Wynn secured the man’s uninjured arm around his shoulders while maintaining a steady arm around the man’s waist. “I understand we all want the comforts of home when we’ve taken a beating, but this isn’t going to be cured with an aspirin and a lie-down.”
The man turned flat brown eyes to Svetlana. Flat face. Flat nose. Flat lips. All Russian. “You tell him. You
Svetlana formed a protest but snuffed it cold at the terrifying prospect of truth in his words. What was to stop those men from finishing their heinous murder at the hospital? All those innocent people. If it was the Reds, the last thing they should be offered was open grounds to exact vengeance on opposing soldiers too injured to fight back once they’d taken this man’s life.
“We’ll take him to the apartment,” she said.
Wynn shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m the doctor here and this man needs—”
“He needs you to attend him and you can do that anywhere. Though preferably not in the street, yes?” Walking back to where she’d dropped the umbrella, she picked it up along with Wynn’s package, then stared down a curious woman watching them through her window. The woman crossed herself and made a hasty retreat behind her curtains. Others who had fled at the gunshots crept back onto the sidewalk and watched with unabashed curiosity. Ignoring them, she returned and held the umbrella over the man.
“For the safety of all your patients it is best we take this man to a quiet place. I will retrieve anything you need.”
He stared at her. His stubborn need for medical superiority warring with concern for all involved patients transpired like a shifting wall across Wynn’s face.
At last he settled on a decision. “Where’s the flat?”
* * *
Wynn scrubbed his hands in the basin of water and soap as his patient slowly regained consciousness on the ornate bed. The man had passed out no sooner than they had entered the building. Rather rude of him considering the four flights of stairs they had to traverse before arriving at his door with limp body in tow, but the blackout proved to be a blessing. Wynn was able to make a quick examination of the entry and exit wounds, clean away debris, and dress the injuries with a few shirts Svetlana had found in a bureau and cut into strips.
After checking his patient once more, Wynn left the bedchamber and stepped into the sitting room. Expensive furniture and artwork crammed the space with plush Aubusson rugs covering the parquet floor. Faux columns stood in the corners with spiky green plants sitting on top while a marble fireplace was half hidden behind a trolley loaded with amber liquid–filled decanters and tumblers.
Not knowing what to make of the gaudy taste, Wynn ambled to the kitchen where Svetlana brooded over a silver contraption with a spout that looked suspiciously like an oversize tea kettle. Her hair rested in a limp coil at the base of her neck with escaped silvery strands straggling off in all directions. Her dark blue dress was wrinkled and water stained, but her erect posture didn’t sag under the mistreatment. Nor did her odd foot arrangement, one flat and the other pointed to the side. Snapped to the front. To the side again.
If one thing could be said for this princess, it was that she was a brick. Not once had she complained or backed away when he requested assistance. If another thing could be said, it was that this princess was no nurse. She’d managed to jab their patient in the exit wound as the dressing was applied and brought Wynn cologne water to wash his hands instead of soap, arguing he had worked up quite the “aroma” on the trudge through the streets and up the stairs. The sweat dampening the back of his shirt couldn’t deny that statement.
“
“Having trouble?” Wynn stepped into the small yet serviceable room that didn’t appear to have cooked a meal in all its existence. No dishes, no cutlery, nothing to indicate it was more than a passing thought to its occupant.
Svetlana turned to face him, her scowl giving way beneath a pink of embarrassed frustration. “I thought to make tea.”
“With that? It looks more suitable to holding the remains of the deceased. Or sterilizing equipment in the surgery.”
“It is a samovar. A Russian tea maker.”
“Have you used one before?”