RED NOTES AND KISSES-Chapter 118: FRIDA -

The world outside was a blank canvas of white, cloaked in a thick layer of snow. How long had they been here? An hour? Two? No, it had been hours.

Frida rubbed her eyes, heavy with fatigue. Sleep had eluded her the night before. She’d stayed awake, watching him, terrified he might slip away.

Now, exhaustion clung to her, and her heart ached with guilt. She couldn’t stop blaming herself.

If only she’d said no.

If she’d been the responsible one and told him skydiving was a bad idea, none of this would have happened.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

She let out a long sigh as the nurse finished administering his medication.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"His vitals are stable for now. There’s no immediate danger," the nurse said with a reassuring smile. "He just needs to wake up, and he will. Give it time."

Frida nodded weakly as the nurse left. She resolved to stay vigilant, but her eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute.

She tried to fight it, but sleep overtook her, dragging her into the depths of her subconscious.

She was back in that dark, oppressive room. Chains bit into her wrists.

"It’s your fault," Shelly’s voice echoed, cold and accusatory. "You’ll be the death of him."

Frida glared at her, fury igniting like a wildfire. "If you’re so great, why didn’t you come out and save him? If you’re so powerful, why don’t you hunt down his enemies and kill them all?"

Her own voice jolted her awake.

She was drenched in sweat, her chest heaving as she struggled to steady her breath. Her gaze darted to him, but he was still unconscious.

A sinking dread filled her as she reached out to touch his forehead. He was burning up again.

Panic surged through her veins as she called for the nurse.

The nurse arrived swiftly and administered another dose of medication.

"He’s stable now," the nurse said, her voice calm yet firm. "But you need to rest too, or you’ll end up sick yourself."

Frida nodded, but she knew rest wouldn’t come easy. Not until he opened his eyes.

-----

Frida was still sitting beside Laz in the pristine white hospital room, the sound of the heart monitor echoing in the quiet.

She watched him all night. He had a fever last night, and she thought the wound had almost gotten infected.

She sighed into her hands. Who did this? And why?

Well, one thing she was sure of—Laz had many enemies.

She wondered what he had been doing all these years. If she asked, would he tell her?

She sighed again. She was thirsty, and the weather was freezing.

She needed water.

Leaning in, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. The doctor had said he was in shock. It was minor, but he should wake up in a few hours.

She wanted to be strong for him. She really did.

Squeezing his hand, she sighed before leaving the room.

It was freezing outside. A snowstorm was raging, and the TV in the waiting area was the only sound in the hospital.

"There will be a long snowstorm for the next 48 hours. Please ensure to stay indoors as the temperature is around -6 degrees Fahrenheit," the reporter announced.

A snowstorm meant they’d have to postpone the ball. Thankfully, Laz wouldn’t be able to attend in his condition.

She reached the dispenser and fetched hot water in a plastic cup.

Taking a pack of instant coffee, she poured some into the cup.

Thankfully, the helicopter had come back to their aid, and the pilot had a coverall she could borrow.

Underwear in this weather? She’d suffer hypothermia of the worst kind, she feared.

Leaning against the wall, sipping her coffee, a petite, mature woman entered. She looked to be about forty, wearing a full corporate coat.

The woman pulled out a badge. "Detective Carter Willows. May I have a few minutes with you, Miss Frida?"

Frida hesitated. She didn’t want to be interrogated, but for some reason, this woman looked familiar.

They sat in the hospital cafeteria, where only a few patients were eating.

"Sorry for bothering you," the detective said politely.

Frida nodded. "It’s okay... What do you want to know?"

Detective Willows searched her handbag and brought out a brown envelope. She took out some pictures and papers.

Lifting a photo, she showed it to Frida.

Frida immediately recognized it. "This is my daughter. She wasn’t very popular, but..."

"I know her," Frida whispered, her throat tightening as she recognized the girl from her classroom. "She was the first victim."

"Not the first, actually. Maybe the first at your school, yes," the detective replied, pulling out pictures of Conner and Alex, along with others from different schools.

The same pattern.

"They all look like you in some way. Or your boyfriend," the detective said.

"This person has been killing people around you who look similar to you for years."

"My daughter wasn’t just an unfortunate victim," she continued. "I was onto this person, and he chose to shut me up. He warned me, actually. He sent me... red—"

"Red notes," Frida finished, her voice a whisper.

"Do you have any idea who this person is? People are dying, and it’s being swept under the rug, Frida. Heck, he just attempted to kill you and your boyfriend," the detective said, her tone calm but firm. "You’ve got to do something."

"You don’t understand. You can’t win against this person," Frida said quietly. "He has the whole world in his palm, and that’s not an exaggeration. He’ll do anything to get what he wants."

Carter stared at her, her dark eyes filled with determination. "I can’t just let this keep going on. No one is listening to me. Not the cops, not my family, no one. My daughter is dead. She was murdered, and they expect me to swallow it, to shut up and watch."

Her voice turned cold and empty.

"Because you can’t win," Frida said again.

"The law always wins, Frida," Detective Carter said, gathering her papers and standing.

"He is the law here," Frida replied with a shiver, standing up as well. "Goodbye, Detective."

"This isn’t over," Carter said before walking away.

Frida took trembling steps toward Laz’s room. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but if it was really him who shot Laz, then they’d have to leave the city as soon as possible.

Or they’d become part of a cold case.

She opened the door to Laz’s room, and her heart swelled when she saw his eyes open.

"Hey, baby," he croaked.

Tears filled her eyes as she walked over to him, crying into his neck. She tried not to hug him too tightly.

"I thought I was going to lose you," she sobbed.

He held her close, guilt washing over him for worrying her.

"I’m sorry, baby. I just wanted you to have fun. I didn’t think something like that would happen."

She cupped his face in her hands. "It’s okay. I didn’t think it would happen either, but it’s fine. Everything’s fine. And yes, I had fun. Next time, we’ll try it with bulletproof vests, okay?"

She kissed him.

He kissed her back. "Okay," he whispered.

"I’m just glad you’re okay," she said softly.

"Do you think it’s him?" Frida asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Laz shook his head, a contemplative look in his eyes. "I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure it out. Let’s just say I’ve got a long list of people I’ve pissed off, baby." He leaned in and kissed her, a small smile curving his lips.

Frida giggled as his lips trailed down to her neck. "Laz, stop! Someone might see us."

"But it’s cold, Frida," he said with a playful pout, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"I need your warm body," he murmured, his words sending a wave of heat through her.

"Doesn’t your arm hurt, though?" she whispered, concerned.

He met her gaze, his expression softening. "Like I care." He kissed her lips gently before adding, "You smell good."

Frida laughed, her cheeks flushing. "I haven’t even done my morning routine yet. How could I smell good?"

"You smell like you—my woman," he said with a teasing grin, his laughter joining hers.

Frida swatted his arm lightly as he pulled her closer, his affection melting away her unease.

He trailed soft kisses along her neck, his hands slipping beneath her coverall and gliding up her back with practiced ease.

Damn, he was fast.

A sudden knock on the door jolted her back to reality. She moved to jump off him, but he tightened his grip, pulling her firmly into his lap. His arm wrapped around her waist in a possessive hold, and his lips continued their assault on her neck, ignoring the interruption.

She shivered as his kisses sent tingles down her spine, and she bit back a moan. This guy was definitely going to leave a hickey.

A knock continued interrupting them.

Frida turned to see a bouquet of white roses.

"Flowers for Mr. Laz," the delivery person said.

Laz frowned, and Frida felt an immediate sense of unease.

"Come in," Laz said, his gaze cautious. He could feel it too.

He signed for the flowers, then took them.

Inside was a red note.

Laz stiffened as he read it aloud:

"Happy New Year, Laz dearest. How about starting the new year with a funeral—you as the body, and your beloved as my bride. Yours sincerely, a friend... whose wife you killed."

Laz froze, his grip tightening on the note.

A red light appeared on Frida’s forehead, and his eyes widened in horror.

Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms and rolled off the bed just as a bullet whizzed past them with a loud bang.