See How They Run (Embassy Row 2)

I sit on my stool while he rummages through a cabinet filled with old bottles. He pulls on a pair of gloves and takes out a toolbox stuffed with the kinds of tools that have nothing to do with home improvement. I see scalpels and tweezers and bandages. There are pills in a half dozen colors and clear vials of thick liquids that carry no labels.

“Raise your shirt again,” he says, matter-of-fact. I do so, showing him the gash in my right side.

“It isn’t too deep.” He sticks a gloved finger into the wound, probing it, and I cry out in agony. “My apologies,” he says, but I don’t think he means it. The wound burns as he cleans it, but I stay silent. When he reaches for a needle and thread, I brace myself for what’s coming.

“Do you want something for the pain?”

“No,” I say.

Finally, he smiles as if maybe I’m starting to gain some of his respect.

The Scarred Man works in silence. There’s no lecture, no fatherly concern, as he sews me back together.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask, but silence is the answer. “I met the acting prime minister. Are you a part of her security team now?”

“The last man under my protection is currently in a coma.”

“It was a heart attack,” I say, the words a reflex now.

Dominic cuts his gaze up at me as if maybe I’ve forgotten he was there — that he of all people knows better. I wonder for a moment if Ms. Chancellor and her Society even tried to rewrite him. I wonder if they’d still be breathing if they had.

“Well, as far as everyone knows, it was a heart attack,” I try.

Dominic goes back to work. “Nevertheless, Grace Olivia, my services are not precisely in demand at the moment.”

“Oh,” I say, then add one more item to the list of things that are my fault. “But I guess you have lots of free time, then. You know, to take in the sights … Enjoy the festival … Follow me.”

Dominic keeps working, his stitches smooth and even. He’s better at this than Dad, but I can never tell him that.

“You were there last night,” I say dumbly.

“I was.”

“Why do I get the feeling you weren’t just in the neighborhood?” I ask, but he doesn’t look up. “Why were you there? Why are you always there?”

“I was following you.”

“Why?”

I should know better than to make demands of a man sticking a needle in and out of my skin, but I’ve never been known for my stellar decision-making. “If there’s something you want to ask me, just ask it. If there’s something you want to say, just —”

“Your friend …”

“His name is Alexei. And if you knew him —”

Finally, Dominic stops. Stares at me. “Oh, I know him.” He knots the thread and clips the end, then rubs some sweet-smelling cream over the place where I’ll no doubt have a scar. “You would do well to avoid him in the future.”

“He didn’t kill that cadet.”

“And yet someone is going to a great deal of trouble to make it look as if he did.”

“Why are you following me?” I don’t yell. It’s almost like a whisper.

Dominic stands. He pulls off his gloves. Slowly, he begins to wrap a bandage around my ribs, around and around and around, binding me tightly, holding me together.

“I could not save her.”

I see it in his eyes then: He’s going to save me.

For the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like my guts are going to spill right out.

“There.” He pushes away. “How does that feel?”

I look at him. “Hurts.”

He nods as if he understands completely, then he turns and pulls a small glass bottle from one of the shelves. It’s little, with an old-fashioned stopper. It looks almost delicate, like something a fine lady might dab on her wrists. The liquid inside is thick and clear.

“Take this,” he says. “Mix a little with water. No more than a few drops, though. You’re small. Too much will knock you out.”

“Okay,” I say, standing and slipping the vial into my pocket. He offers me a bottle of water.

“Here. Now go.”

“But —”

“Go home, Grace Olivia. Today, you rest.”

“Okay,” I say again. There is no doubt I’ve been dismissed, so I start toward the door. I’m almost gone when Dominic calls to me.

“And, Grace …” I turn back. “Your friend … he should be careful.”

“He didn’t do it,” I say again.

Dominic just looks at me as if I should know better. “That is precisely why he should be careful.”

“Why? What are you talking about?” Worry stirs within me. “What do you know?”

But Dominic doesn’t care that I am desperate. It’s almost like he doesn’t notice that I’m scared. I watch him fade and drift away. I can see some old worry settle into the lines around his eyes. And I know he’s not talking about Alexei, not about Spence. He is thinking of my mother when he tells me, “Bad people do not like loose ends.”

A darkness descends. My blood turns cold. It’s like it’s someone else who is asking, “What does that mean?”

Dominic looks into my eyes. His voice is low, a warning. “It means your friend should be careful.”

The Scarred Man bound my wounds, but I’m still sore. And yet it is another ache that claws inside of me. Dominic’s words echo in my mind, and even though I know I told him I’d go straight home, I can’t take the chanting crowds or the closed doors. I can’t take much of anything anymore.