Bathed In Blood

4

Annja’s heart leaped. She reached out and felt for a pulse.

It was weak and erratic, but it was there.

In that instant, everything changed.

Time became the enemy, a crushing weight on Annja’s shoulders. The woman probably had internal injuries, and exposure to the wind and rapidly falling temperatures wouldn’t help. Every minute counted now. Annja needed to get the woman covered up, back to the top of the ledge, then off to a medical facility as fast as possible.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to try to get you out of here. Don’t struggle—just lie still and let me do all the work. Understand?”

She leaned in close but didn’t hear anything. The woman’s fingers might have twitched again in response.

“All right. Hang on. I’m going to free your arm, then roll you over.”

Moving slowly and carefully, Annja put one hand beneath the woman’s left armpit—the arm that wasn’t trapped—and used her other to grasp the woman’s wrist just above the spot where it had become wedged between the rocks. She braced her feet as best she could and then, before she had time to worry about it a second longer, hefted the woman upward just enough so she could free her arm from the rocks.

No sooner had the arm come free than the woman’s body began to slide downward. Annja had already worked out what to do. She didn’t hesitate, grabbing the woman about the torso while pushing against the rock beneath her to stop their slide.

For one heart-stopping moment Annja felt the two of them sliding toward the drop below as the debris shifted in response to the added weight. Annja held the woman tightly against her chest. The anchor she’d placed would stop their fall, but Annja might drop the woman when the device jerked them to a halt. Thankfully the rocks were only settling into a new position, and they stopped moving just a second or two later. Annja sat with her back to the rock face and the injured woman held securely in her arms.

Annja looked down at the woman she’d come to rescue. Her face was as pale as the rest of her, but even in her present state Annja could see she was beautiful. Her slim face, high cheekbones and full lips were framed by long dark hair that was almost, but not quite, black. It didn’t take much to imagine what that face would be like animated by even the slightest bit of personality. Annja had no doubt the woman had been targeted for that very reason.

Beauty, true beauty, always brings the predators out of the shadows.

One of the woman’s eyes was swollen shut but the other slipped open, and Annja found herself staring into her brilliant blue iris. It seemed to focus on her.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. You’re going to be all right,” she told her. “I’m going to get you to the hospital.”

The woman blinked—which Annja hoped was a sign she understood—then moved her mouth slightly.

Was she saying something?

Annja bent closer until her ear rested less than an inch above the woman’s lips.

The woman tried again, her breath tickling Annja’s face.

“Krv...Grófka.”

Startled, Annja pulled back and stared down at the woman.

That was one Slovakian phrase she did understand. Krv Grófka—Blood Countess.

“What did you say?” Annja asked, not believing she’d heard correctly, but whatever it was would have to wait; the woman had slipped into unconsciousness.

If she didn’t have hypothermia yet, she would soon unless Annja did something about it. Bracing the woman with her knees, Annja stripped off her coat, then gently lifted the woman and wrapped the jacket around her torso.

Now all she had to do was climb out of here while carrying the injured woman.

Get a move on, she told herself. Time’s a’wasting.

It only took her a few seconds to figure out how she was going to manage the woman’s weight while climbing. Taking a few slings from her belt, she fashioned a rudimentary harness and secured it around the woman’s body. Keeping her cradled against her chest, like a mother carrying a child, Annja clipped the rigging into her harness.

If she slipped, at least they’d fall together.

Try not to slip.

Right. Gotcha.

Holding the woman against her chest with one arm, Annja got to her feet and began carefully moving back to the spot where she’d anchored the rope.

Csilla must have been watching what she was doing, for the light moved with Annja, lighting the way. It was full dark now so Annja was glad for its presence; it kept her from feeling alone. Once she reached the anchor, she swiftly unclipped it and stowed it back on her belt. With the rope now free she immediately began climbing upward.

Annja pulled on the rope while powering herself up the slope with her legs. Step by step, she made her way up the slope to where Csilla waited.

At the top, Csilla stepped forward and took the injured woman out of Annja’s arms, allowing Annja to clamber over the edge and back on solid ground. Once there she unclipped from the rope, left it and the rest of her gear right where it fell and hurried over to her SUV, Csilla close at her heels. Between them they lay the injured woman across the backseat, and then Csilla climbed in back with her while Annja got behind the wheel.

“Hang on!” Annja cried as she started the vehicle, threw it in gear and stomped on the accelerator, sending a stream of gravel flying out behind them as they shot down the road in the direction of Nové Mesto nad Váhom.

The village of Čachtice was closer, but it didn’t have a hospital. Nové Mesto might be a few miles farther, but it had three separate hospitals, one of which wasn’t all that far from her hotel. That was where Annja headed.

Knowing time was critical, Annja kept the accelerator mashed to the floor, rocketing down the narrow road as fast as she dared. She was betting they had two and a half, maybe three miles before they hit the town limits, and she let the SUV eat up the distance like a hungry beast, racing through the night.

A gentle melody broke into her train of thought, and when Annja glanced in the mirror, she found Csilla singing softly to the woman cradled in her arms. Annja didn’t understand a word, but the tune and the tone of the lyrics was soothing, making her think it might be some kind of Hungarian lullaby. Csilla must have sensed she was watching, for she looked up and caught Annja’s gaze with her own, then shrugged, as if to say, What else can I do?

Annja nodded back at her, understanding exactly how Csilla felt, and then focused on the road once more, demanding that the car go faster, as if by force of will alone they could beat the clock that was silently ticking down around them.

It wasn’t long before they hit the town limits. Nové Mesto was nearly ten times the size of Čachtice and had the corresponding increase in traffic as well, but Annja didn’t slow down as Csilla leaned over the front seat and said, “Siet!”

Annja didn’t need to be told twice. She leaned on the horn and began weaving in and out of traffic, shouting at people to get out of her way despite the obvious fact that they couldn’t hear her. It didn’t matter; the yelling helped release some of her stress, which, at the moment, was a welcome relief.

By the time they hit the town center they’d picked up a police escort. Annja barely heard the warbling of the siren—she was completely focused on keeping them alive long enough to reach the hospital. When the white multistory structure with a big red cross on the front appeared, she gave a shout of victory and roared into the parking lot, the police close behind.

Annja slammed the SUV into Park and jumped out, hands in the air, as the police car braked nearly on top of her. As soon as the officer managed to extricate himself from the car, he ran for the hospital doors. By then Annja had the door to the SUV open and was taking the still form of the injured woman from Csilla’s arms. As she turned toward the hospital doors they burst open from the inside and the cop returned, this time with a doctor, an orderly and a rolling stretcher.

The doctor said something in his native tongue and she shook her head. “I don’t speak Hungarian.”

“What happened?” he asked, switching to English as he helped her lay the injured woman on the stretcher.

“I don’t know. We found her halfway down a ridge by the side of the road a few miles north of Čachtice.”

The doctor glanced at the cop, then bent over the patient. “Was she coherent when you found her?”

Annja remembered the comment she thought she’d heard. Blood Countess.

“No,” she answered, brushing off the memory as a figment of her imagination. “She looked at me and seemed to understand what I was saying, but that’s all.”

The doctor nodded to show he’d heard her, but his attention was mainly on his patient. He began giving instructions to the orderly as they wheeled the stretcher toward the door. They were met by a pair of nurses and the little group quickly disappeared inside. To Annja’s surprise, Csilla followed them.

As she watched them go, someone beside her said, “You should get that looked at.”

Annja turned to find the police officer pointing at her leg. Looking down, she was surprised to find a nasty scrape across her right calf leaking blood into the top of her boot. She hadn’t even been aware she’d cut herself, the adrenaline rush masking any pain she might have been feeling.

“Lovely,” she said as the pain finally hit. It wasn’t a serious injury, but it stung like a son of a gun. She glanced toward her SUV, then back at the police officer. He was a young guy, in his midtwenties or so.

“Don’t worry, miss. I’ll keep my eye on it while you get that taken care of,” he said, standing a bit straighter under her scrutiny.

She gave him a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it,” she said, and then limped into the hospital after the others.

5

“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

Annja was sitting in an interview room at the police station with a fair-haired detective named Alexej Tamás. He was in his midthirties, and might have been attractive if he didn’t have a permanent scowl plastered on his face. He’d found her at the hospital after she’d had the cut on her leg cleaned and bandaged, no doubt summoned by the officer outside. Tamás had asked her to accompany him to the station to give a statement, and she couldn’t think of a good reason not to.

Now she was starting to question that decision.

Annja had been in more police stations than she liked to admit, had given more statements than she cared to recall, but still bristled at the insinuation that she was telling a “story.” She might bend the truth occasionally, especially in situations that involved the sword, but this time around she was telling the whole story, and the detective’s pessimism annoyed her. Still, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. Getting upset would only make her appear suspicious, and Detective Tamás already seemed predisposed to find the worst in people.

Better to be as cooperative as possible, Annja decided.

Smiling, she said, “Of course, Detective. I’d be happy to.”

She told him about filming at Csejte Castle earlier that afternoon, being flagged down by the woman named Csilla and then climbing to help the other woman.

Tamás let her talk, making occasional notes on the legal pad in front of him, but didn’t interrupt. Annja tried to read what he was writing, having gotten pretty good at reading upside down over the past few years, but the detective was writing in his native language, which might as well have been Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Then again, she probably could have translated the hieroglyphs.

Several long moments later she sat back and waited for Tamás’s response. When it came, it was on a tangent she wasn’t expecting.

“What were you filming at Csejte?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked what you were filming at Csejte.”

“Oh, just some filler for a piece we’re doing on Elizabeth Báthory.”

What else would someone be filming at Csejte?

“We? There are more of you?”

“Ah, no. I’m here alone. I meant ‘we’ in the sense of the television series I work for.”

“Ah, I see. What television series would that be?”

“It’s called Chasing History’s Monsters. We look at historical figures and try to...”

He waved her explanation aside. “So you claim you didn’t know the other woman—” he checked his notes “—Csilla Polgár, until she flagged you down.”

This time Annja let her irritation show, but just a little. “Yes. I said that.”

“So you didn’t meet her here in town? She wasn’t helping you with your television shoot?”

Meet her? Helping me?

“No, of course not. I told you, I’m here on my own.”

“Is there someone who can vouch for what you’re doing here? A producer, perhaps?”

Annja spoke without thinking. “Of course my producer can vouch for me, but what is this about? Why are you...?”

“His name?”

Annja stared at the detective. What was going on here? Did they honestly think she had anything to do with what happened to that poor woman?

She couldn’t think of any other reason for the detective’s questions.

“Doug. Doug Morrell,” she told him flatly, showing her displeasure without actually saying anything.

Tamás was undeterred. He rose, stepped over to the door and opened it, speaking to someone in the hall outside. After a moment he came back to the table and took his seat. In his hand was Annja’s cell phone, which she’d been asked to leave with the desk clerk when she’d arrived at the station.

“Let’s call Mr. Doug, yes?”

She almost said, Look, I’m not calling anyone until you tell me what on earth is...

Annja smiled. “Of course.”

She picked up the phone, started to dial Doug’s office in New York and then stopped. It was close to 9:00 p.m. here in Nové Mesto. The six-hour time difference would make it 3:00 a.m. in New York. Even Doug wasn’t that much of a workaholic.

One thing was for certain. He wasn’t going to like being woken up at this hour.

Couldn’t be helped.

Tamás was staring at her, so she stopped thinking and got to doing. She dialed Doug’s cell phone and waited.

One ring. Two. Three.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Annja?” Doug asked.

Annja couldn’t tell if he was irritated or just half-asleep. With Doug, they were often the same.

“I know it’s early, Doug, sorry about...”

Tamás stretched out his hand, waiting for her to give him the phone.

“Annja? What’s going on? Why are you calling me at...”

“Got someone who needs to speak with you,” she said, and then handed the phone to Tamás.

“Mr. Morrell? My name is Detective Tamás, Slovak Police. I wondered if you would be willing to answer a few questions about Ms. Creed?”

Annja sat there and fumed as Tamás asked Doug to confirm just about everything she’d told him, castigating herself the whole time for opening her mouth without thinking about the implications. She hadn’t told Doug about the episode she was shooting; she’d intended on surprising him with it when she got back. If he told Tamás he didn’t have any idea what she was doing in Hungary, that would set the detective’s alarm bells ringing and he might want to keep her here for a lot longer than she intended.

Thankfully Doug had covered for her before. He must have answered the detective’s questions to the man’s satisfaction, because after several minutes Tamás handed the phone back to her.

“All I can say is that you’d better have a good explanation for being wherever the hell you are when I thought you were in Budapest.”

There was no mistaking his tone; this time he was ticked.

“I do, Doug. And I guarantee you’re going to like it. Let me finish up here and I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Harrumph.”

That was it—a grunt and then a dial tone. Sometimes Doug could be the worst kind of prima donna. Then again, she tended to be less than pleasant when woken up at 3:00 a.m.

She hung up the phone and slipped it back in her pocket, staring at Tamás the whole time, all but daring him to challenge her. She’d had enough of being treated like a criminal. Now she intended to get some answers.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

Tamás shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

“I would think you’d be interviewing the victim, not harassing the Good Samaritan who saved her life.”

The detective eyed her a moment and then sighed. “Trust me, if I could interview the injured woman, I would. Unfortunately, she passed away fifteen minutes ago, leaving you and Miss Polgár the last two people on earth to see her alive.”

Annja didn’t know what to say. She’d thought the woman was out of the woods when they’d gotten her to the hospital and turned her over to the medical staff.

Such a tragedy.

She wondered how Tamás had gotten word of the woman’s death, as he’d been in here with her for the past half hour and hadn’t taken any calls, but then she remembered his conversation with the guard outside the door when he’d retrieved her cell phone.

No wonder he’d wanted to verify her story. Annja and the woman who’d flagged her down were his only leads in what had suddenly become a murder investigation.

Annja looked up to find Tamás watching her, though this time with less hostility. She decided to risk a question.

“Have you been able to identify her?”

Tamás shook his head. “No, not yet. No one here recognizes her and there are no missing-persons reports that match her description, which probably means she isn’t a local. We’re searching for more information and processing her fingerprints now, but our access to the larger police databases is somewhat limited, so it will take a few days.”

Her curiosity getting the better of her, she risked another. “Do they have a cause of death?”

The detective shrugged. “We won’t have an official cause of death until the autopsy this afternoon, but I don’t think we’ll find anything surprising. She was thrown down a cliff and left to die in the cold.”

Annja frowned. “But what about the blood loss?” she asked, almost to herself.

Tamás’s softer expression suddenly sharpened. “Blood loss? What are you talking about?”

“Her skin was so pale, with a gray undertone to it,” Annja told him. “I took that to mean she’d lost a lot of blood.”

The detective relaxed. “Just a result of being exposed to the elements, I’m told. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

The explanation didn’t make sense to Annja—she’d seen the effects of exposure before and was convinced this was something else entirely—but she wasn’t willing to raise Tamás’s ire by continuing to pursue the issue. When he moved the conversation to another line of questioning, she let him do so without protest.

“What do you know about Miss Polgár?”

“No more than I’ve already told you,” Annja said.

“To be clear, you’ve never spoken to her nor met her prior to tonight when she flagged you down to rescue the victim. Is that right?”

“Correct.”

“What makes you think she had nothing to do with the victim’s injuries?”

The question made Annja hesitate. “I’m sorry?”