Free Dead Reckoning by Ronie Kendig Page B

aapki madad kar sakti? ” The nurse in blue scrubs stopped, her expectant expression echoing her offer of help.
    “I know it's late,” Shiloh whispered, hoping her Marathi didn’t sound too distinct. “I’m looking for a patient. He had surgery. He's my … mera dost .”
    The woman raised her eyebrows at the endearment, then smiled. “Come, we’ll look.” The nurse walked to the desk and plopped into a chair. “What is his name?”
    Shiloh glanced around the area, hoping she hadn’t drawn attention. “Khalid Khan.”
    When the nurse started shuffling papers, Shiloh's fingers itched to prance over the computer keyboard. Why didn’t she just look it up on the desktop?
    Finally, the nurse typed Khalid's name. “Ah, here we are. He's”—she traced a finger over the screen—“second floor, room twenty-five.”
    “Dhanyavaad.” Spinning on the balls of her feet, Shiloh stifled her glee. If she found his name in the registry, that meant he was here. Alive!
    Isn’t that what Brutus had said? She shrugged.
    Jogging down five steps, then around the landing, then down five more, Shiloh hoped Khalid would be alert. What if he was in a coma? The thought stalled her heart. She’d have to leave him and find a way to the American embassy on the western coastline.
    Through the darkened hall and around a corner, Shiloh found the room. She slipped in, straining against the low-wattage lamp near the bed that threw light across Khalid's face. His chest lay bare, a wide bandage around his abdomen. The stark white medical tape contrasted sharply with his olive skin.
    Feeling as if the world had just righted itself, Shiloh dropped her pack at the foot of the bed and heaved a sigh. “Oh, Khalid,” she whispered as she moved to his side.
    For a moment she let her eyes track over his body. An IV taped to his hand pumped vital fluid and medicine into him. His hair drooped into his eyes. Without thinking, she swept the silky black strands from his face. When she withdrew her hand, she stilled. Dark eyes held hers.
    “Hello,” she said, emotion thickening her words.
    “You’re late.” His voice sounded dry, tired.
    A smile stole into her face. “I’m always late, remember?” Why did she suddenly want to cry?
    The left side of his mouth tugged upward, and his eyes slowly closed. Had he fallen asleep?
    “Khalid?”
    His hand moved toward her and grasped hers tightly.
    She wanted to tell him everything. How the two men had tracked her all over the city. Then Brutus. Dr. Kuntz. Instead, she stood there, staring at his handsome face, disbelieving the last twenty-four hours. Maybe they’d been a dream. Here with Khalid, holding his hand—when had they ever done that?— everything seemed okay, right.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Weak.” His head lobbed toward her, eyes slowly drifting open. “Mikhail?” When she averted her gaze, he asked, “The professor?”
    Refusing to move or reveal more through her traitorous expressions, Shiloh stood rigid.
    The foggy haze clinging to his face cleared. His brows knitted against sparkling eyes. “Are you safe?”
    She squeezed his hand. “I’ll be fine.”
    “Hey,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. “Miss America, you’re not invincible.”
    “No, but I’m smart.”
    “That's why I love you.”
    Lips parting to speak, Shiloh shook her head instead. She noticed a cup of ice on the stand next to his bed and lifted it. “Here, your throat sounds sore.” Plucking out a piece, she worked to steady her nerves.
    Khalid opened his mouth, but she could feel his eyes boring through her as she set a chunk in his mouth. “Shiloh …” he mumbled around the obstruction.
    “Khalid, please don’t.” The words tumbled out so fast, she nearly tripped over them. She sighed and once again pushed a smile onto her face. “Just rest.” Running her fingers through his hair, she pretended not to notice the hurt reflected in his soulful expression. “You need to gather your