“What happened after we left?” I ask.
“Mikhail’s men pulled back once they realized she wasn’t there anymore,” he says. “They didn’t want police arriving while they were still shooting up an intersection. They’re not stupid.”
“How many did we lose?” I ask.
Sergei exhales slowly. “We lost four, and two are in critical condition.”
My jaw tightens. “What about Mikhail’s side?” I ask.
“Five confirmed down. Possibly two more,” Sergei says. “They were efficient about their retreat. It was hard to get an accurate count.”
I nod once. They came prepared with extraction and cleanup. This was a coordinated move with a fallback plan.
“Any sign who talked?” I ask.
Sergei’s lips tighten. “Not yet,” he confirms. “And it’s possible no one did. I didn’t recognize any of those men. It’s possible Mikhail has had crews roaming around looking for any sign of trouble.”
“No way.” I shake my head. “They were looking for her. They knew she was in that convoy. I need you to find out how.”
“I will,” he promises, and I believe him. Then his gaze meets mine. “She could’ve gotten herself killed.”
“She nearly did,” I snap. “She got hit because she pushed me out of the way. She almost died because she couldn’t do what she was told.”
I’m fuming, but he and I both know that I’m not actually angry with her. She acted with swift bravery. That bullet was meant for me, andshepushedmeout of the way.
“Don’t spiral about this,” Sergei replies. “It was a tough situation. Anyone could have gotten hit.”
I nod, but it doesn’t matter. I’m already at my wit’s end. The doctor steps out of the room and asks if he can speak to me for a moment. Sergei makes his excuses and promises to check on how the others are doing.
“We’ve just gotten some labs back from pathology. We should have waited to get them until we did the scan, but time was of the essence.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling instantly worried. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, not wrong. Not exactly,” he looks nervous, and probably for good reason. If he’s done something that’ll leave Anya hurt or permanently injured, there’s not a good enough malpractice lawyer in all five boroughs to protect him.
“Just spit it out,” I say, annoyed.
“She’s pregnant,” he answers quietly.
His words don’t register immediately. They sound like a foreign language, and for a moment, I have to catalog my entire brain to determine if that’s a word I’ve ever heard in my life. It takes me so much by surprise.
“That’s not possible,” I say before I manage to land on the word in my lexicon.
“I’m afraid it is,” he says slowly. “We did an MRI, so there shouldn’t be any complications, but I wanted to make sure you were aware in case?—”
“How far along is she?” I ask, cutting off.
“It’s very early,” the doctor says. “Hard to say exactly without an ultrasound but just based on her labs and the look of her, I’d say about six weeks.”
The room tilts, and it isn’t from shock. It’s from the fact that every detail suddenly rearranges itself in my head. Her quiet. Her distance. She shut down. She stopped fighting me, as if she was resigned to her fate.
She knew or at least suspected. How could she know for sure? It’s not like I kept the bathroom stocked with pregnancy tests.
The doctor keeps talking, saying words like risk and stress and rest. I barely hear him. All I hear is that there’s more to lose now. Because it has to be mine, right? The timing makes sense, doesn’t it? Then again, she could have been with Mikhail right before I took her. No, I don’t even let myself think about the two of them together.
It’s got to be my child. She’s carrying my child and she’s been keeping it a secret for me for at least a couple of weeks. I try to think back to when she stopped being so argumentative. My mind is racing, trying to pinpoint an exact date.
“You’re sure?” I ask, because I just can’t make myself believe it.