If that makes me old-fashioned or a chauvinist, so be it.
The only thing we seem to agree on is that Dimitri is a rabid dog who needs to be put down . . . but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her get anywhere near him. Just remembering his empty blue eyes when we had our weekly calls over the computer when Eva and I were still on Cozumel is enough to give me the willies. He’s got more than one screw loose, and that’s a fact.
And what he did to her—
“Fuck.” Forcing the awful images of the hospital pictures of her injuries from my mind, I sigh heavily and scrub my hands over my face again.
It doesn’t help.
The plastic bottle with Eva’s antibiotics is still chilly, so I fill a pot half-full of water and set it to boil on the stove. Once it’s simmering I remove it, set it on a cool burner, and
