Doctored Vows - Chapter 23

Dr. Lipovsky’s relieved huff rustles a strand of hair fallen from my bun when she takes in Yulia’s latest blood workup. “Her levels are good.”

“They are,” I agree, relieved a child won’t need to undertake regular blood workups and serum injections. “Although something is off with her results.” I highlight two agents I’ve not seen before. They appear to be chemical, but the foreign language on the report could be leading me astray. “Do you know what could have caused this?”

Dr. Lipovsky screws up her button nose before suggesting I request a full toxicology report on her sample.

“Shouldn’t that have already been done?”

Blonde tresses of hair slap her cheeks when she shakes her head. “Her original blood workup was pretty basic. A resident would be shot if they ordered the works from the get-go.” She laughs when I grimace. “You got the B12 test approved. Perhaps you’ll get lucky again?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur, my tone as uneasy as my facial expression.

After ordering an X-ray for a child with similar symptoms to Yulia, Dr. Lipovsky reminds me I wasn’t the only person running on fumes last week. She slips one hundred rubles my way while hitting me with pleading I-need-caffeine eyes.

“This round is on me,” I say while logging out of HIS and snagging a jacket from the rack to cover my scrubs. It isn’t winter yet, but you wouldn’t know that with how cold it is today.

“Are you sure?” she double-checks, aware I didn’t regularly seek overtime for no reason. “I’m willing to pay premium prices to escape that disaster.”

My lips twist up when I follow the direction of her head nudge. Snow flurries coat the overhead windows, and the fog is heavy enough to decrease visibility to barely a foot.

Although I’d rather go home and snuggle up in bed with the man who makes me warm inside and out, today is Donut Holes Thursday, so I have to brave the weather no matter how much I wish to avoid it.

“I’m sure. I still owe you from last time.” My heart rate kicks up a gear when the rustles of my coat pick up a familiar scent. Just being housed in the same closet as Maksim’s clothing has allowed it to capture his scent. It is a deliciously manly smell that always makes me hot enough to forgo a jacket.

I pull out the collar from beneath the bulky jacket before spinning to face Dr. Lipovsky. “White and two, right?”

“Please.” She slips the note back into the pocket of her white doctor’s coat. “But if they’re short on that, I’ll take anything. This place is always crazy, but it’s been worse since Nurse Kelley failed to show up for her shifts.”

“Is she sick?” I ask, my interest piqued.

If she is hiding because of our run-in nights ago, she shouldn’t bother. My bark is far more vicious than my bite.

Dr. Lipovsky shrugs before she is called into a patient’s room by a nurse.

“Go. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

My shift is technically over, but since we’re short on staff, I should work some overtime.

Dr. Lipovsky smiles in thanks before power walking down the corridor.

I also hustle, but I head in the opposite direction.

My puffy winter coat is almost overwhelming in the tight confines of the elevator, and the sticky situation worsens when the elevator stops at the second level of Myasnikov Private to collect a rider from the surgical ward.

“Dr. Hoffman,” Dr. Sidorov greets me from outside the elevator. This is the first time I’ve seen him since I turned down his proposal, and it appears as if he is not ready to let bygones be bygones. “I’ll get the next one.”

I stare at him peculiarly. The elevator could carry twenty riders, and I am the only person in it, so why does he want to wait?

I cuss my stupidity when he pulls his ringing cell phone out of his pocket and presses it to his ear. He must have felt its vibrations.

Ghastly winds whip through the revolving door of Myasnikov Private ruefully enough that I have to push against them to get out. The conditions are so horrendous I contemplate fetching our coffees at the hospital cafeteria, but then Alla would have to make it through a nine-hour shift without the carbs she needs to survive it unscathed.

Some good comes from the icy elements. Hardly anyone is willing to brave them, so I make it to the donut shop half a block down without bumping into anyone.

“Three large whites and a bucket of glaze donut holes, please,” I request to the person serving. “Actually, can I add a single glaze donut to my order as well?” Dr. Lipovsky looks like she could use more than an IV of caffeine.

After paying the total and grimacing about the recent upsurge in pricing, I move to the side of the glass cabinets to collect the sugar packets needed to make the pre-brewed coffee decent enough to digest.

I’ve barely stuffed the packets into my pocket when a glossy printout is slapped down on the counter in front of me. It is a grainy photograph of Dr. Abdulov. I’m not well-versed on the multiple entry and exit points of Myasnikov Private, but this exit point is easily identifiable since it is the main one most doctors and nurses use.

I lift my eyes from Dr. Abdulov’s ashen face when a badge and Myasnikov PD credentials are placed on top of it.

I’ve been anticipating repercussions for the words we exchanged weeks ago, but I would have never anticipated for it to take this route.

Why bring in the authorities on a case that should be handled by the hospital board?

I realize I have the situation all wrong when a second photograph is placed on top of the first one. This one isn’t as grainy, and I somewhat recognize the man with snow-white hair and an arrogant smile but not enough to put a name to his face.

He’d be mid-to-late fifties and has the aura of wealth, not someone I generally associate with. He is approximately thirty years older than the third, and what I hope, final man photographed. His face is also registering as familiar, but I can’t pinpoint exactly how I know him.

“Who are these men?” I ask as my wide gaze bounces between two plain-clothed officers.

The female half of the duo is approximately the same age and build as me. Her hair is glossy and inky, pairing well with her almost-black eyes, and her frame is several sizes smaller than her male partner, who is glaring at me with so much disdain I’ll need to check for burns once freed from his gawk.

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t know who they are?” asks the male officer, scoffing.

“I know who Dr. Abdulov is, obviously, but the names of the other two gentlemen have me stumped.” Frustration bubbles in my veins, but I try not to let it be seen or heard. Even with the male officer choosing the role of bad cop, it isn’t his fault he’s been brought into a fight he doesn’t belong in. “If these men are patients of mine⁠—”

I choke on my words when the gray-haired man snaps out, “These men are dead.”

“Allegedly,” the female officer jumps in, lowering my blood pressure by a smidge. “Dr. Hoffman, I’m Detective Lara Sonova from Trudny PD, and this is Detective Ivan Mutz, lead investigator at Myasnikov PD.” Ivan practically grunts at me when Lara waves her hand at him in introduction. “We’ve joined taskforces to investigate the disappearance of three individuals we believe you may have come in contact with last weekend.”

Forever willing to assist, and desperate to hide my shock that I do know these men, I say, “Dr. Abdulov and I work together, but I can’t recall where I associated with the other two gentlemen.”

In under a second, some of my confusion lifts—not a lot. Just a little.

The gate number on the surveillance image Ivan places down matches the gate number Zoya and I used last week, and the air hostess scanning the middle-aged man’s ticket is the same one who ushered us down the gangway when I arrived late.

It is clear we shared the same flight, but that doesn’t alter the facts.

“I boarded late. My fellow passengers had already embarked.”

My eyes shoot to Ivan when he says, “He was seated two rows in front of you.”

I don’t appreciate his tone, and it has my reply coming out as snappily as his expression. “Two cubicles in front of me. Visibility is far lower in first class compared to economy.”

“I’m sure it is. Though I’ll have to take your word on it since I’ve never flown first class.” Ivan steps closer, attempting to intimidate me with his large frame. “Is flying across the country first class something you do often, Doctor?” He spits out the title I’ve worked hard for as if it is trash.

“It isn’t a luxury I often seek out, but a friend purchased us an upgrade⁠—”

“Friend? Ha!”

His rudeness shocks me, but I’ve handled my fair share of arrogant, conceited men, so I take his unprofessionalism in stride—mostly. “Yes, friend.” With the curtesy I usually offer fellow public servants obliterated, I look him straight in the eyes before saying, “If you’re trying to imply her generosity was something more lurid than it was, you better have more than a sliver of conjecture.”

I can take the hits of life better than anyone, but when it comes to people I care about, all bets are off. I will protect them until my last breath.

I stumble back, shocked when Ivan snarls, “I have enough to issue an arrest warrant right now.”

“For what? Booking the same flight as another two-hundred-plus people?”

“Accessory after the fact can be liable for twenty-five to life.” He’s once again up in my face, his breath heavy on my cheek. “Three men were murdered, and you were on the scene before every single hit.”

I can’t breathe, speak, or move when he slams down image after image after image. My recollection of the third man is basic, but it is clear I associated with him more than a doctor would a patient when half of the shots show him standing directly across from me.

A Tahiti-style bar separates us in a majority of the time-stamped images until the last three. It shows him in an elevator with Zoya, Aleena, Shevi, and me.

Although she appears remorseful, Lara can’t continue playing the good cop when Ivan stacks evidence against Zoya and me. Except this time, it isn’t solely my best friend being thrown in the fire with me. Maksim is tossed into the flames as well.

“Dr. Abdulov was last seen entering an alleyway that borders Myasnikov Private on Thursday, September third at 2:58 p.m.” He places down a time-stamped image that shows Dr. Abdulov entering the alleyway mere seconds before a man who shelters his face from numerous surveillance cameras by tilting his chin. If only he could hide the tailored cut of his suit just as easily. “This image was collected at 3:08 p.m.”

The face of the man in an Armani suit is still concealed during his exit, but since he is holding a cell phone to his ear, parts of his hand is visible.

“Are they⁠—”

“The nail indents of a man fighting for his life?” Ivan interrupts. “Yes, that is what they are.”

My throat is already burning from the amount of bile sitting there, but the scald becomes unmanageable when a camera above the cockpit of the plane shows frame by frame footage of me dragging Maksim into the bathroom of our transportation.

This isn’t about Zoya accepting money she didn’t earn.

This is about Maksim and me.

Ivan angles his head to bring us eye to eye. “Need to clean up after bludgeoning a fellow passenger to death?”

“I spilled my drink.”

“That he served you?” He taps on the third man’s image. “Is that what got him killed? Did he not mix your cocktail how you like it?”

“I—”

“Am not speaking another word,” says a voice from behind my shoulder.

I can’t hide my shock when the woman Maksim chaperoned out of his room at two in the morning arrives out of nowhere. Raya looks dressed to impress in a fitted pantsuit and minimal makeup, but her angry scowl is what I pay the most attention to.

“All your so-called evidence is inadmissible. You have no bodies, no motive, and no witnesses⁠—”

“According to your client’s alibis, Dr. Fernandez was present at every murder. We can also convict in absentee of a body.”

I assume they have the wrong person until Raya corrects, “Dr. Ivanov attended an event with her friends and her husband”—she annunciates her last word to ensure its importance can’t be missed—“where some unfortunate fools had too much to drink and forgot to check in with their wives. That is a regular occurrence in the Trudny District. It does not warrant a murder investigation, much less three.”

Detective Lara rejoins our conversation. “Her husband is a known Bratva boss. The Fernandezes have been at the top of Russia’s most wanted list for years. And although there are no bodies, the slash mark in Dr. Azores’s seat is enough to rule foul play.” She turns her eyes to mine. They’re brimming with remorse; however, it is hardly visible through the distrust clouding them. “You have to understand our suspicions. Your husband isn’t who he says he is.”

Before I can demand proof, Raya shoves her hand in Lara’s face, silencing me. “If you’re concerned about some torn fabric in a passenger’s seat, perhaps investigate the airline who places dangerous weapons in the hands of their travelers simply because they can afford a first-class ticket.” I wonder who Raya is here to defend when she says, “Furthermore, my client spent most of the flight in the washroom, entertaining a fellow passenger, as per your evidence.”

I choke on my spit when she nudges her head to the frame-by-frame footage that is timestamped incorrectly. It appears as if Maksim and I went into the washroom earlier than we did. Almost thirty minutes sooner.

With my silence making Detective Lara believe I am supporting Raya’s alibi claims, she gathers up the images before saying, “We will be in contact.”

“If you wish to waste your resources on a dead end, go ahead.” Raya’s tone is neither mocking nor angry. It is more unrepentant than arrogant. “But if you have time to waste, I suggest taking a moment to familiarize yourself with marital privilege laws.” I listen as eagerly as Lara and Ivan when my stupidity is unearthed for the world to see. “They render a witness immunity from giving information that may criminate their spouse. So even if Mrs. Ivanov can’t corroborate the statement Mr. Ivanov issued your department this morning, she is under no obligation to announce that.”

“So you’re insinuating he did it? Maksim Fernandez killed three men for her.” Ivan shoots daggers at me during the “for her” part of his reply. “Possibly more.” His glare intensifies along with the volume of his voice. “There is taking down the competition, and then there is this.”

“Perhaps you should start on client–attorney confidentiality clauses before pleading for a judge to ignore a spousal privilege that has been upheld in this country for hundreds of years,” Raya bites back, smiling vindictively. “You have my number. Use it before ever approaching either of my clients again.”

I’m so stunned by the turn of events that I’m guided out of the donut shop and into the back seat of Maksim’s SUV before I can sort through a single fact.

My husband is a suspected Russian gangster, and I was allegedly used as his alibi for each murder he is accused of.

That’s pretty much what the detectives were insinuating, right? I’m not jumbling things up. I’ve slept six-plus hours every night for a week. My head is the clearest it’s ever been.

Well, it was.

Now it is a clusterfuck of confusion.

The turmoil grows when Raya locks her eyes with Ano’s in the rearview mirror and snarls, “You were supposed to keep them away from her both during commute to and from the hospital and her shifts. How did you fuck this up so badly?”

Ano thrusts his hand at the windscreen. “Can you see two feet in front of you?”

“If you couldn’t see, you should have gotten out of your car! Maksim didn’t want her to find out this way.”

“I did get out. Still couldn’t see shit⁠—”

Ano’s defense cuts off when I ask, “Didn’t want me to find out what? That he is a Russian gangster or that his last name isn’t Ivanov?” I can’t bring up the prospect of him killing people. I’m too stunned to let that fully sink in right now.

Raya and Ano hold each other’s gazes for several terrifying seconds before Raya breaks their stare down first with an honesty I’m not expecting. “Maksim hasn’t used the Fernandez name in years, not since his father left his family without two pennies to rub together, and a heap of debt. He legally operates under his mother’s maiden name.”

Her confession and Maksim’s obvious disdain of his father settles that debate in a heartbeat, but it doesn’t answer all my questions.

“And the rest?”

It only takes half a second for me to unearth the truth in her eyes.

Everything the detectives allege is true.

Maksim is a murderer, and I’m the lead witness in the case they’re attempting to build against him.

“Is that why he married me?” When Raya seeks Ano’s opinion on how to answer my question, I ask it again, louder this time. “Is that why he married me!”

The contrite glint that flares through her eyes has the truth smacking into me like a ton of bricks.

The nail indents I mended because I thought I had caused them.

Our time together in the airplane bathroom.

The vows we exchanged.

They were all for a purpose, and it isn’t close to what Maksim and Aleena made out.

He doesn’t want an inheritance.

He wants to get off murder charges.

And I’m his scapegoat.

“Nikita!” Ano shouts when I throw open the back door of the SUV, slip out, and then sprint down the icy sidewalk.

He could be chasing after me on foot, but I can’t hear anything over the thuds of my heart in my ears. I thought what Maksim and I had was special, that it was fast because it was right. You don’t need to stay in the slow lane when there’s nothing to be fearful of.

I’ve never felt more stupid.

I’m taken aback when my entrance into the foyer of my building occurs at the same time Maksim exits the elevator. He’s surrounded by men in powerhouse suits that scream importance, but his aura trumps them all. He is the clear alpha of the room, and after everything I’ve just learned, it should make me scared to approach him.

Regretfully, I inherited my stubbornness from my mother.

“Did you marry me so I wouldn’t be able to testify against you?”

Maksim balks for barely a second before he forces his expression back to impassive, and then he continues showing his guests the way out.

I’m too hurt to wait for privacy.

I want answers, and I want them now.

“Answer me! Did you marry me so I couldn’t testify against you?”

Maksim’s jaw gains a tic. I don’t know if it is from my line of questioning in front of dignitaries, some I now realize are foreign since they appear oblivious to my accusations, or because two of his guests are barged out of the way by Ano sprinting into the foyer, red-faced and out of breath.

Ano believes it is the latter. “I’m sorry, boss, she⁠—”

Maksim cuts him off by slicing his hand through the air before he requests for the building to be placed into lockdown. “No one is to come in or out until we have a handle on the situation.”

He glares at me during his last word, and it announces my ankle wasn’t solely ensnared the night we wed. The trap tonight is pronged with just as many maiming stakes.

“Don’t even think about it,” Maksim mutters in a low tone when I attempt to skirt past him and follow his straggling guests out.

He grabs my arm forcefully enough that instincts have me rearing up to defend myself. I slap him hard enough that the crack of my hit echoes in the silence of the foyer. We’re surrounded by a handful of the tenants Maksim allowed to stay and construction crew members, but the tension is so white hot they’re not willing to breathe in case it forces them to miss a snippet of the action.

“Let me go, Maksim,” I scream when he walks me toward the elevator while I struggle to be freed from his hold.

When he ignores my demand, I stray my eyes across the people watching me being forcefully placed into the elevator.

Not a single one comes to my defense—not even the security guards paid to protect the occupants of this building.

“Cowards,” I mutter, too angry at myself not to deflect it onto someone else.

“They’re not cowards, Doc. They’re smart.” Maksim lowers his massively dilated eyes to me. “Smart enough to know I would rip them to shreds if they even considered coming between us.”

“Because you’d hate for anyone to wedge a gap between you and your guarantee of continued freedom.”

The fact he doesn’t try to deny my claim hurts more than anything.

“Did you do what they assume you did?”

My stomach drops to my feet when he answers nonchalantly, “Yes. I killed them.”

I stumble back until my winter coat scrapes the glass wall of the elevator, while mumbling, “Why would you do that? Why hurt innocent people⁠—”

“Innocent?” he roars, his voice bellowing. “There was nothing innocent about them!”

When he spins to face me, I learn why he is talking so openly. The red light in the security camera is no longer flashing. His confession is only being heard by me—the person he married so he couldn’t be testified against.

My stomach revolts as more truths seep through the confusion clouding my judgment. “Every time we were together was so you could have an alibi.” When he remains quiet, I continue pushing. “That’s what you told them, isn’t it? You made out you were with me.”

“I was with you.”

I’m up in his face in an instant, stupidly unscared. “Before or after you hurt them, Maksim? Because you sure as fuck weren’t with me when you… you…” I can’t say the word. I can’t picture him in that situation, much less speak about murder as if it is the norm.

“Does it matter?” Maksim asks, his eyes bouncing between mine like he can’t understand the reason for the wetness brimming in them.

“Yes,” I reply, nodding. “It matters to me.”

“Why?” He truly looks confused, like he can’t possibly understand why I am upset.

“Because this is the exact opposite of my beliefs. I’m a doctor. I save people’s lives for a living and you… you take them.”

After a disappointed flare darts through his eyes, he spins back to face the elevator panel and jabs the button several times to hurry it along. He wants our conversation over, whereas I know it is only just beginning, although my next set of words are harder to speak than they should be. “Marital privileges are the spouse’s choice.” Cracks form in my heart when I say, “That means if I want to testify against you, there is nothing you can do to stop me,” proving I’m not scared of the repercussions for threatening him. I’m petrified of losing him like I did my father, and in all honesty, I hate myself for that.

“I know,” Maksim replies, his voice low and softly spoken. “But you won’t.”

I laugh like I am as loony as he is. “Don’t be so sure.”

“You won’t.” His confidence agitates me to no end. “But even if you did, you were not technically present, so your testimony will be pointless.”

“You just admitted guilt. I could have you put away for life.”

“You could,” he agrees. “But you won’t.” He hits the emergency stop button before he turns back around to face me, his speed dangerously slow. “I know you⁠—”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know you,” he repeats, moving closer. Prowling closer. “I know that even though your heart is telling you that testifying is the right thing to do, it is also cautioning you against it because it knows I wouldn’t have done as accused unless I believed it was necessary.” He hits me where it hurts. “Just like you know your daddy wouldn’t have done what he did unless it was necessary.”

He continues approaching, stealing the air from my lungs with both words and a soul-stealing stare that’s full of silent apologies and begs for forgiveness.

“I know that you’re upset now, but you won’t be when you step back and assess things properly.” He pins me between the elevator wall and him before angling his head so we’re eyes to eyes, lips to lips. “And I know you’re too smart to ever believe the connection we have could be staged. Fireworks, Doc. Tension so dangerous it broke through all the lies they told to try to keep us apart. Lightning on a pitch-black night. That’s you and me.” He licks his lips like his insides are burning up as furiously as mine. “Shit that potent can’t be made up. Dynamite that powerful can’t be manufactured.” He tucks a strand of hair fallen from my bun behind my ear while murmuring, “You’re just too scared to admit that right now, but you’ll get there. Eventually.”

“No, I won’t,” I try to deny. I say “try” because I need to work on the strength of my headshake and the confidence in my tone to make it more believable.

“Still a shit liar, Doc,” Maksim murmurs a second before he seals his mouth over mine.

My insides naturally contract, my body choosing its own response to his kiss, but I keep my mouth sealed shut, refusing to give in. I’m hurt he lied and that his excuse mimics the ones my father issued when he was arrested for the murders of the men who brutally assaulted my mother. But more than anything, I hate myself that I still want him after everything he did.

“Don’t.” I moan the word instead of yelling it as planned when Maksim slides his hands behind my back and gropes my ass. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

My body calls me a liar long before my heart. It melts into his embrace when he curls my legs around him before he rocks his hips forward, grinding against me. My panties are so damp, not even my scrubs can hide their wetness. My body is attracted to this man, and so is my heart. It is just my brain struggling to keep up.

I guess that’s nothing new.

Maksim licks my lower lip, and my resolve buckles. When his tongue slips inside my mouth, tingles race across my skin, making all logical thoughts nonexistent. Electricity races through my face as my skin burns with heat. I’m dragged into a lust storm I’ll have no chance of surviving if I don’t keep the playing field even.

“Promise me.” His lips dust my ear as I fight to replace my moans with words. “Promise me you won’t hurt anyone else to protect me. Promise me you will always pick me first.”

“Always first,” he murmurs into my neck, his pledge given without a second thought.

Even with me pushing him back so I can check the honesty in his eyes, the throb between my legs grows, becoming unbearable.

There’s a glint in his eyes that announces I don’t need to hear his words to know I will always come first, but it isn’t enough.

“When my sister died, my parents promised I’d never experience that type of pain again.” Maksim’s eyes bounce between mine when I choke on a sob. “They lied.” I speak faster before he can interrupt me. “My mother had no choice. She was taken from me. But my father could have chosen to stay. He could have picked me over vengeance.”

“No, Doc. He wasn’t given a choice.”

I act as if he never spoke. “Promise me, Maksim. Promise you will never do anything that will put you in a predicament where you could be taken from me as well.”

“That won’t happen⁠—”

“Promise me!” I shout, my words on the verge of a sob. “Or I’ll walk out that door and go straight to Myasnikov PD.”

The slap mark on his face reddens when anger engulfs him, but he tries to downplay his fury. “Shit. Fucking. Liar. Doc.”

Heartbroken, I push him back with enough force he crashes into the brash steel doors with a thud before I jab the emergency stop button. “And as I said, you don’t know shit.”

As the elevator jerks back into action, Maksim glares at me like it is taking all his restraint not to retaliate with the same level of violence I instilled on him. His fists are balled at his sides and his jaw is so firm it appears seconds from cracking, but the only time his resolve breaks is when the elevator dings, announcing it has reached the penthouse.

He blocks the exit with his burly frame for several heart-thrashing seconds before his standoff is broken by the person responsible for half of the confusion swamping me. “Missy Moo, the only sunshine in the world is you.”

When I peer past Maksim’s shoulder, I’m given an excuse for the wetness on my cheeks. My grandfather is no longer bedridden. He’s seated in a bulky hospital chair only the wealthy can afford, smiling larger than the oxygen mask covering half his face.

Maksim stops me from racing to his side by snatching up my wrist. His hold isn’t firm, but it announces his struggle to let me go is as tortuous as it was for me when I threatened to walk out of his life.

His chest inflates and deflates numerous times before he presses his lips against my temple and talks through their sternness. “Our vows said until death do us part.” He inches back to ensure I can see the honesty in his eyes before saying, “But not even he is stupid enough to come between us. Remember that before you ever try to downplay what we have again.”

He guides me into the foyer of my grandparents’ apartment before he returns to the elevator and selects his floor.

When he raises his eyes, there’s so much pain—so much angst. I almost race for him, but before I can, the elevator doors snap shut, and I’m left alone to battle through my confusion for the umpteenth time in my life.