Chapter 14

She scratched the passenger side of my Denali!

My blood heats at the sight.

It's bad enough I've had to chase my wife down to this nursing home, but when I get here, I find my car—that she stole out of my garage—scratched and dented.

Was she hurt in this accident? And why the hell did she not stop to report it? Or call me?

I made sure to have my phone number in her cell, at the same time I installed the tracking app. She should have called me when she was hit. Or better, she could have answered my calls when I placed them.

Sidestepping two paramedics working their way down the steps carrying their EMT bags, I charge the entrance of the assisted living facility, Generations at Lincoln Square.

The thick stench of cleaning chemicals sucks the air from my lungs once I'm inside. Old furniture dots the small waiting area to side of the front desk that looks like it's been a permanent fixture of the building since it was built in the seventies.

The receptionist, an older woman wearing a brown blazer with a name tag pinned on at an angle, tries to stop me but a simple glance her way and she smiles and waves.

I know where Cora is.

Her mother, Marion Christenson, is a patient here on the fifth floor. The elevator is cramped and there's a dent in the elevator door. Like it's been kicked from the inside.

Metal grates as the doors slide open for me and I step out of the death box into the most obnoxious fluorescent lighting I've encountered.

"I'm looking for my wife. She's visiting her mother. Marion Christenson." I interrupt two nurses at the first station I come to.

The older of the two turns to me, ready to argue, I'm sure with being interrupted, but as soon as she looks at me, she snaps her mouth shut.

"I didn't know Cora was married." The second nurse gets up from her rolling chair. Her name tag reads Samantha. She has soft red hair pulled up into a high ponytail that swishes when she walks around her counterpart and out of the station.

"I'll show you. I was just going to do a check on Marion," she says, stepping in front of me.

My shoes click along the linoleum flooring of the hallway as she takes me down the corridor. One of the doors to a room is open, and when I peek inside, I find an elderly man standing naked in front of the television.

"Mrs. Clevendale, you shouldn't be here." Samantha hurries to an elderly woman shuffling her way down the hall toward us. "How did you get down here?" She stops the older woman while grabbing the little walkie-talkie she has hooked to the elastic of her pants.

"Marion's room is the third door on the left." She gestures for me to go ahead while she deals with the lost woman.

"This is Samantha on fifth. Mrs. Clevendale has found her way down here again. Will you send someone down to get her?" I overhear her on the walkie while she escorts the woman back to the nurse's station.

The irritation I harbored over the damage to my car has been replaced with blood-boiling anger at how inept this facility seems to be in taking care of its patients. How can an elderly woman who is clearly confused be able to sneak away from her floor without anyone taking notice?

When I reach the third door, I find it slightly ajar.

"You'd think I was crazy if you knew what was going on right now." Cora's voice carries.

There's no response.

I push the door open more and find her sitting in a recliner rocking gently beside a bed where her mom sleeps.

Cora must sense me, because she jerks her head up and sees me.

"Sergei." She jumps to her feet. Looking down at her mom then me, she gives me a pleading look. I don't know all of her little mannerisms yet, but I know that expression. She doesn't want me to wake her mother.

I give a short nod and step inside, shutting the door quietly behind me.

"How'd you find me?" she asks softly, walking around the bed. She meets me in the living area of the room.

The place is set up like a mini apartment. There's a TV area with a writing desk and a small round table where I assume she eats her meals. A full bath is also attached to the room. It's the tiniest apartment I've ever seen.

Paint is chipping on the door to the bathroom. And the decades-old wallpaper is peeling at the seams.

"Did you really think I wouldn't have my car tracked?" I ask in a low voice, not wanting to wake her mom. "Or you?"

She frowns. "You have a tracker on me?"

"Your phone," I answer. "You have a tendency to take off when you're not supposed to."

"I had to." She folds her arms over her stomach. "She needed me." She looks back at her mom.

There's a bandage on her mom's forehead I didn't see right away. It's covered slightly by a curl of her short gray hair.

"Is she alright?" I ask, moving closer to the bed.

"She fell. They had to put stitches in, and she hates the doctors. She fights them." She takes a long breath. "I needed to get here so I could sit with her. She's calmer when I'm here."

I nod. "Marlena and Izzy said it was urgent." Those two took to her defense the moment I stepped out of my office and found my bride gone. They had no idea where she went, only that there was some sort of emergency and she had to leave.

"Did they give her something to sleep?" I ask. We're not being loud, but it's the middle of the afternoon and she seems to be in a deep sleep.

"They did." She tenses. "I told them not to, but they said they had to because she kept reaching for the bandage. The only reason they don't have her in the bed binds is because I'm with her."

"They wanted to bind her to the bed?" My teeth click when I clench them.

"She doesn't understand." Cora shakes her head and moves back around the bed where she was sitting. "She has Alzheimer's," she explains as she sinks back into the recliner. "She thinks the doctors are trying to kill her." Her shoulders sag.

"How long has she lived here?" I ask, looking around at the aged room. At least it's clean.

"A year. My dad died and I couldn't take care of her like she needed. She's in late stages now. She needs help with almost everything. He was barely able to keep up himself." She brushes her fingertips across her mother's forehead, pushing away the hair to look at the bandage.

"The money you need, it's for this place?" It's too much, whatever they're charging.

"Dad spent everything they had taking care of her. The best doctors he could find, medicines, home care, all of it cost him everything. It was only after his heart attack that I found out how bad they were doing financially. Without his insurance, she had to go on public aid. She's too young for Medicare." She doesn't meet my gaze as she explains. Like this is somehow her doing. She's failed in some way.

"And this is what they cover?"

She laughs, but it lacks all joy.

"No. They don't even cover all of this. And now they've denied any and all coverage because I sold her house last year to pay off her credit card debts and the mountain of bills that my dad hadn't put on his credit cards. They say she has too much money, even though she has none."

"So, you needed the cash to pay the bill."

She nods.

"Until I can get them to straighten it out, I have to pay out of pocket. The money you gave me will cover next month, and some of the month after that."

Tension makes my shoulders ache. She agreed to marry me to make sure her mother had a place to live.

There's a soft knock on the door before Samantha enters.

"Hi," she whispers. "Is she finally asleep?"

"Yeah." Cora gets back to her feet, folds her arms over her stomach again. "I think she'll sleep for the rest of the day."

"She probably will. They had to give her a larger dose this time." The nurse walks around the bed and leans over the bed, checking the bandage.

"I think it finally stopped bleeding," Cora says.

"Head wounds are the nastiest." Samantha stands up again. "You didn't tell me you were married," she whispers over the bed to her.

Cora's cheeks redden. "It's new."

"Very new," I add to the conversation. They're not being in the least discreet.

"Gotcha." Samantha checks the phone attached to her hip. "Almost time for meds. Don't worry about her, once she wakes up, we'll give her the evening doses."

"Thanks, Sammy," Cora says. "I think I'm going to head out soon. If she needs me, though?—"

"I know, call you right away. We always do." Sammy smiles. On her way out, she glances up at me.

"You're ready to leave then?" I ask. There's no reason to rush. I've already cancelled everything else I had scheduled for today. When I realized where she'd run off to, I had everything moved.

"Yeah. She's going to sleep the rest of the day and even when she's up…" Her words trail off.

I move to the hallway, giving her privacy as she says her goodbyes. Once she's come out and shut the door, I grab hold of her hand and lead her down the hall.

"Where are the administration offices?" I ask when we're on the elevator.

"On the first floor. But I'm not sure who will be here, it's already three o'clock on a Saturday."

I nod and squeeze her hand. "I'm sure someone will be around." Or someone that can find who I need. I don't really give a fuck if I have to drag someone from their fucking house and get them down here. This is being taken care of today, and without delay.

"What are you doing?" She tugs on my hand when we're out of the elevator and I head down the hall following the arrows for the administration offices.

"I'm taking care of this." I only release her hand so I can open the door when I find the office I want.

A man in a polo shirt and khaki pants turns around from the filing cabinets.

Filing cabinets!

Who the fuck uses paper files anymore? No wonder we couldn't get any more information about her mother other than what floor of the building she resided on. They haven't gone electronic.

"Sergei. Wait." She tugs on my suit jacket when I step in front of her.

"Are you the administrator for this place?" I demand.

He finishes chewing whatever he'd shoved in his mouth before I barged in and slowly nods.

"Well, one of them. C-can I help you?" He wipes his hands on his pants and swallows hard. "Is something wrong?"

I pull out a card and thrust it at him.

"I'm taking Marion Christenson out of this place. I will have a medical transport team here within the hour. I want her ready to be moved."

"Uh." He looks at the card, his eyebrows rising as he realizes who I am. "I'm sorry, Mr. Petrov. I'm not sure we can do that. I mean, there's paperwork for that."

"No," I state. "This is her daughter, and I'm her son-in-law. My team will transport her and all of her belongings. I would suggest you have your nurses or whoever the hell works here gather her stuff so it's ready when they arrive."

"Sergei. Wait. What are you doing?" She tugs harder.

I grab hold of her hand and squeeze. A silent message for her to let me deal with this first. She tries to get out of my grasp.

"She's not staying here," I say more for Cora's benefit than this prick. I point at him. "One hour."

He swallows again and nods. "All right. One hour. We'll have her ready."

"Good." I pull Cora from the room and lead her back down the hall and past the older woman who's gawking at us as the front doors slide open.

"Where are you taking her?" Cora asks, hurrying her steps to keep up with me.

"She's coming home," I say. On the way to my car, we pass the Denali. I stop short, and she runs right into my back.

"You have to stop doing that," she mutters, rubbing her nose. "It's like walking into a fucking wall."

I look down at her with a raised eyebrow. "I don't like that word when you say it."

She rolls her eyes. "Seriously?"

"Yes. Seriously. When have you not known me to be serious?" I ask.

"Fine. I won't say fucking." She folds her arms over her chest.

"Good." I point to the damage on the Denali. "Were you hurt?"

Her lips squish to the side. "Sorry about that. I've never driven anything so big before."

"What did you hit?"

"Hit? Nothing. I grazed a light pole when I was making a turn." She sounds so damn casual, like it's an everyday occurrence to sideswipe a pole.

My insides clench. This woman is going to be the death of me.

"All right. Let's get home."

"I can drive this one if you?—"

"Absolutely not." I grab her hand and pull her along through the parking lot to my car. Once I have her inside, buckled in, I get my phone out and make all the arrangements to have her mother moved, and the Denali brought to our mechanic.

"Sergei, I'm not sure you should bring Mom to the house. She needs a lot of care?—"

I grab her chin. "Give me your eyes, Cora." I demand.

Slowly, she raises her pretty eyes to mine. Her cheeks are flushed, and a thin veil of tears lines her bottom lashes.

"When I am dealing with someone, never argue with me. Do you understand?"

She swallows. "You mean that guy?"

"I mean anyone. If I'm dealing with someone, you wait until we're alone to argue."

She thinks for a moment. "All right. That's fair."

"And no arguments about this move. That place is a shithole. I won't have your mother there anymore. It's taken care of. I have a whole guest wing that's not being used. She will have her own space with the best medical team. And you won't have to run off whenever the nurses page you."

"Is that what this is? To keep me from leaving?"

I squeeze her chin. Why must she argue every point?

"I take care of my family. And you. Your mother. Are family." I release her chin.

She bites down on her lower lip like she wants to argue, but she's not sure what to say.

Good.

I'm not in the mood.

Between the news Viktor had for us, finding her missing, and then seeing this rathole, I'm not in the mindset for any arguing.

"Thank you," she whispers as I pull onto the street.

"Don't thank me yet," I say. "There's a price for my kindness."