KATE
Mid-July, Portland, Maine
THE LECTURER’S VOICE droned on and, while the results of his research were fascinating, I found it difficult to concentrate. I was getting married in two days and all I could think of was the wedding and what my life would be like after it was over.
Jeremy had recovered quickly from the exchange transfusion performed to remove Ian Morrison’s tainted blood, replacing it with good old O+. Physically, he was unharmed, but he had no memory of anything that had occurred after that night in December when Morrison took possession of his body. I considered his lack of recall a blessing and told him he was suffering from retrograde amnesia due to a blow to the head. He seemed to accept this without question and, happily, we picked up our lives where we’d left off before that fateful night.
Once out of the hospital, Jeremy was shocked to learn he’d inherited a pile of money and some property from old man Morrison. After the initial surprise wore off, he put the house in South Carolina on the market, hoping for a quick sale. He also discovered that he’d purchased a luxury motor yacht and made quick work of trading it in on a forty-foot sailing vessel that he said we would take to Bermuda on our honeymoon. The sloop was appropriately named The Lobster Roll.
Because of all these changes and his need to recuperate, we decided to postpone our wedding until mid-July and now I found myself within forty-eight hours of becoming Kate Pomeroy-Bradshaw, M.D.
* * *
Deep in thought, I was brought back to reality when I realized people all around me were gathering up their things and leaving the auditorium. I checked my watch. It was a little after seven. I had to shake a leg. I had an appointment at the bridal shop for my final fitting and they closed at eight. Hurriedly, I grabbed my backpack and exited the auditorium. The bridal shop was close by and, as I left the Medical Center, I called them to let them know I was on my way.
As I hurried down the street, I thought about how blessed I was. After everything that had happened, I still had the man I loved. The only thing to mar my happiness now was the phone call I’d received that morning from my attorney, Matt Snyder.
Waiting for a traffic light to change, I replayed that conversation in my head.
* * *
“Kate,” he’d said. “Getting any pre-wedding jitters yet?”
I laughed. “A few butterflies, but I can handle it. You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good. Now, what’s up? I know you didn’t call just to check on my nerves.”
He hesitated. “You’re right. I’ve got something to tell you – something you’re not going to like.”
Now it was my turn to hesitate. Finally, I gave voice to my greatest fear.
“Is it about Sokolov? Did he cut a deal for a reduced sentence?”
Vladimir Sokolov and his daughter, Svetlana, had pled guilty to kidnapping and attempted murder. The object of their crimes, unfortunately, was me. They had tried to kill me last December to obtain access to the fortune I’d inherited from my father and aunt. Facing life sentences, they both were trying to trade information they had on the Russian mafia for leniency.
“Yeah, you’re right. He did,” Matt replied, “and so did his daughter.”
“Crap! Okay, so what did he get – thirty years instead of life?”
“God, I hate to tell you this, but I have to. Kate, he got no time whatsoever. He and Svetlana are being deported back to Russia.”
“WHAT?” I screamed. “NO TIME? That bastard tried to kill me – not once, but twice!”
“I know. I know. And, I’ve talked to everyone. But this had to happen.”
“Had to happen? Why? Was information on the blasted mafia that important?”
“That’s just it, Kate. It wasn’t info on the mob he was peddling.”
“Well, what was it?”
“Apparently, Vlad is much more influential than we thought. He’s close to Putin.”
“Putin? The jerk who runs Russia?”
“One and the same. Vlad, apparently, travels in some pretty elite circles. And, the intelligence he had – well, it was vital to national security.”
“Our national security?”
“Yup. He had intel on Putin’s plans to interfere in the next general election and that info is vital to the welfare of our country. The government tried to get him to agree to a reduced sentence at a country club federal prison, but he wasn’t having any of it. So, they finally agreed to deportation in exchange for the intel.”
“And, Svetlana? Her freedom was also part of this deal?”
“You got it. Listen, Kate, I tried. I spoke with both our senators and our congressman. They all said the same thing. The information was vital to national security.”
I sighed. “So, he gets away scot-free. What’s to keep him from coming back to finish the job?”
“He won’t be back. His name is on all the international watch lists. And, this deportation isn’t really a good alternative for him.”
“Why? He gets out of jail. What’s so bad about that?”
“Kate, he gave away State secrets. Returning to Russia is a death sentence. You think Putin is going to look kindly on a traitor?”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that. They’ll kill him?”
“Either that or stash him away for the rest of his life in a gulag somewhere in Siberia. It’s not the result we wanted, but it’s not all together bad, either.”
I thought about this for a moment before answering.
“Okay,” I finally said. “When’s he leaving?”
“He’s already gone. I watched them load him and his daughter onto a plane this morning. He was handcuffed and shackled. And, there were two armed guards escorting him. He’ll be in Russia by nightfall and out of your life for good.”
“I hope you’re right. Thanks for going to bat for me.”
“Hey, that’s what friends and lawyers are for. Now, I’ll let you go. I hope I didn’t totally ruin your day. See you on Saturday.”
* * *
The light changed and I put the conversation out of my mind. Vlad was gone and, at least, I didn’t have to worry about him anymore. I hoped Putin threw the proverbial book at him.
I arrived late at the bridal shop and, lucky for me, the manager wasn’t in any hurry to close up.
“Your gown is hanging in the fitting room,” she said. “Go put it on and let me know when you’re ready. I’ll help you with the buttons on the back.”
“Thanks,” I replied, walking to the dressing room.
Ten minutes later, I stood quietly gazing at myself in the mirror. The dress was made of embroidered lace. It had a form-fitting silhouette with a full hem and low V-neck. The bodice was fitted with dramatic full-length bell sleeves. At mid-hip the gown opened up to a full skirt with a beautiful rounded train.
“You look wonderful, Dr. Pomeroy,” the manager said as she deftly fastened the tiny mother of pearl buttons that ran up the back. “This dress suits you.”
“Yes,” I said dreamily. “I can’t believe this is really happening.”
The manager grinned and handed me a shoebox.
“Let’s see what it looks like with the sandals.”
I opened the box and removed a beautiful pair of satin flip-flops studded with seed pearls. Jeremy and I were getting married on the beach at Storm and, because of that, my usual stiletto heels were more than slightly unacceptable.
I slipped the sandals on my feet, feeling very much like a fairy princess.
“And, now for the headpiece,” said the manager, handing me the small fascinator hat.
Like the gown, it was covered in lace and accented with seed pearls. In the front was a small veil that just covered my eyes.
Looking at my reflection, I secured the hat with its attached comb and fiddled around with it a bit, getting it positioned correctly.
“Perfect,” said the manager, appraising the result.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, I was on my way out of the store carrying a garment bag and a box containing both shoes and hat. I’d called for an Uber and now waited impatiently for the driver to arrive. I had a water taxi scheduled at eight-forty-five p.m. and I didn’t want to be late.
Finally, the car pulled up to the curb in front of me.
“Be careful with that,” I said, as I handed the driver the garment bag. “That’s my wedding dress.”
He grinned. “Congratulations! Where to?”
“I’m going to the main wharf – to the water taxi stand. I have a boat in about fifteen minutes. Do you think we can make it?”
“That’s tight, but I’ll try,” he said. “Traffic’s a bitch. Tourists, you know.”
* * *
He was right about the traffic. It was bumper to bumper. On the way, I called the taxi service and told them I would be a little late.
“We have another passenger on that boat,” the dispatcher said. “We have to leave on time. But, don’t worry. We’ll send another one for you. It should be at the dock by nine-fifteen.”
I sighed, knowing that this was all my fault. I should have been more punctual. “Okay,” I finally said. “Nine-fifteen, but if you can get there sooner, feel free.”
We arrived at the wharf at ten minutes to nine. The street lights were on and everything looked dark and shadowy.
“Do you want me to wait till your taxi arrives?” the driver asked.
I smiled at him. “No, I’ll be all right. Thanks for asking.”
He helped me with the garment bag and then, with one last grin, pulled away from the curb.
I watched him leave, wondering for a second if I should have taken him up on his offer. I was alone on the wharf. There was no one else in sight.
Taking a deep breath and telling myself I was being foolish – that everything here was perfectly safe – I began to make my way to the water taxi stand.
I hadn’t gone but ten yards or so when I heard something or someone behind me. I started to turn my head to see who it was, but before I could make anything out, a large, meaty hand came from out of nowhere and pressed a damp rag over my mouth and nose.
Frantically, I struggled, trying not to inhale whatever was on the cloth. I tried to kick the man, but he grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off the ground. I flailed about, hampered by my backpack, garment bag, and the box containing my shoes and hat.
As I struggled, I realized I was getting dizzy – the wharf spinning out of control. I tried to kick the man again, but wasn’t able to connect with anything.
I was feeling faint and, when he suddenly let me go, I collapsed onto the wooden dock. I pushed myself onto my hands and knees and tried to crawl away, but my body no longer obeyed my mind’s commands. I fell again onto the wooden planks unable to move.
The man was standing over me now and I saw him pull a syringe from his pocket. Terrified, I tried to scream but no sound came out. Without hesitation, he jammed the needle into my thigh, injecting God knows what.
After tossing the syringe aside, he leaned down and picked me, throwing me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. I tried again to scream for help but I couldn’t. A second or two later, I lost consciousness.
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