time. You can count on that.”
“If I have learned one thing in life, it is that we can rarely count on anything. But I suppose we shall see.”
McCauley grits his teeth and looks for a second like he wants to swing on me, but then he backs off from the railing shaking his head. He nods at Camille.
“Can I speak with you for a second?”
“Why?” I snap. “I do not believe you have grounds for that, Detective.”
“No, it’s fine.” Camille stands up and walks to the corner of the room.
The detective follows with the air of a hyena.
“You need to think,” McCauley hisses, placing his hand on her shoulder. “It wouldn’t take much for me to ruin your career. What would your little nursing friends think about you shacking up with a Bratva boss, hmm?”
Camille shrugs his hand away. She stands up straight and looks him dead in the eyes.
“I’m sure I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” she says calmly. “And I think you should be careful with threats, Detective. What would your superiors think if they knew you were bothering an innocent civilian?”
“Now wait a—”
“Am I suspected of any crime?” Camille interrupts. “Am I the prime suspect in any investigation? No …” She leans close, her voice a knife’s edge. “You’re fishing, Detective, nothing more. So why don’t you get out of here and leave us the hell alone?”
McCauley puts his hands on his hips, grinning in disbelief, looking from Camille to me and back again.
“That’s one hell of a lady you’ve got yourself, Ivanovich.”
“Finally,” I smile. “Something we can agree on.”
“I hate that guy,” Camille says once he’s left, climbing back onto the bed with me.
“Forget him,” I mutter. I move my hands through her hair. It hurts, but it is worth it to hear her sighs of pleasure. “He is right, though. Perhaps nursing is not the best path for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You saved my life. You managed to stay calm in hell. I think you would make an incredible doctor, Camille.”
I feel a thrum move through her body, excitement gripping her.
“I did consider medical school,” she mutters. “But the cost …”
“Do you really imagine that is an issue now?” I ask. “The only question that matters is: do you want it?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Then I will support you every step of the way.”
She props herself on her elbow, staring at me with those big blue eyes. Her hair has fallen across her forehead in tight curls. She smooths it away and smiles so brightly I am sure I could fall through the bed, fall through the world, just keep falling until all that exists is Camille and the baby and our new life.
“I love you so much,” she says, leaning up to
