Relief and irritation fought against each other. “So the whole ‘I don't want to die in the cold, sterile hospital alone’ bit was bullshit?”
Dad stopped his pacing, coming to a stop behind his chair and leaning on it. “Not entirely. If Sailor hadn't been there to insist I follow instructions, I would have gotten worse. My stubbornness would have seen to it.”
“So you thank her for doing her job well and move on with your life.”
“I know I have to, if for no other reason than that I have to get back to running the business, especially so I can deal with whatever is going on.”
Part of me was insulted that he wouldn't give up the reins just yet when I’d shown him I was capable of running the business without him. But the other part of me, the part that was grateful he was alive, didn't care. He could take it back, and I’d go back to doing his bidding instead of making the major decisions.
There was a knock at Dad’s door, and I strode across the room to check the scope before opening it for the concierge.
“Good afternoon,signori.” He held out a leather bill folder. “Can I assist you with anything else?”
“No, thank you.” With a frown, I took it and opened it. Scanning the itemized bill quickly, I looked up at my father. “Sailor checked out.”
“Without saying goodbye?”
He sounded entirely too offended. “Apparently.”
“That’s, um, that’s probably for the best. We should keep it professional.”
The words were right, but I knew he didn't mean them. I wasn't sure how I felt either, but I knew I didn't like it.
Which was how I knew she’d done the right thing.
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.
