He kisses my forehead, gentle and reverent, before heading toward his office.
“Dmitri?”
“Yes, kotyonok?”
“Thank you. For protecting me. For telling me the truth.”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile, and he replies, “Anything for you.”
But as he disappears into his office, I can’t shake the feeling that everything he’s just told me is exactly what he wanted me to hear.
And the truth I need isn’t on his computer.
12
Dmitri
Dr. Orlov’s knock interrupts my coffee, dragging me from thoughts of Katya that I shouldn’t be having this early in the morning.
“I brought someone,” he announces as I open the door, then gestures to the woman beside him. “This is Dr. Anya Sokolova, the trauma therapist Viktor Petrov recommended for your wife. She specializes in severe memory-loss cases.”
The woman extending her hand is probably mid-thirties, with auburn hair pulled back in a professional bun and intelligent brown eyes that I suspect miss nothing.
Viktor’s referrals are usually solid. He’s plugged into Moscow’s hospitals and back alleys both, and he knows who can keep their mouth shut. If he says she’s good, that means something.
She’s wearing a charcoal suit that screams competence, but something about her posture doesn’t quite screamdoctor.
“Mr. Kozlov.” She greets me with a firm handshake. “Thank you for agreeing to this consultation.”
I hadn’t agreed to anything, but Orlov is already stepping inside like the decision has been made. “I thought professional counseling might help Katya process her condition more effectively.”
Katya emerges from the bedroom wearing jeans and a tight-fitting blouse. Her blue eyes sweep over the doctors, and her eyebrows draw together.
“Katya, this is Dr. Sokolova,” Orlov explains. “She’s here to discuss some therapeutic options that might help with your memory issues.”
“Another doctor,” she mutters, dropping onto the couch. “How many of you people are there?”
Sokolova pulls out a leather portfolio and responds, “As many as necessary. Your husband is… thorough.” The pause has teeth.
The way she says “husband” carries just enough emphasis to make Katya cock her head.
“What kind of therapy are we discussing?” she asks.
“We’ll start simple. Grounding. Exposure. Small triggers in a controlled setting. Your kind of memory loss doesn’t heal on its own.”
“And you’ve worked with similar cases?”
“Many. Government employees, military personnel, and civilians caught in violent situations.”
Government employees. The specificity catches Katya’s attention.
“What kind of government employees?” she asks.
Sokolova’s pen pauses over her notebook. “Diplomatic personnel, administrative staff, anyone whose work might expose them to dangerous situations overseas.”
Smooth recovery, but not smooth enough.
“Tell me about your physical responses,” Sokolova continues, focusing on Katya. “Any muscle memory that seems inconsistent with your background?”
