Chapter Twenty-five
Sailor
Over and over, I sat on the floor of the hotel bathroom, throwing up what was in my stomach. Thought after thought swirled through my head as I flushed the toilet and sat down.
Was Lauder lying to me again?
Or was Noah the one lying?
Who was actually responsible for the accident?
And, finally, how could I live with myself after all was said and done?
“Who the fuck is Lauder?”
Noah’s lashing voice made me jump. Of all the fucked up things I’d been thinking, his finding out about Agent Lauder had not been in the top ten.
Sinking back against the tub, I used the hem of my shirt to wipe my mouth. Pain lanced its way through my body, knowing my world was about to erupt.
“Special Agent Patricia Lauder of the FBI.”
I spoke quietly, both because I couldn't make my throat work and because I was keenly aware of the neighbors on the other side of the wall.
And to protect myself from the storm of fury I knew that man was about to unleash on my head.
“Why the fuck is the FBI communicating with you, Sailor?”
Finally, I forced myself to look up at him. He stood in the doorway, simultaneously a foot away and a million miles away. He held my phone in one hand, the other gripping the door frame so tightly I feared it would break under the pressure.
Exactly like my heart.
“You have a lot of goddamn nerve being mad at me after what I just learned. Did you do it, or did he?”
His nostrils flared as he inhaled and exhaled heavily. “How long have you been working with the feds, Sailor?”
“So we’re just going to gloss over everything I say until you get the answers you want?
” I wiped the tears from my face and tried to breathe.
“Fine. As soon as Benito left the hospital AMA, they sent me to your house to gather intel on you both. I was supposed to feed them information in exchange for them reopening my parents’ cold case.
And the second you and I became involved, I told them to fuck off. ”
Would it be enough? Had it ever been enough to be the good girl, to follow all the rules and do what I was told? In the end, what had it earned me?
“And what did they find out about your parents?” he said evenly.
“Nothing. They never told me a fucking thing, except to lie and say they weren’t the intended targets.”
Noah crouched, and I flinched away from the anger and betrayal in his eyes. “You played with an old man’s heart. You played me.”
His words were so quiet that I heard the underlying control.
“When I woke up in the hospital,” I began, but I had to stop because my voice trembled so hard.
“When I woke up in the hospital and heard someone had bombed your house, I vowed to stop feeding them any information.
I hadn't learned anything vital anyway, and I couldn't look your father in the eyes every day and still work to bring him down.”
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I felt the way it clenched and unclenched.
Noah still hadn't answered me, so I didn't know what to think about Lauder’s words.
She was desperate to lure me back, to say whatever it took if it meant she won her case.
I knew she would gladly destroy my relationship if the outcome was that she got what she wanted.
But he still hadn't denied it.
His voice even deeper than before, he asked, “How can I believe anything you say anymore?”
Raising my head, I shouted, “How can I be in the same room with you when you won’t answer the most basic fucking question about the murder of my parents!”
The derision in his voice was enough to kill me right then and there. “I’m not about to say something you’ll repeat to the fucking FBI.”
“Have you ever had feelings for me, or did you think you could buy my silence with fake words of love? Marry me to shut me up?” It was what Lauder had said, but I didn't believe her at the time. I knew Noah, down to the depths of his soul.
Except I’d been wrong about him, so maybe I didn't know who was telling the truth and who was lying. After all, I was a liar, too. What was real in the game we’d been playing?
Did I prefer the ugly truth to a pretty lie? Fake love over genuine apathy?
My heart wanted to beat out of my chest when he reached out. Very carefully, he traced his fingertips down my jaw before dropping his hand.
“You need to get the fuck out.”
Noah stood, turning his back on me, and I sobbed as I tried to stand on wobbly legs. The more he refused to answer me, the more positive I was that he’d been the one to pull the trigger. It was a simple thing for the innocent to deny, but he wouldn't even do that.
Blinded by my tears, I stumbled for the front door. Grabbing my purse off the console table, I refused to look back as I wrenched open the door and did my best to walk down the hall.
The only thing behind me was a false future.
I’d been a fool to think I could stop working with the feds on paper and that it would be enough to absolve me of my guilt. I’d been a bigger fool to think I could make a life with a mafia don without incurring a bigger heartache than I could learn to deal with.
The drive home was all a blur. For all I knew, I ran every red light and mowed down pedestrians in every crosswalk.
The city lights I loved were overcome by the darkness I felt creeping in.
And when I unlocked my door and the security alarm went off, I cursed myself for ever letting Noah Costa talk me into sleeping with him.
I turned the alarm off and reset the code, knowing that if either man planned on exacting their revenge, the beeping would never deter them from their task.
Facing my empty apartment, I felt the cold seeping in. Once again, I was a raft set adrift into the vast ocean. Heaven was farther away from me than it had ever been, and I was back to being alone in the world.
Whatever family I thought I was building had always been a farce, only I didn't realize the pretense had been on both sides.
As I climbed under my bedcovers, the memories of that night came back to me with a vengeance: glass exploding, and my mother screaming my name.
The awful sickness in my belly as we spun out, flipping until we came to a rest. The terror I felt crouching beside the busted car, seeing the lifeless bodies of my parents.
And there, in the distance, was Noah, holding a gun aimed directly at me.
I screamed, and he pulled the trigger. Bullets tore through my torso, jerking my body back each time until I fell to the asphalt.
When I blinked up at the starry sky, Noah loomed over me, holding the gun to my head and firing one more time.
The world went black.
When I woke up, it was from the twisting in my belly, and I ran to the bathroom in time to be sick.
Scientifically, I didn't believe it was possible to die from a broken heart, but science wasn't my friend right now.
All I knew was that the pain was more than I could bear, and I passed out on the bathroom floor.
Each time I woke up, it was from agonizing pain ripping through me. My insides tore open, every vile bit pouring out of me until I couldn't breathe. At one point, I was positive I wouldn't make it through the night.
Who would mourn me if I died? Absolutely no one. I was taken right back to that night, ten years old and orphaned.
My head felt too heavy to hold up, so I dropped it on the floor and closed my eyes. Maybe David Berkshire knew the truth, and they’d all been told to keep it from me. It was easier for me to keep up the persona of Sailor Wentworth if they withheld the details.
Struggling to sit up, I went in search of my phone before I realized Noah had never given it back to me.
Opening my laptop, I used the secure portal to email David and ask who had shot at us.
I told him what Lauder had done, explaining that Noah had seen the text and now knew I’d been working with them.
It probably wouldn't save me from the consequences of my actions, but maybe I could finally learn the truth.
Obviously, the feds had withheld this information for all these years, using it to manipulate me into doing their bidding.
I wanted to be out from under their grip, no longer indebted to them for the simple act of living when I should have died.
The ghosts of my parents must look down on me in shame. I’d gone to bed with their killer, whether knowingly or not. Something I’d been missing inside me had shaped the woman I’d become, leaving me with holes that were filled with despair and self-loathing.
I’d just leaned over and rested my head on the desk when I heard the quiet whoosh of the email notification. Blinking at the response, the wound in my heart opened up again as I read the words over and over. I was going to bleed out, and there was no one to hold me while I died.
Yes, they had always known it was the Costas who plotted to kill Carmine.
They believed he was the sole target, especially since he originally had other plans before cancelling them and going to my recital.
My mother and I weren't intended targets, but collateral damage. They fully suspected Nero had been the gunman, simply because he was freshly eighteen and needed to make his bones in his father’s organization.
The sounds that came out of me then were inhuman.
I clamped my hand over my mouth, trying to keep them in, but it was no use.
All the pain and fear poured out of me until I couldn't catch my breath.
Agony wasn't a strong enough word to describe the way it felt.
It was more like an exorcism, hollowing my chest and baring my soul until I collapsed over the desktop.
All along, I had been his prey. He’d played nice to lure me into his arms, hoping to marry me to buy my silence. He’d targeted me, used me, and I’d fallen for it. He was a sick motherfucker with a violent nature, and I’d almost agreed to spend my life with him.
The weight of that knowledge pulled me down into unconsciousness.
In my nightmares, I could only see Noah with his gun, no matter how many times I tried to change the picture or wake myself up.
Over and over again, he killed me in my dreams as I pleaded for mercy and tried to crawl away over the shards of glass.
In the morning, my body felt too heavy to move and my head pounded, so I pulled out my pain meds and tried to drown them with coffee. Without a phone, I had to resort to my computer again to tell Dr. Hogan I would be taking a sabbatical.
When he responded, wanting to know why, I told him to ask Noah Costa.
I would have to dig deep to rebuild my life again.
I’d done it before, and I’d only been ten at the time.
But, God, I didn't want to. I wanted to just close my eyes and give up.
I was sick of the pain, sick of the taunts from people who didn't understand.
They didn't care what I’d been through that had turned me into such a cold bitch.
How was I supposed to go back to work, being expected to save patients when I couldn't save myself? How could I make proper judgment calls when my perception had been so far off that I’d fallen for my shooter?
Knowing he was a killer in the general sense hadn't deterred me the way it would a normal person, so clearly there was something wrong with me. I wasn't morally good at all.
The nightmares were so persistent that I had to keep myself awake. Staring at the TV made my eyes burn, but the second I closed them, I saw everything on repeat. The car, the gun, the man holding the gun. Clarity was a goddamn heartless bitch.
A knock on my door startled me, but I got up slowly, trudging over to look out the peephole at who would be there at that time of morning. Seeing nobody, I opened the door, noticing a small package on my stoop.
Well, if they planned on taking me out with a bomb, that would be ironic. Or, since I’d opened the door, maybe it was a sniper from across the street. At that point, I couldn't find it in me to care.
But nothing happened when I picked up the box, and after I closed and locked my door, I used a paring knife to slice open the tape.
It was my phone. Swiping through it, I saw everything was the same. All my contacts, except Noah and Benito. All my texts with Berkshire and Lauder were there. Maybe he’d read them and knew I’d told the truth about cutting ties with them.
And in my gallery, all the pictures I’d taken over the past few months were there, minus any I’d taken of Noah or the places we’d been together. I couldn't say why that hurt as much as it did; he might be able to forget about me, but why did he have to force me to pretend he’d never existed?
That wouldn't solve anything, and it wouldn't heal either of us. It was just one more way to say it had all been a ruse from the beginning.