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‘Yesterday… What day is it? How long have we been here?’
‘It’s Friday morning. You slept most of yesterday and last night.’
She’d only lost a day.
‘If they weren’t The Devils, who tried to kill us?’ She wasn’t letting it go. No more secrets.
Alex bowed his head for a second. ‘They were Brian Isobel’s men. He’s an Aussie but he’s lived over here for years. Greece, I think. He’s got a huge drug operation.’
‘What does that have to do with you?’
‘He thinks I killed his brother.’
Isobel? The name was familiar. ‘Jizzy?’
Alex nodded, then walked to the window. She hadn’t noticed any details of the room she’d woken up in before. It was bigger than their bedroom at the cottage in Beaune. The bed had a solid timber frame and as she recalled, her feet had not reached the ground when she’d swung her legs round. There was a faded print of a very old looking cathedral on the wall to her right. The door to the bedroom stood shut. The window was covered in sheer curtains, and there seemed to be countryside or gardens beyond them. Not walls or buildings. A dresser stood directly in front of the bed. Tubes and bottles that looked medical sat next to packages of bandages and gauze. Her reflection in the mirror was pale and sickly, her hair hanging in limp strands around her shoulders. She was wearing some kind of flannelette nightdress.
‘I didn’t think anyone would come looking, other than The Devils,’ his tone was defeated. ‘I didn’t think Brian and Jizzy were that close. Guess he figured since I was in the neighborhood …’
No! It wasn’t fair.She balled her hands into fists and punched the pillow beside her. Hot threads tore her side apart as her efforts ripped the bullet hole open. She shrieked in unexpected pain as blood spread on her night dress.
‘Jesus, Sarah!’ Alex was at her side, forcing her to lay back against the mattress.
He moved back to the dresser and grabbed the gauze, tearing it from its packaging. He bunched the fabric of her nightdress under her arm and held the gauze to the wound in her side. Firm was an understatement. The metallic tang of blood wafted into Sarah’s nostrils, reminding her of that night in her flat and the dead man in her hallway. The memory was erased by a fresh wave of pain as Alex pulled her towards him to examine the exit wound. She fought the rising bile in her throat.
The door burst open and a tall, thin man with wire framed glasses and thinning blonde hair demanded to know in broken English what was going on.
‘The stitches have ripped.’
‘How? What did you do?’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘I heard her yell. You did something.’ The stranger pushed Alex to the side. Sliding his glasses back up his angular nose with a boney finger, he peered at the wound.
‘Yes. The stitches have come open,’ he confirmed. ‘I will fix. Give me your belt.’
‘My belt, what for?’ Alex’s face was creased with confusion.
‘For her to bite. I don’t have any more anesthetic.’
‘Can’t you get some?’
‘No, it draws too much attention.’
‘Fuck,’ said Alex, unbuckling his belt and pulling it from his jeans.
Sarah was barely registering the conversation over the intense burning in her side. The stranger was holding the gauze tight against her again, maintaining the agony.
‘Get my bag, it’s in the other room,’ he jerked his head in the direction of the door. Alex returned a moment later with a black bag that looked like it belonged on a movie set.
‘Here, you hold this tight.’
Sarah groaned as the change in grip felt like a hot poker against her skin. The stranger busied himself in the bag. She heard the snap and watched as he pulled the second latex glove over his hand.
‘Right, come around and hold onto her. Tight. It will be better if I can do this quickly.’
How? Why?
