Prince Charming Undercover by Debra Salonen

Author:Debra Salonen [Salonen, Debra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-944300-33-3
Publisher: Debra Salonen

“Jurek, are you there? Pick up the phone. I need to talk to you. I met the big-shot gadjo detective last night who is working with your son. It’s obvious the man cares nothing about this family. You must talk to Nikolai.”

Jurek forced himself to wake up. The drugs the visiting nurse had given him when she’d come to change the bandage on his incision had left him groggy. He reached deep for the strength to pick up the receiver. Yetta’s voice must have been on his answering machine, but he hadn’t even heard the phone ring. “Yetta?”

“Hello? Jurek? Is that you?”

He blinked against the daylight. The woman had left the blinds open despite his wish to be left in darkness. “I’m here.”

“What’s wrong? You don’t sound well.”

“Um…I was asleep. I had a late night.”

“I tried your cell phone about eleven but there was no answer.”

“I didn’t have it with me. What’s got you so upset? Something about a gadjo detective?”

“Zeke Martini. I met him last night. Not a scrap of humanity. Heart of steel.”

Jurek frowned. He’d met Martini a few years back when Jurek helped the police track down a former business associate who’d taken a contract out on his wife. Zeke had been the first person he’d thought of when Yetta mentioned her concerns.

“Are you sure? He struck me as a by-the-book kinda guy, but fair.” Had he lost his ability to read people? That was the one skill he’d credited with keeping him alive all these years.

“Well, he may know his job, but he doesn’t know me or my family. We’re not pawns in his little game.”

He waited for her to continue. Her anger was evident in her tone, and he needed time to find the energy to respond.

“Jurek? What’s wrong? You’re not telling me something.”

He closed his eyes. If he took a deep breath, he could still smell the antiseptic cleaner. The scent would follow him to his grave, which seemed to be looming closer every day. He’d returned to the clinic when he’d started passing large globs of blood. An exam had revealed a cut in his bowel wall, which must have happened when the polyps had been removed. The doctors had repaired it and sent him home.

“I’m fine, Yetta. Just tired. I’m on a new medication,” he said, feeling an unexpected surge of energy. This last crisis had scared him, but he was determined to hold on long enough to see his son.

Yetta made a tsking sound. “Which is why I need to visit you. Bring some herbs, some restorative tea. When can I come?”

He looked at the array of pill bottles on his bedside table and the assortment of hospital paraphernalia he’d carted home. “Maybe next week. After my cleaning lady gets back from her vacation. I don’t want anyone to see this mess.”

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Even your son?”

“Now, Yetta, don’t start. You know that’s not why I gave you his number.”

“Okay. I’ll let it go for now, but eventually you two have to meet.

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