Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [45]
Jack took a long swig of the vodka, feeling the liquid fire all the way down to his stomach, where it began to burn like a furnace. “It’s part of the reason Annika’s here with us. Two people were trying to kill her. I intervened and was almost knocked out.” He wasn’t going to tell her that he’d shot Ivan to death. “I heard Emma then, she was calling to me. I felt so close to her, closer than I’d ever been.” He took a ragged breath. “I think I was close to dying. Her voice led me back.” To that blood-spattered alley behind Bushfire, but he didn’t finish the thought.
“Oh, Jack! So she is here with us.”
“Yes, but in some way I can’t pretend to understand.”
She let out a long sigh. “She’s looking out for us, protecting us.”
The vodka fumes were rising up into his esophagus. “I don’t think it’s wise to count on that.”
Alli shook her head as if shaking off his words. “I told you once that growing up I felt like I was in a cage—so many rules and regulations, so many things I, as a fast-rising politician’s daughter, was forbidden to do. All I could do was look longingly through the bars and try to imagine what the real world might be like. And then you came along and I began to see what it was, I began to understand that quote from Blake and why it was Emma’s favorite.”
The door at the end of the hall was opening. Annika emerged with Dr. Sosymenko.
“Jack,” Alli said with some urgency because their time alone was coming to an end, “I like it here, outside the cage.”
“Even when you’re puking your guts up?”
She nodded. “Or when I’m crouched in a forest or tying a tourniquet around what’s-her-name’s arm. Especially then, because I can breathe without feeling a pain in my chest. I know I’m alive.”
Jack, noting that it was the first time she’d referred to Annika as anything other than “the psycho-bitch,” rose to welcome Annika back and to thank Dr. Sosymenko. One step at a time, he thought.
“The wound was clean,” the doctor said as soon as he and his patient entered the living room, “and because of the tourniquet the loss of blood was acceptable. I’ve cleaned everything, bandaged the wound, and given Annika a shot of antibiotics. She also has some painkillers and a vial of antibiotic tablets she needs to take twice a day for the next ten days, not a day less.” He turned to Annika, whose left arm was in a sling. “You understand me?”
She nodded, smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
He clucked his tongue and, addressing Jack, said, “Please take care of her; she does such a poor job of it herself.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jack said.
“All right then.” Dr. Sosymenko rubbed his hands together briskly.
Annika adjusted her arm in the sling. “There’s one other thing.”
Dr. Sosymenko produced a wistful smile and said to Jack, “With my dear Annika there is always one more thing. She’s like that American detective, what’s his name, Columbo. That detective makes me laugh—and he’s so clever!”
Annika, unperturbed, said, “I wonder if you’d mind giving us the name and address of your antiques dealer.”
“Not at all.” The doctor went into the kitchen and rummaged through several drawers, returning with a small notepad. “Are you thinking of becoming a collector of teapots?”
“I found what might be an old Russian weapon. I’d like it identified.”
He nodded. “A weapon, of course, what else would appeal to you, my dear?” He chuckled. “In that event you want Bogdan Boyer, a Turk, but his first language is English, which makes things easier. He’s a specialist in many things, weapons included.” He neatly wrote several lines on the pad with a ballpoint pen. Tearing off the top sheet, he handed it to Annika.
Annika thanked him as she folded away the slip of paper.
“He opens at ten A.M., not a moment before. Tell him you’re friends of mine and he won’t try to overcharge you.”
Annika seemed shocked. “You associate with a dealer who’s dishonest?”
“Bogdan isn’t dishonest,” Dr. Sosymenko corrected punctiliously. “He overcharges when he thinks he can get away with it. That’s being