Chapter Five
Sailor
After checking in with Berkshire, I got the green light to visit my parents.
He assured me that not only was I not being followed by the Costas’ man anymore, but that an agent would follow me at a discreet distance just in case.
It had been quite a while since I had taken the time to drive upstate to see them, but I felt like it was important to go.
Besides, I had so much to tell them.
As it often did, guilt overwhelmed me as soon as I pulled up to the mausoleum.
They weren't interred under their given names, and for some reason that had always bothered me.
At least the coverup wasn't as generic as John and Jane Doe, but someone in charge had made up first names with the same surname as mine.
It felt wrong on so many levels, as though Carmine and Sofia Franco had been easily erased; as though they never really existed.
Visiting them brought on too many emotions.
There was no reason to feel like a failure, and yet I did.
I'd only been a child, so why did I think I could have saved them if I'd tried harder? Even now, with all the skills I’d learned, there was no guarantee I could save them both.
Not on a dark roadside in the middle of nowhere, both of them riddled with bullet holes, and me all alone with no help.
But the feelings of inadequacy were always there anyway.
I ran my hand over their nameplate, wishing it read their true names.
Wishing my offering of roses was worthy of the people they had been.
Kind, caring, generous, and beautiful. Sometimes I worried their souls would never be at rest if I didn't solve their case.
Maybe now, finally, some new piece of information would come to light.
Maybe now someone would actually give a damn about who had shot my parents as we drove home from my dance recital.
Maybe my scars would finally serve a purpose. Physical, emotional, mental; I’d never been able to cure them.
Wiping the tears from my icy cheeks, I pulled my scarf tighter and rested my palm on the names Justin and Lauren.
“I finally gave in to their demands.” Feeling a sob working its way up, I choked it back. “But only for your sake. I would never do it for myself.”
I heard a car idling behind me and glanced around. Agent Parkes nodded at me, and I turned my back on him. So much for a discreet distance.
I couldn't even grieve in peace.
Letting it go, I recited the rosary and said my goodbyes.
I’d never been religious as an adult—my thoughts about God being too tangled up—but the prayers were almost embedded in my memory from childhood.
My mother especially wanted me to be a good person, to follow the teachings of the church, and do my best in life.
Despite being hidden away in a tiny town upstate, I’d overcome all the obstacles set in front of me to become a surgeon.
When I was ready to go to med school, the most logical choice was Columbia University, but those in charge of my life refused to send me to New York City.
Instead, I had to go to Perelman School of Medicine at UPenn, which wasn't a bad school; it just wasn’t Columbia.
But they couldn't stop me from getting a job at the most prestigious hospital in Manhattan once I graduated.
Had I made my mother proud? Would she look at me now and see how hard I tried to save lives every day? Or had my tragic upbringing turned me into a bitter woman who drove everyone away?
Unwilling or unable to answer those questions, I tried to tell my parents about what I was doing at the Costa house.
Unfortunately, all I could think about was Benito’s expression when he ordered his son to back off and let me help him through his coughing spell.
It was almost as if he chose me over his son, and I realized Noah would feel threatened by that.
It certainly wasn't my intention to thwart him or push him out of his father’s life.
Finally, I decided my visit was done. I didn't like Parkes watching me, and I was due at the Costa residence in a few hours.
Time to slip the mask back on.
When I arrived, the double doors with the lions adorning them stood open, the butler hovering in the foyer beyond. We greeted each other with a nod, and I went past him into the den.
“Good afternoon, Benito,” I said as I walked into the room.
The beaming smile he gave me made my stomach twist and flop. How much more could I betray this poor man?
“Sailor,” he said. “You came back.”
“Of course I did.” I went through my routine, and he sat patiently while I checked everything out.
“I admit, I was afraid my son had scared you off.”
He’d made a damn good effort, but I didn't have a choice at this point. Everything I did was for my parents. “I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”
Besides, I knew the powers that be wouldn't do a damn thing about me being assaulted while on assignment for them, which meant I hadn’t reported it. They would let all the small stuff slide in order to worry about the big stuff.
“That’s a trait I admire in a person.”
“It’s kind of a necessity when practicing medicine.”
As long as my patients lived, then I was confident and assertive. If I failed them, I’d lose my way for the rest of the week. But there was no need to tell him that.
“Your lungs sound better,” I told him, draping my stethoscope over my neck. He had healthy color in his cheeks, but his vertically striped pajamas made him look frail. Snowy white hair stuck out in tufts around his ears, and I resisted the itch in my palms to smooth it down.
“Any news about the bomb?”
My ears pricked at the voices in the hall, though I pretended not to have heard anything. Scribbling in Mr. Costa’s chart, I listened to the person respond to Noah’s question.
“It wasn't the Chinese.”
Their voices were low, but they obviously didn’t know I was there. In my head, I repeated the words bomb and Chinese.
As though I could forget something so important.
I needed to keep things consistent, even though I wanted to remain silent for the next hour so they’d keep talking in front of me. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better,” Benito replied.
And that was the end of that. Noah and Gio came into the room immediately, but I knew I’d done the right thing. If I’d been too quiet, it would have brought suspicion down on me.
“Dr. Wentworth,” Noah said stiffly. His standard uniform of a bespoke suit and tie gave him an air of importance, and he always glared when he looked at me.
“Mr. Costa,” I replied evenly.
Glancing from his father to me, he moved closer. I forced myself not to back up, and he stopped a few feet away.
“I want to apologize for my actions yesterday.” He glanced at his father again, and I understood why.
The apology was forced.
“I accept that you regret your actions, but I don’t forgive you.”
His eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth before closing it again.
“I’m only here for Benito. He’s the sole reason I came back today.”
With a curt nod, he said, “Understood.”
Staring directly into his steely eyes, I said, “Don’t ever put your hands on me again, or I won’t return.”
Gio smothered a laugh behind a cough, and Noah’s face reddened. “All I want for my father is quality health care, and he adores you.”
The way he nearly choked on the word adores made up for his shitty actions.
Not that I was prepared to relieve him of his guilt. “That’s all I want for him, too.”
“There, was that so difficult?”
Noah turned his glare on his father. “We have things to discuss.”
“We should be done soon, right, Sailor?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Let me know when you’re alone.”
With that, Noah and Gio left the room. I cleared my throat, picking up Benito’s hand.
“You said you’re feeling better.”
We spent another few moments talking about which ways he felt better and what he needed to do to continue healing, and then I told him goodbye and nearly raced to my car.
The entire drive home, my head was full of what I had to report.
Who had bombed whom? What Chinese were they talking about?
Did that mean the Chinese government worked with the Costas?
Or was it another organized crime group like the Triad?
And would this finally bring the feds any closer to making their case?
Did I want that to happen? Did I want Benito going down when it was clear he was no longer in charge? Obviously, he hadn't been a perfectly innocent man his entire career, and he should pay for whatever he’d done in the past.
Shivering, I thought about how dangerous their lives were on a daily basis, and how closely entangled I now was with them.
Once I logged in to the secure server, I wrote a detailed report of the information I’d overheard.
Surely, something as serious as a bombing was already on their radar.
Maybe I wasn’t giving them any news at all, but I had to hope it was some juicy information.
I made it clear Benito was in no shape to be running things, but based on the way Noah wanted to wait until I left to have a discussion with his father, he obviously deferred to his authority on important matters.
Sometimes, when I tried really hard, I could hear my father’s voice when he talked about his business.
He bought and sold something, but I never could remember what it was.
It was possible he never told me directly, considering I was very young.
My mother’s sweet tone came more easily to my ears, the way she would sing to me when I was sick, and then my heart would ache for what I’d missed out on.
Mom’s face came into my mind without effort; why, then, did I struggle to picture Dad?
His presence was there in my hazy memories, but almost always standing behind me. Kind of like someone whispering in your ear, but when you turn your head, there’s no one there.
Which somehow brought Noah’s face to mind.
His sneer was branded in my subconscious, and the unusually large frame that made him appear like a hideous monster.
So many arms, all subtly waving as he came closer and closer.
His eyes glowed amber, then red, and I saw the gun he held aimed in my direction.
I tried to run, but my legs were stuck in place.
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Frantically flailing, I watched his finger ease toward the trigger.
At the last second, a scream finally made its way up my throat, but the beastly form spun around, aiming the gun behind him and pulling the trigger until the magazine was empty.
The sound of gunfire echoed in my ears as I startled awake, heart racing and palms sweating.
Flushed with embarrassment at the idea of my neighbors hearing my screams, I hurried to turn on the TV and raise the volume.
In the sudden noise of a detergent commercial, my racing mind focused on the thing in my dreams.
He’d begun as my father’s shadowy figure, then morphed into a monstrous version of Noah Costa. Angry, always angry with me, for reasons I couldn't fathom. Snarling teeth, fetid breath, glowing eyes, and towering over me at an impossible height.
But the gun . . . in the dream, I knew he was going to shoot me. I felt it in my bones. It terrified me, but I couldn't force my body to move, not even to save myself. Instead, he’d shot at something unknown, bullet after bullet deafening me as they left the chamber.
My hands were still shaking, but I pushed my hair out of my face and sat back down at my desk. There was a new message waiting for me on the computer, so I opened it.
Agent Parkes praised me for the information, telling me they hadn’t known who was targeted with the explosives.
Other agents had been investigating it, and I’d given them a strong lead to dig into.
And, apparently, now that they had a name to springboard off from, they had an idea of who to point the finger at if it wasn't a foreign entity, as some had assumed.
I was happy to know I’d helped and that I was upholding my end of the agreement. For a moment, I’d begun to stress over whether they’d break their part of the bargain if I couldn't provide them with anything useful. I needed closure so badly that it affected every aspect of my life.
It was part of what kept me from forming friendships and kept me drowning in my emotions of guilt and failure. I could never move on if I didn’t have the crucial answers to what had caused me to lose my family.
Carmine and Sofia Franco could not be erased from the world, no matter how hard Marshal Berkshire had tried to do just that.