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I’m not the least bit surprised that he knows about that. “Yes, it will,” I say without blinking.
“Good. Do you already have an idea of how you’ll go about getting into Esguerra’s compound?”
“Yes,” I say and look him straight in the eye. “I’m going to reach out to Lucas Kent and have him bring me to Esguerra. I’m going to tell him that I want to bury the hatchet—and that I’m willing to reveal a traitor to make that happen.”
28
Sara
I don’t sleep all night again, and by morning, I’m so exhausted I all but crawl to the kitchen for coffee. If today was a workday, I would’ve had to call in sick. However, it’s that most rare of all days.
A Saturday when I have absolutely nothing scheduled.
If this was pre-PN (Peter’s note), I might’ve gone to the clinic to help out for a few hours, or surprised my parents by popping over for breakfast. However, this is post-PN, and between the lack of sleep and the ever-present anxious waiting, it’s all I can do to plop on the couch and turn on a cooking show.
I’ve been watching a lot of those lately. They remind me of Peter.
As always, when I think about him, my mind starts going in circles. It’s now been eight months since he brought me home—eight months during which my only word from him was that note. Two months ago, pre-PN, I was more or less convinced that his obsession with me faded, and that despite his vow, he might never come back for me. Now, however, I don’t know what to think.
If he still wants me, why am I here?
What is he waiting for?
Mom is now completely well—or at least as well as she’ll ever be. Her left arm is still weak, but she’s able to move her fingers and can use that hand to pick up light objects—a much better outcome than initially feared. She’s also walking without assistance and has been puttering around her garden ever since the weather improved. Dad is ecstatic about her recovery, and they’re both looking forward to their anniversary cruise in September—a gift I was finally able to give them.
As Mom’s health improved and the novelty of my return wore off, my visits with them have gone from a daily to a weekly occurrence. My parents are always glad to see me, of course, but they also value their independence. My dad, in particular, takes pride in being self-sufficient, and I don’t want to take it away from him by constantly hovering over them like a nursemaid.
My parents love me, but they don’t need me as much as I once thought—or so I tell myself to soothe the guilt that inevitably accompanies my craving for Peter.
My perverse wish that he’d come and take me.
I’ve thought about it so often I can picture it like a movie in my head. I’ll enter my apartment one day, and he’ll be there, big and dangerous, as lethal and beautiful as ever. He’ll be there despite the police patrols outside, despite all of the Feds’ precautions.
He’ll be waiting to steal me away, and nothing I say will matter.
That’s probably the most shameful part of these fantasies: that I never have a choice in them… and that I like that. I want Peter to steal me away, to just come and take me over my objections. Then and only then will I be able to live with the knowledge that I once again disappeared from the lives of the people who love and need me, that I abandoned my family, my patients, my bandmates, and my friends.
I need Peter to be bad, so I can be at least somewhat good.
I have to hate him in order to love him.
I’m beginning to understand that about myself, to embrace the perversity within me, but what I don’t understand is why I’m still here if he wants me. It can no longer be about my parents, so it must be about something else—something he hasn’t told me.
I’ve racked my brain for what it could be, and the best I can come up with is something he said when we were parting. I asked him if I’ll be home until Mom recovers, and he started to say that he had to finish with something first as well. He didn’t disclose what it was, though, nor so much as hint at how long that something would take. The only thing I can imagine being that important to him is his vengeance, but I don’t know why that would keep him from me for so long.
He was hunting Henderson when we were together, and according to the FBI, that’s what he’s doing still.
Two months ago, right after I got Peter’s note, Ryson had me brought to their downtown office again. I nearly had a panic attack, thinking that the Feds somehow learned about the note, but as it turned out, Ryson wanted to question me because Peter and his men struck again, “interrogating” five more US citizens in their quest to uncover Henderson’s whereabouts.
