Page 111 of Freed
She reaches for her bag again, rearranging instruments I don’t think she even used. “Mr. Conti said you’ll be returning to Chicago once you’re cleared.”
I sit up too fast, then wince. I glance toward the door, where no doubt one of his new female jailers is standing just outside.
Then I lower my voice.
“You have to help me.”
The doctor stills.
I grip the blanket tighter. “I’m being held here against my will.”
For one terrible second, she says nothing. Then she turns her head slightly, as if checking the door without making it obvious, and looks back at me.
“Are you?”
“Yes.” The word comes out sharp with desperation. “He controls who comes in here, who I speak to, where I go. He decides everything.”
Her gaze searches my face.
“Has he harmed you physically?”
I hesitate because the answer is not simple.
“No,” I say finally. “But that doesn’t mean I’m free.”
The doctor folds her hands in her lap. “And where would you go if you left?”
“To my fiancé, in Italy.”
Something unreadable flickers in her expression.
I catch it immediately. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No.” My voice rises. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that and say nothing.”
She draws in a slow breath. “Miss Miller, I am your physician. My concern is your health and the health of your baby.”
“You’re also supposed to help people.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
Then she says, “I know men like Lorenzo Conti.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Congratulations. So do I.”
Her eyes stay on mine. “Do you?”
The question unsettles me more than it should.
She rises and moves toward the window, drawing the curtains apart a few inches as if checking the afternoon light. But I get the sense she’s buying herself time. Choosing her next words carefully.
“Men like him do as they please. Your best bet is to go along with what he wants.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not.”
