Moving Target (Target #3)(13)

“Just get us inside so I can eat, shower, and sleep,” she say, her tone weary. “That’s all I want tonight.”

I get out the car and stride to the other side, helping Chloe out. My arm goes around her waist, keeping her close, but she must be weak and fatigued because she practically sags against me.

Opezdol. Idiot. At the very least, I should have gotten her a snack at the petrol station.

“Don’t worry, love. This hotel has a reputation for great food and quick service.” I nod at the Alps in the distance. “Tomorrow, we will head to Switzerland. I have a safe house.”

She nods.

Her nod worries me. Chloe, even when she was soft and all smiles, always had a verbal response.

The desk clerk quickly checks us in, the woman sympathetic to Chloe’s carsickness. I speak in English so that Chloe can follow our conversation.

“Carsickness?” Chloe whispers as we walk to the elevator.

“Easiest explanation.”

“And you don’t have to worry about jail time.”

I smile at that show of spirit. “Indeed.”

Our room is the height of luxury, a honeymooner suite, which also makes it the height of irony.

“Go shower, love. I’ll put in an order for room service.”

Chloe doesn’t reply, merely walks away. I watch as the bathroom door closes, and then locks. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to escape,” she calls out.

“Thank you.” I’m not about to point out that it would be futile to attempt to flee since we are on the eighth floor and there is no balcony attached to the bathroom.

As soon as I’m done ordering room service, I call my cousin Benji and leave him a message.

“I’m doing a favor for Konstantin, but the package has two legs.”

I end my call and loosen my tie, then remove my jacket before checking the room for points of entry and escape routes.

Unfortunately, there are only two, and one of them is the hotel room door while the other is a balcony with little support. There is nothing I can do except sleep with one eye open.

I check my gun, then sit down and wait.





7





Chloe

I wake up sweating. My stomach cramps so hard that I cry out.

“Chloe, love. What’s wrong?” Dima asks, his hand going to my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Another cramp hits me, and I curl into the fetal position. “Go away.”

“You’re sick.”

Suddenly, I start shaking violently from head to toe. Then my stomach, full of the best food, I’ve ever eaten rebels, and I shove past Dima, my legs tangling in the blankets.

“Let me help you,” he says, unraveling them.

I make it halfway to the bathroom before another sharp cramp sends me to the floor. The tile feels cool against my cheek, and I swallow down the bile rising in my throat.

I have to get to the bathroom. Before I can start to crawl, Dima is at my side, scooping me up in his arms.

“You can’t stay in here. I have to throw up.” My teeth start to chatter.

“Throw up then.” He gently deposits me in front of the toilet and lifts the lid. I barely have time to pull my hair back before my body is twisted inside out.

He wipes the back of my neck with a cool cloth. “Do you know what they gave you?”

I cough and shiver some more. The sweating starts up again, and I moan in pain. “What’s wrong with me?”

He peers into my eyes before wiping my face. “I think they gave you an opiate.”

“How do you know?”

His mouth is set into a grim line. “My brother had an addiction. He did not survive it.”

“This will kill me?” I feel bad for him, for losing his brother, but I don’t want to die this way. Or die at all.

“No. He died because that’s all he wanted. He stopped eating and taking care of himself. His body shut down, and no one was there to help him. No one of any use.” While he talks to me, he’s wrapping a robe around my cold shoulders and getting out more washcloths.

I lean against him, wanting his heat to sink into me. “I’m so cold.”

“It will pass.”

Another cramp hits me. “I have to… you have to leave this time.”

“I can handle it.”

My stomach cramps again. “No, it’s not… Other end,” I finally say.

He scrambles to his feet. “Call out to me when you’re finished.” As he shuts the door, I barely make it to the toilet in time.

Wave after wave of pain, cramps, and shaking turns my night into a nightmare. At one point I pass out, only to wake up in the shower. The water feels as though it’s scalding my skin, but I can’t see any steam.

Dima holds me as my head flops around like a broken doll. I hate that I have no control over my body.

“Dushka,” he croons in Russian. “It will be okay.”

“Can’t you give me something for this?” I wail.

“Only two things will help you—time and more opium—but since I’m not sure what they gave you and soon the worst will be over with, we will have to opt for time.”

“Please,” I beg, tears sliding down my face. “Please just get me some. I don’t care what kind. You have to know people.”