Page 62 of Gone Before Goodbye

He rushes off then. Maggie isn’t sure what to do. That garish tattoo—

on Marc’s leg, on Nadia’s leg—keeps strobing through her mind. She can’t stop it. Part of her wants to follow Brovski and demand her phone, but it’s pretty clear that he’s not going to give in on that yet.

So what next?

Stay calm. Think. Plan.

Okay, since Nadia is still unconscious, Maggie decides the best move forward is to shower quickly and change. If they are serious about her leaving—and they seem to be—is that really such a bad thing? Brovski was right—these surgeries are, in the end, fairly routine.

The staff seem competent in handling the post-op, and if something goes wrong, they should be able to handle it.

So why shouldn’t she head back to the United States as soon as possible?

Because she needs to know about that damned tattoo first.

One step at a time, she tells herself. Do your job. Shower, change, hurry back to the medical wing, find Oleg Ragoravich—they probably moved him to his bedroom already—check on him, make sure he’s okay, and by then, Nadia should be waking up.

She hurries to her room, turns on the faucets, and steps under the spray. Funny thing: Even the shower gives her a nostalgic pang. That had been part of her old surgical ritual—the post-op shower—and she missed this feeling, the light exhaustion, the satisfaction of accomplishment, the clearing of the mind, the gentle cusp between her professional life and whatever awaited her (Marc) when she was done. Okay, yeah, it’s just a shower, but even the tiny remnants of blood and tissue, the workday spiraling down the drain, had been her own sort of purification ceremony.

The shower is also a good place, perhaps the best place, to think, so Maggie tries to come up with a rational reason that Nadia has the same tattoo as Marc.

She can’t think of a single one.

She needs more information. Simple as that. Ask Nadia when she wakes up. Ask the griefbot when she gets it back. Ask both.

Deep breaths.

She changes into loungewear and heads to the door. When she opens it, CinderBlock is standing there like a second door. She tries to move past him, but he blocks her.

“Please move out of my way.”

“You stay,” he says with a thick Russian accent.

“I need to check on my patients.”

“Stay.”

His eyes are on hers, and she doesn’t like what she sees. It isn’t anger or hatred or even determination in them. It’s more… nothing. Lifeless. Like she’s staring into the eyes of a filing cabinet.

She has a few options here, none of them good, but she tries the simplest. She channels the backyard touch football games of her youth. She loved them, especially on Thanksgiving. Her mother, a huge New York Jets fan, would play quarterback. Mom would imitate her NFL quarterbacks, shouting out nonsense. Maggie has always been quick as opposed to fast. That made her dangerous in the game. So, odd as it sounds, right now, with CinderBlock looming over her, Maggie fakes left like a running back. Cinder shifts his body to follow. Maggie pushes off her left foot and explodes past him on the right.

She doesn’t know whether she can run faster than him. She doubts it. But she has now put him in an uncomfortable position. The only way to stop her is to use physical force. That’s a big step up from blocking her path. CinderBlock would have to sprint after her now—perhaps grab or even tackle her. And she might resist. That would be forcing him to take this to a different level.

Maggie is hoping that he doesn’t want to go there.

When he hesitates, Maggie keeps moving. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” she calls out, glancing behind her. “I just need to make sure my patient is okay.”

She can see the wheels turning, even behind the lifeless eyes, but she doesn’t give him time to weigh the pros and cons. He will either use physical force or not. If he does, so be it. She will deal with the consequences.

But there is no way Maggie is getting on that helicopter without talking to Nadia first.

She turns and sprints down the corridor.

CinderBlock doesn’t follow. Or at least not yet. She sneaks a glance over her shoulder. No, he’s not running after her. Of course there is more suited security around. He may be contacting one of them to get in her way. No point worrying about it. Better to just keep moving. The only way they should be able to stop her is to use force.

She doesn’tthinkthey will.

Think. Not know.Think.