Chapter Eleven
Sailor
All the way home, I just kept repeating to myself that leaving was the right thing to do.
Spending more time in the fake atmosphere of me, Benito, and Noah playing house was dangerous for my mental health.
Knowing how empty my apartment would feel when I let myself in, I braced myself for the ringing silence that I tried to pretend didn't bother me.
But there was a strange sensation as I opened the door, some sort of instinct telling me I wasn’t actually alone, and I knew something was wrong. With my heart in my throat, I suddenly wondered if I should carry a weapon with me, now that I might be publicly associated with the Costas.
“Dr. Wentworth."
It was Agent Lauder, and she was standing near my patio doors. Marshal Berkshire turned from the stove, where he was holding a manila file.
My fear dissolved into irritation. “Why the fuck did you two need to break into my place? We have better avenues of talking than this.”
“Because some meetings need to happen in person,” Lauder responded, clearly unrepentant. “We need to have a serious discussion.”
Throwing my belongings down on the sofa, I propped my hands on my hips. “Sure. Let’s start with what new information you’ve learned about the deaths of Carmine and Sofia Franco.”
Berkshire raised his eyebrows, saying nothing as he cut his gaze over to Lauder.
“There is no new information—”
“Funny, that’s the line I was going to use.” Somehow, I knew they would give me the run-around. “As instructed, I’ve reported everything I’ve learned.”
“What happened to their house? Who’s targeting them?” Lauder demanded.
“Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew? Hell, they don’t even know! They’re running around trying to put the pieces together and telling me a prop plane crashed.”
Berkshire stepped forward. “It wasn't a plane crash, Sara.”
“I know that,” I snapped. “And, goddammit, it’s Sailor Wentworth or nothing.”
“Why did you stay in the hotel with them?” Lauder asked, ignoring my outburst.
I knew that one would bite me in the ass. “They feel guilty that I was at the house when it exploded. Benito actually did need someone there at all hours when he was first released, and agreeing helped my cover stay clean.”
“And yet,” she said, “you’re already back.”
“Yeah, well, it felt inappropriate. He’s doing much better. As a matter of fact, he probably won’t need me at the house every day by the end of the week.”
“And here we thought he was knocking on death’s door,” Berkshire said wryly.
“Until you sent in the best doctor you know, he kind of was. He wasn't following the previous doctor’s instructions and was only getting worse. Now that he follows my protocols, he’s improved drastically.”
Berkshire said, “So you saved his life.”
“Looks like it. Consider my debt to society paid.”
“Not quite yet.” Lauder took the file from Berkshire and opened it, extracting a piece of paper and holding it out. “Do you recognize this man? Have you seen him at the Costa house?”
I peered at the printed photo that appeared to have been taken using a telephoto lens to zoom in from a great distance. “No, I haven't seen him. Who is he?”
“Leonardo Russo. He’s extremely dangerous.”
I’d heard that surname before when Benito and Noah were discussing who could be behind the attacks. “Okay, but aren’t they all?”
Ignoring me again, she went on. “You’ll need to return to the hotel every day at the very least to check in on the senior Mr. Costa.”
“Then you need to give me some answers about my parents’ case. I’m sick of being placated when you aren't doing any real work for me in return for my continued efforts.”
Something seemed to crackle in Lauder’s eyes; that hunger I’d seen at our first few meetings. She was ambitious, and she didn't care if I felt placated or double-crossed. She’d do as she damn well pleased if it got her one more rung up the ladder.
“As soon as the investigating agent has anything tangible, I’ll share it with you.”
Though my heart pounded painfully at the confrontation, I stepped as close to her as I dared. “Listen to me very carefully.”
Her pupils dilated as she fixed her gaze on mine, and I hoped she sensed that she’d met her match.
“I’ve always said no, haven’t I? Each and every time Berkshire tried to bring me another agent looking to score points with the boss, I told him to fuck off.”
“And yet, you agreed to my offer,” she pointed out, a bit too smugly for my liking.
“Not because you’re actually special, Agent Lauder, but because you finally found the one thing I can’t say no to. But I won't be your puppet forever. If you can’t at least throw me a bone, then I’m done. For good.”
Crossing her arms in the space between us, Patricia didn’t bother to move back. “Fine. For what it’s worth, here’s the only thing I do know: they weren't the intended targets.”
“Targets?” My breath came sharp and shallow as the image of the bullet holes in their bodies flooded my brain. “Targeted by whom?”
“When they know something, I’ll know something, and then you’ll know."
Though I struggled to breathe, I replied, “Same goes.”
Berkshire moved toward the door, breaking the spell between me and his associate. “Keep visiting the Costas every day. If you have to, pretend he’s not getting better.”
“That would never work. He’s not an imbecile who doesn't know his own health.”
The marshal shrugged. “Make it work.”
The words fuck you screamed in my head, but I held my mouth clamped shut.
As soon as the door closed behind them, I collapsed on the couch, surrounded by my purse and overnight bag.
Someone was a target, but not my parents?
Who had targeted them, only to kill the wrong people?
I didn't think I could find resolution if the results came back to say it was still an unfortunate accident. I was too young to know if they’d had enemies, but I knew I couldn't fully trust the words of either the FBI or the Marshal Service at this point.
Day by day, I found myself falling further down the rabbit hole, despite knowing I needed to get the hell away from Benito and Noah. What harm could come from being their friend? What harm could come from letting Benito father me and Noah seduce me?
I’d offended him when I told him not to kiss me, I could tell.
Obviously, he wasn't used to being told no, and I was uncharted territory for him.
It was only natural for him to want to explore that, but I knew it would lead us to an untimely end.
Better to keep things professional and not let them get under my skin.
But, of course, it was too late for that.
They had managed to burrow under my heart, lodging in my rib cage as securely as my bones.
Noah saw me, truly saw me, when I was trapped in the hospital with vicious coworkers who would sooner see me fall than accept that I knew what I was talking about when I told them they’d kill someone one day.
The ones who were lazy put the patients at risk and made the good nurses’ jobs harder, and I didn't put up with it.
In return, they treated me like I was stupid and beneath them.
Which reminded me that I hadn't been back at work since Noah spoke to Dr. Hogan to determine whether or not the conversation did any good.
I didn't even know if the CMO liked me or not, since I mostly dealt with the chief of staff, Dr. Johnson.
But hopefully, Noah had enough pull that Hogan actually listened to the complaints and did something for a change.
It wasn't even the gossip itself I wanted fixed, but the blatant disregard for proper charting and surgical aftercare.
Since I’d already checked on Benito that morning before I left, I had nothing to do with the rest of my day, so I decided to see if I could stream the movie he’d tried to watch with me before I’d fallen asleep. It might give me something to discuss with him the next time I saw him.
Unfortunately, I found it as mind-numbingly boring as the first watch, but instead of letting myself fall asleep, I cleaned the apartment while it played.
It wasn't a bad movie; it simply wasn't my preferred genre.
Still, I tried to retain the major plot points so I could bring them up later.
My memory was unfortunately stellar; there were plenty of things I wished I could let go of, but couldn't. Instead, I retained most of what I consumed, regardless of the medium.
With nothing else to occupy my time, I went to bed early, knowing I would have to face the Costa men the next day and explain why I bailed.
When I arrived the following morning, I was shocked to see Benito standing in front of the windows overlooking the park.
His suit was dark gray, including a vest buttoned over a black dress shirt.
Rings adorned his fingers, and a heavy silver chain hung around his neck.
When he turned to face me, I felt betrayal slice through me.
Here was the consummate gangster in his element. Here was Benito Costa, who might as well be capo dei capi of the local New York crime syndicate families. Gone was the frail, sickly man I’d first been introduced to. Gone was the sweet older gentleman I’d fooled myself into believing cared about me.
“Mr. Costa, you’re looking especially healthy today.”
“We’ve dispensed with the friendliness of Benito, then?” he replied.
I dipped my head, digging out my stethoscope and sphygmomanometer. “You appear to have gotten miraculously better overnight.”
“Not miraculously, but with your help.”
The tips of my ears burned. “You think the incentive spirometer was the key to survival, do you?”
He smiled gently, and my stomach did somersaults. “All the advice you gave me, the care and proper instructions, those are what helped me. I listened to you after I ignored the hospital.”
“And why is that?”
Benito sat on a dining chair. “I’d convinced myself I was dying one way or the other, so what difference did it make? At least I could go out on my terms.”
By then, my stomach had settled in my toes. “Are you telling me I convinced you to live?”
Meeting my gaze, he said simply, “Yes.”
I sensed he was being truthful, at least as far as he was able. I also had the feeling he was a master manipulator, but he couldn't fake smoke inhalation after his diagnosis of pneumonia complicated by COPD.
“If you’re doing so well, what do you need me for?”
“You need to ensure I stay healthy, at least for a little while. Who knows if I might relapse without your gentle guidance?"
I couldn't bite back the snort. “No one has ever called me gentle.”
Since he was seated, I took his vitals the same as every day. And, yeah, I’d noticed yesterday he had improved; I just didn't think he was suddenly cured the way he seemed to be today.
When he grasped my hand the way he always did, I had to struggle not to pull back. Something had shifted between us, and I couldn't pinpoint exactly what. “What did Noah have to say about your recovery?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Benito replied.
“Because I don't see him here.”
“He’s in his room next door.”
Naturally, they’d want to stay together. But that meant Noah was close after I’d let myself pretend he wasn't around. The last thing I wanted was to run into him when my feelings were so tangled.
“He’s happy, cara mio. With my progress, with your treatment plan. With us both.”
I struggled to keep my face neutral. “Good.”
I couldn't allow myself to care what Noah thought; not about his father, not about me. With proof that my parents’ case was yet again not being taken seriously, I had to come up with something groundbreaking to share with the feds to show them good faith on my part.
At least, that was what I wanted to na?vely believe would happen.
If not, then this entire charade had been a waste of time.
Otherwise, I would have gotten in too deep with the mafia for no reason, and I couldn't let that be the way the story went.
Without seeing Noah, I left the hotel and went to the hospital. I missed it too much, and Benito didn't really need me anymore.
Assuming he ever did.
Dr. Johnson agreed to let me come back to work, but I wasn't on the schedule for any surgeries.
All I could do was check up on previous patients and walk around the surgical ward, double-checking that my colleagues were doing their jobs.
It felt odd to be there, as though I no longer belonged.
What once had been my home away from home was now foreign to me.
I hated being alone, but I was scared to get too close to anyone.
And I knew why, but I didn't want to linger on those thoughts. It was absurd to miss Noah; most of the time, I didn't even like him, and I was determined to put him behind bars. As a matter of fact, I might be more dangerous for him than he was for me.
He’d probably find that laughable until he found out why it was true.
No matter what choice I made, I would lose.
If I didn't turn over damning information about the Costas, I would never gain closure over what happened to my mother and father. But if I did learn any truly terrible information about them and divulged it to my handlers, I would lose the tentative friendships I’d made.
There was no rock and a hard place to hide between. Instead, there was fucked one way or fucked another.