Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
My tormentor might be hurt and damaged, but that only makes him more dangerous—to my sanity as well as my safety.
I have to find a way out.
No matter what it takes, I have to get rid of him.
* * *
I spend most of my on-call shift on autopilot. Thankfully, I don’t have any surgeries or anything else critical; otherwise, I might’ve had to ask another doctor to step in. For once, my mind is not on the needs of my patients, but on what I’m going to have to do to deal with my stalker.
It won’t be easy, and it will certainly be dangerous, but I don’t see any other choice.
I can’t spend another night in the arms of a man I hate.
I’m almost finished for the day when I run into Joe Levinson in the hallway. I walk past him at first, but he calls out my name, and I recognize the tall, lean man with sandy hair.
“Joe, hi,” I say, smiling. We had a good time chatting at my parents’ dinner on Saturday, and pretty much every other time we’ve run into each other over the years thanks to the Levinsons’ friendship with my parents. Under different circumstances—say, if I hadn’t been married, then violently widowed—I might’ve considered going out on a date with Joe, both to please my parents and because I genuinely like him. He doesn’t make my pulse race, but he’s a nice guy, and that counts for a lot in my book. “What are you doing here?”
“This,” he says ruefully, raising his right hand to display a thickly bandaged finger.
“Oh, no! What happened?”
He makes a face. “I got into a fight with a food processor, and the food processor won.”
“Ouch.” I wince as I picture that in my mind. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that they can’t put in stitches. I’m going to have to wait for the bleeding to stop on its own.”
“Ooh, sorry. So you came into the ER with this?”
“Yeah, but I obviously overreacted. I mean, there was blood everywhere, and the tip of the finger is pretty much pulp, but they said it’ll heal and I might not even have that bad of a scar.”
“Oh, that’s good. I hope it heals up soon.”
He grins at me, his blue eyes twinkling. “Thanks, me too.”
I smile back and am about to continue down the hallway when he says, “Hey, Sara…”
I cringe internally at the hesitant expression on his face. “Yes?” I hope he’s not about to—
“I was going to call you, but since I ran into you… What are you doing this Friday?” he asks, confirming my suspicion. “Because there’s this really great art exhibit downtown, and—”
“I’m sorry. I can’t.” The refusal is automatic, and it’s only when I see the crestfallen look on Joe’s face that I realize how rude I’m being. Feeling terrible, I backtrack. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I might be on call on Friday, and I don’t know if—”
“It’s okay. No worries.” He puts on a smile that I instantly recognize as fake. I often wear one just like it when covering up emotional turmoil.
Shit. He must like me more than I realized.
“Do you want to do something else instead?” I offer before I can think better of it. “Not Friday, but maybe in a couple of weeks?”
Joe’s smile turns genuine, his eyes crinkling attractively at the corners. “Sure. How about dinner the weekend after this one? I know this little Italian place that makes the best lasagna.”
“That sounds good,” I say, already regretting the impulse. What if I don’t manage to resolve my stalker situation by then? It’s too late to back out now, though, so I say, “How about we nail down the day and time closer to then? My schedule changes all the time, and—”
“Say no more. I completely understand.” He gives me a big grin. “I have your number, so I’ll just give you a call next week, and you let me know what time works best for you, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you then,” I say and hurry down the hallway before I can stick my foot in my mouth again.
I have one last patient to see, and then I can carry out my mission.
If all goes well, by tomorrow, I’ll be free.
Chapter 25
Peter
“Are you going to see her again tonight?” Anton asks in Russian, looking up from the laptop as I enter the living room. As usual, the former pilot is dressed in black from head to toe and armed to the teeth, even though our suburban hideout is as safe as it gets. Like the rest of my crew, he’s a lethal motherfucker, and though we often rib him about his hipster-ish long hair and thick black beard, he looks exactly like what he is: a former Spetsnaz assassin.