Chapter 5 - The Wrong Doctor
Marco reached for his weapon.
Dr. Bennett didn’t flinch.
“Don’t.”
Luca raised one hand.
Marco stopped.
Barely.
Dr. Bennett looked from Luca to Anthony.
“What did he say?”
“Doctor,” Marco replied.
Her eyes narrowed.
“And naturally you assume he means me.”
“No,” Luca said.
“I assume nothing.”
Anthony made a sound.
Marco leaned down.
“Say it again.”
“Not… her.”
Dr. Bennett crossed her arms.
“That would have been useful five seconds earlier.”
Anthony fought for breath.
“Clinic.”
“What clinic?” Luca asked.
“Heart… doctor.”
Luca froze.
He had been diagnosed after specialists examined tests conducted weeks before the shooting.
Dr. Bennett had confirmed the condition, but she wasn’t the first physician involved.
Dr. Samuel Crane had handled Luca’s cardiac screening.
Private practice.
Upper East Side.
Highly discreet.
Very expensive.
And very familiar with powerful clients.
Marco swore.
“Crane knew about Emma?”
“No,” Luca said.
“But he knew about me.”
Including his diagnosis.
His stress limits.
His medications.
The one vulnerability Sokolov had mentioned.
Anthony’s eyes fluttered.
“He… sold schedules.”
“Crane?”
Anthony nodded weakly.
“Not alone.”
“Who else?”
Anthony tried to speak.
His monitor suddenly screamed.
Dr. Bennett shoved past them.
“Out.”
“Anthony—”
“OUT!”
Nurses rushed in.
Marco had to be pulled from the room.
Luca stood behind the glass as Dr. Bennett worked.
Five minutes later, Anthony stabilized.
Marco pressed his forehead against the wall.
“He was trying to warn me.”
Luca said nothing.
Marco turned.
“If he dies—”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Luca met his eyes.
“But rage can wait.”
Marco understood.
Emma couldn’t.
They moved on Crane’s office.
Empty.
Computer drives removed.
Files shredded.
But whoever had cleaned the place had missed one thing.
A parking receipt.
A private garage near Brooklyn Navy Yard.
Forty-eight hours earlier.
Marco looked at Luca.
“Sokolov has properties there.”
“Then we go.”
Rachel called again.
This time she sounded strange.
“Luca.”
“What?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“When the men broke in, one of them dropped this.”
She sent a photograph.
A silver cuff link.
Engraved initials.
M.D.
Marco stared at Luca’s screen.
His face darkened.
“Marco DeSantis,” he said bitterly.
Luca looked at him.
“Sokolov wants us fighting each other.”
“Well, he’s doing a good job.”
Luca turned toward the door.
“Then disappoint him.”
At the Navy Yard garage, they found Crane’s black Mercedes.
The trunk was empty.
The back seat wasn’t.
A child’s green crayon lay on the floor.
Luca picked it up.
Emma.
Marco searched the car.
“Luca.”
He held up a folded piece of paper.
Another drawing.
Emma had drawn a large building.
Three windows.
A crooked chimney.
Water beside it.
And a red hand.
Marco looked at the harbor.
“She’s leaving clues.”
Luca stared at the picture.
Three years old.
Terrified.
And still paying attention.
“That’s my girl.”
His voice nearly broke.
Marco noticed something else.
“There.”
Tiny letters had been written beneath the building.
Not by Emma.
PIER 19
Marco immediately called his team.
Luca looked toward the East River.
Pier 19 was less than fifteen minutes away.
Then his phone rang.
Rachel.
He answered.
“Rachel?”
No response.
His chest tightened.
“Rachel?”
A man spoke.
Not Sokolov.
“Mr. Bellini.”
Luca recognized the voice.
Dr. Samuel Crane.
“You’ve been very difficult to kill.”
Luca’s blood turned cold.
“Where is Rachel?”
A muffled struggle came through the phone.
Then Rachel shouted:
“LUCA, DON’T COME—”
The line cut.
Marco stared at him.
Luca looked back at Emma’s drawing.
They no longer had one hostage.
May you like
They had two.
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