Page 51
I swore I would never do this again. Yet here I am, currently living in a compound with armed guards at every gate.
The difference is that Marco’s danger is real. Mason invented his.
Asking for an extension of my hospital leave is easily the most reckless thing I’ve ever done professionally. My work is my whole world, and a month ago, before any of this started, I never could have asked for so much time away.
I place the call from the compound’s main kitchen while Marco studies a tablet across the table. Due to the furtive glances he keeps shooting in my direction, I’m half hoping my request won’t go through.
He’s against me going to Naples because he’s trying to keep me away from trouble, but one thing I haven’t confessed to him yet is that I feel safer in his presence. I also don’t trust him to pace himself and not exacerbate his injury. For those reasons, I have to be with him.
Dr. Job answers my call on the second ring, his voice carrying a wary tone.
“Lucia?”
“I need to extend my leave of absence.”
He goes silent for a second before he asks. “You okay?”
He knows me well enough to understand that what I’m going through must be important, but I can sense his worry. For years, he warned me about rejecting his offered breaks because overworking leads to burnout.
“I’m fine.”
The short pause returns before he talks again.
“Noah Webb has been asking for guidance on that complex suture case. Think you could share your notes?”
“Yeah, of course. Whatever Noah needs. He can check the literature on interrupted sutures for mobile tissue. That should get him started.”
“And Lucia? Whatever this is,” Dr. Job hesitates, “I hope you take care of yourself.”
“I will. Thank you.” I end the call before he can say anything more.
I try not to think too much about work and Dr. Job’s warning. The next morning, after Marco and I have packed our bags, I send my notes to Noah from the back seat of a Benedetti car while the driver navigates from Holland Tunnel to Newark Airport. Beside me, Marco has his face buried in operational documents. He only spares me the occasional unguarded sideways glance, his dark eyes often lingering a second too long before dropping back to the page. Each time his eyes land on me, they feel like a fingertip tracing a soft line across my skin, sparking tingles all over me.
While we’re checking bags at the terminal, my phone rings, Mason’s name flashing across the screen. My thumb hovers over the decline button for approximately three seconds before muscle memory betrays me and I answer.
“Lucia, I heard you took leave from the hospital.”
“How?”
“I have a CI at the intake desk. She mentioned it.” The pause stretches long enough for me to hear him exhale. “I may have also driven past your building once or twice this week.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. “Mason.”
“I’m just concerned.”
I close my eyes. “I’m visiting family in Italy.”
“You have family in Italy? You never mentioned that.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mason.”
He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice takes on the careful, measured tone of a man who believes he’s delivering an important message. “I heard you’ve been seen around with one of your patients…Marco Santori. Watch yourself with him. I know things about his operation that you don’t.”
My stomach knots, and I clench my teeth at the possessiveness draped in concern. “Did you hear that from the hospital grapevine, too, or have you been keeping tabs on me, Detective?”
He lets the silence drag a beat too long. “I only want to make sure you’re okay.”
The sincerity in his voice scrapes against a part of me that remembers when those words would have been enough. My throat tightens. “I have to go.”
