Page 6 of Radar

“We can talk it through when you’ve caught your breath. First things first.” She looked up to catch his gaze. “Tell me truthfully, tough guy, do you need an ambulance?”

Chapter Two

Xander

Tuesday

Bratislava,Slovakia

Anna got herself a club soda and ordered Xander a White Russian, just to be funny.

Belov comes from the Russian wordbelyy, meaning "white."

It was an old familiar joke they had shared, but tonight, Xander didn’t find it particularly humorous. At this point, he needed something to take the edge off; he’d accept any port in the storm.

Xander thought his ribs were probably just bruised. Though it was possible the thugs cracked one or two. Something was making every inhale into a wince-inducing stab.

“You go to a doctor’s when you leave here,” Anna said with a schoolmarm’s inflection.

He tapped his glass on the table before he threw back the creamy alcohol as best he could with all the ice cubes. “I’ll do that.” He put the glass back on the table and used his cocktail napkin to wipe his mouth.

Anna turned to the bartender, calling out some word that Xander interpreted as “Shots” because she held up four fingers. Leaning forward, she scrutinized his face. “Street thugs,” she announced. “They didn’t hit you where the bruising would be evidence of a crime. It’s always so much harder to convince the police that you just got the shit kicked out of you when your faceis still pretty.” Anna lifted her jacket from the table and draped it across the back of her chair.

“I thought they were aiming for my nose, but in retrospect, it was just so I’d use my trash can lid as a block, and I’d expose my diaphragm. They’ve done this a time or two.” He pushed his glass to the end of the table, then caught Anna’s gaze. “You think I’m pretty?”

“While you’re rough around the edges, I can see the family resemblance, andIam gorgeous.”

A teasing smile spread across her face, but Xander thought that it was accurate. She was gorgeous by almost any standard.

Her smile dropped off. “What did the thugs get off you?”

“Nothing.”

“No phone? No wallet? No hotel key card?” she asked.

“I’ve gotten into the habit of carrying nothing on me when I can at all help it. I left the key card with the desk,” Xander said.

“They didn’t think it was strange that you did that? That move didn’t make you stand out?”

“Let me be clearer. I left it in the plant beside the desk,” he said. “I’ll retrieve it when I crouch down to tie my shoe when I get back.”

“Clever boy.”

“I would have been more clever had I brought along a broken phone and fake wallet, but the airline delayed my luggage, and I didn’t have time to invent a substitute. The thugs said they wanted money and my phone.”

Anna leaned in. “They asked in English?”

Xander rubbed his fingers on the scratched finish of the wooden table, giving himself time to think that question through, trying to remember the details that were so crystal clear during the fight but were getting fuzzy now. “They were commanding me in Slovak, and I said, ‘English.’ And the head guy asked, ‘Where is these?’ They said monies and phone.”

She let that sink in with a slow nod of her head. “It’s hard to come up with words in a foreign language when a) you’re not expecting it and b) adrenaline is flowing.”

“Agreed.” Xander slid his hand forward and tapped his index finger in front of Anna. “How do you say ‘fire’ in Slovak?”

“Ohen. You can remember it because fires are orange, and if you drop the r, it sort of sounds like the first half of orange.” She tipped her head. “Why?”

“Just something I thought during the fight.” He licked his lips, then said, “Ohen.” He waited for her nod, then repeated it again a few times to cement it in his mind. The orange mnemonic helped.

“I’m sorry that happened.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it between both of hers. “I was looking forward to a nice visit with you—short-lived as this is going to be.”