What happened may have brought us closer, but it’s tearing Peter apart inside.
54
Peter
By the time we’ve been at the clinic for ten days, Sara insists on walking around on her own, and I let her, though Yan hijacks the hallway cameras so I can watch her on my laptop when she does.
I’m so consumed with Sara it’s crowding out everything, even my need for vengeance. I did manage to send my team to New Zealand a few hours after arriving at the clinic, but predictably, by the time they got there, Henderson had figured out his wife’s mistake and disappeared again. Normally, that would’ve enraged me, but I couldn’t work up enough energy for that. I still can’t. Even Lucas, who prudently flew home as soon as I got to the clinic, isn’t currently on my radar for his negligence with Sara. I still intend to make him pay, but for now, all that matters is that she’s alive and healing well.
I watch her all the time now, day and night. It’s gotten to the point where I barely eat or sleep. I don’t know what to do, how to turn off this obsessive fear for her safety. Every time I close my eyes, I dream about Lucas telling me she’s hurt, only when I get to the hospital, I find out he lied and she is dying.
It’s my new nightmare, and I can’t make it stop, any more than I can bring myself to let her go home.
That’s what I should do, I know that. Keeping Sara with me will destroy her. I see it now, as clearly as the stitches on her forehead. Even though there were times she seemed content back in Japan, inside, she was torn and bleeding. The separation from her family and the loss of her career are wounds that may never fully heal. Already, here at the clinic, she’s trying to help the doctors with the other patients—when she’s not asking them to call the FBI, that is.
My little bird hasn’t given up on flight, and I’m afraid she never will.
The phone calls with her parents don’t help matters. I’ve let her talk to them every day this week, but that just seems to make things worse. By now, Sara has been gone for five months, and despite her reassurances to the contrary, her family is convinced she’s being held against her will.
“Why won’t you just come home?” her mother asks in frustration as I listen in on one of those conversations. “If you’re just traveling with that man, you should have no problem coming home for a visit. You know they’ve already replaced you at the hospital, don’t you? Your dad and I begged and pleaded for them to wait, but they were swamped. And your friend Marsha—she’s been calling every week to ask about you. Why haven’t you called her or anyone else from the hospital? They’re all worried about you, darling, and so are we. And your dad’s heart—” She stops, but not before Sara turns sickly pale underneath her bruises.
“What about Dad’s heart?” Her voice takes on a panicked note. “Please, Mom, what’s wrong with Dad’s heart?”
“Well, he’s not getting any younger, and neither am I,” Lorna Weisman says, and I hear Sara blow out a relieved breath when she realizes her mother doesn’t mean anything specific. My hackers have been keeping an eye on the Weismans’ medical records, and I would’ve told Sara if there’d been any new developments. Still, I can tell this scared her. It’s one of Sara’s biggest fears: that something could happen to her parents while she’s not there… that she would not be able to help the people she loves most because she’s my prisoner halfway around the world.
“Please, Mom, don’t even talk about such things,” she says, forcing a false cheerfulness into her tone. “I’m fine, and I will try to come home for a visit soon.”
“When?” her mother demands. “Give us a date.”
Sara glances in my direction. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why not? Is it because he won’t let you?”
“No, Mom. I already explained. The whole thing with the FBI is a big misunderstanding, but until it’s straightened out, Peter can’t go—”
“Bullshit.” It’s her father cutting in; he must’ve been listening on the loudspeaker all along. “He can’t, but you certainly can—and you should. If he’s not holding you captive, then come home. Get away from that criminal. You know they think he’s killed people? They don’t tell us anything, of course, but we overheard them talking and—”
“Dad, I have to go. I’m sorry. We’ll talk later in the week, okay? Love you!”
Sara hangs up before her father can say another word, and though her face is carefully blank, I can tell she’s on the verge of tears. Quietly, I walk over to her bed, and taking care not to jostle her sore shoulder, I pull her into my lap.