Chapter One
Sailor
My feet dragging, I pulled off my surgical mask and stripped off my gown, throwing it all in the trash on the way out of the operating room. Despite my best efforts, I had not been good enough to save Mr. Miller’s life. It wasn't often that my skills failed my patients, but when they did, it set the mood for the rest of my week.
Old memories would threaten to resurface, and I would have to push them back down. I was too young to save my parents, and I knew that deep down. But guilt was often a cruel mistress, keeping us tied down to the past.
“Dr. Wentworth."
Turning with a scowl, I expected to see an intern pestering me about the family notification. “I just need a breather,” I snapped.
But the blonde woman in the serviceable pantsuit opened her badge to identify herself as Agent Patricia Lauder. “May we speak alone?”
I glanced at her face and back to the photo, making sure she was legit. “Out here.”
I led her to the balcony, leaning over the rail and taking a deep lungful of crisp air. Hearing her rustling behind me, I wondered when she would get to the point.
It wasn't the first time the feds had paid me a visit, and unfortunately, I knew it wouldn't be the last.
“They didn't send Berkshire this time?”
“He’s here too.” Clearing her throat, Agent Lauder said, “We have an offer.”
“I’m not interested,” I answered automatically.
“Not even if we reopen their case?”
The second sentence came from a different voice; Marshal David Berkshire, who’d been there the day I became an orphan.
And showed up every few years to pester me for a favor. They seemed to think I owed them for sticking me in shitty foster care and then forgetting about me.
“Why would you reopen it now after all the times you ignored my pleas in the past?”
Finally turning, I wished briefly that I was a smoker so I had something to do with my hands. Instead, I stuck them in my scrub pockets and studied the two of them. World-weary, aging faster than their private-sector peers. Once upon a time, I saw Berkshire as a kind older gentleman, assigned to help out a poor little girl.
I’d found out otherwise.
Lauder said, “Because this is important.”
“You know he says that every time, right?” I was starting to shiver, but I didn't want to admit it. Neither did I want to risk going inside with these two and having more gossip spread about me.
“We’ve been trying to take down the Costa family for decades. Benito has pneumonia complicated by his COPD, and will only accept a personal physician coming to his home. The hospital refused to discharge him, so he left AMA.”
I shrugged. “Then let him die, and your problems are solved."
“He has a son to pick up where he left off,” Berkshire said. “Not to mention an entire organization they use to run the city. We need information, Sara.”
I couldn't help it; I flinched. “You know better than to call me that.”
My voice was harsh, but my throat ached. I was born Sara Franco, but I hadn’t been her in nearly twenty years. Now I shivered for entirely different reasons.
“Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. “It's a habit.”
“Then break it.”
“Listen,” Lauder interrupted. “We’re here to beg. We need this win, and in exchange, we’ll see what we can find out about your parents’ deaths.”
My gut churned. “Nobody cared to find out then, so why would they care now?”
