Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I shook my head, my stomach twisting. “I know it’s horrible. But she needs constant care and this is the best I can afford.”
He took my hand. “Come. We’re going to look for another facility.”
“But—”
“The best one I can afford.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “What? I can’t let you do that!”
He turned to me. “She is your family. I will look after her like I would my family.”
I stared at him, tears filling my eyes. I felt like this huge, warm wave was lifting me up: I’d been out on my own, worrying about Baba, for so long, and suddenly it felt like there was someone with me. But there was another feeling, too: as my feet lifted off the ground, I knew I was losing control. If I let him do this, Baba and I would be dependent on him. What if he used it against us?
I stared into those frozen-sky eyes. Then I took a deep breath...and nodded. I couldn’t explain it but, despite what he was, I trusted him.
After a few internet searches, we found a facility that specializes in stroke rehabilitation. I figured that because it was already late, we’d have to visit it tomorrow. I hadn’t realized the lengths places will go to for ultra-rich clients.
We were given a guided tour and shown the spa pools and physiotherapy center, the art, sculpting and games rooms, the gardens… I met the nurses who’d be on Baba’s team and saw the kitchens packed with nutritious, hand-prepared food. “We’ll build a program especially for your grandmother,” the manager told me. “There are also some drug therapies we can try to see if she responds. They do come with some additional costs, though.”
“The cost is not an issue,” Radimir told him. I squeezed his hand in thanks...and that’s when I realized I’d been holding his hand throughout the tour. We’d just sort of done it naturally, and it felt so comforting and right. What does that mean?
Back at the penthouse, I took his hands in mine. “Thank you,” I said with feeling. “Thank you.”
He looked embarrassed. “Your family,” he said simply. “My family.”
It made me think of how he’d reacted to the blanket Baba knitted. Was he being kind to my family because he didn’t have one of his own? “Radimir?” I asked gently. “What happened to your parents? Why did you have to bring your brothers to America on your own?”
He sighed and hung his head. His hands squeezed mine. “Krasavitsa...” he said at last, “please, don’t ever ask me that again.”
I felt my chest contract. I could hear the ragged pain in his voice, and I wanted to help. But—
Three loud bangs on the door, shaking it on its hinges. “Chicago PD! Open up!”
28
RADIMIR
I checked the door viewer and then swung the door wide. Two people, both in suits. Not uniformed officers but detectives. Alarm bells started ringing in my head.
“Detective Winwick,” said the woman. She gestured at the man standing next to her. “Detective Bickel. Can we come in?”
It’s always a tricky dance, when I’m dealing with the police. I didn’t have to let them in, but objecting would be suspicious. I keep the penthouse clean: there was nothing there that could incriminate me. A week ago, I wouldn’t have cared if they entered. But now, with Bronwyn there and her possessions everywhere, it didn’t feel like a sterile, throwaway place. It felt like a home. Our home. And I resented them invading it.
I stepped back and wordlessly held the door open. The two detectives trooped in. Bickel was big and powerfully built, with a slick, midnight-blue suit. Winwick was tall, blonde, and very pretty: I got a hint of her perfume as she passed, like sweet spice and exotic berries. But there was only one woman I cared about. Bronwyn had retreated into the main room and was standing behind an armchair, looking terrified.
“And who are you?” Detective Winwick asked. Her smile was sweet, but I could see her eyes assessing, measuring, trying to get a read on Bronwyn.
“My fiancée,” I said, scowling. I sat down on one of the couches and motioned the detectives to another. I was hoping Bronwyn would take the hint and escape to another room. She didn’t need to suffer this. “What’s this about?”
Winwick looked me right in the eye. “We’re investigating the murder of Borislav Nazarov.”
I didn’t so much as blink, despite the snakes twisting in my stomach. I’ve had a lot of practice being questioned. “I heard it was an accident.”
“New evidence has come to light,” said Winwick. “So, I’m curious, where were you, about 10pm on the sixth?”
Bronwyn hadn’t left. She was still standing there, shifting from foot to foot. She’d probably never had any contact with the police and that thought unleashed a fresh wave of protective need. She didn’t deserve to get in trouble. Get out of here, I silently willed her. “I’m curious why you’d come to me,” I told Winwick. “I’m a well-respected businessman.”