Page 21 of The Wages of Sin

Another laugh. This one even darker. “And you’ll make it go away?”

“I’ll try,” I answered honestly.

“But what if I deserve the pain? What if I deserve a hell of a lot worse than this?”

I shook my head as I made the first stitch. “I’m a doctor. Judgment isn’t my business. All I care about is the patient in front of me and the oath I made to do no harm.”

“And where in the Hippocratic Oath does it talk about spending your days cleaning the homes of dangerous felons?”

I froze mid-stitch. It was the first time I’d heard anyone admit that Jane’s clientele were criminals out loud. Sure, everyone knew, but no one said it. Not just because we wanted plausible deniability but because we wanted to keep our heads attached to our bodies.

I searched for a diplomatic answer. “Maybe now isn’t the best time for either of us to be asking personal questions.”

“I disagree.” I looked up to find his unforgiving blue eyes fixed on me. “Now is the perfect time for me to figure out exactly who I allowed into my home.”

“I’m not a cop if that’s what you’re asking,” I assured him. “And there’s no way in hell I’d ever go to them, trust me.”

“I’d like to trust you, Mary,” he said. “But you’re going to need to give me a reason.”

“Listen, we both have our secrets,” I told him, shaking my head sadly. “Can’t we go back to keeping them to ourselves?”

“If that’s what you wanted, then you should have ignored the blood and started cleaning the kitchen,” he said before shooting me a deadly look. “Besides, I wasn’t asking.”

No, he was demanding. His stony tone of voice left no doubt about that.

I gulped past the lump that was suddenly blocking my throat. I closed my eyes and took in a steadying breath. Threat or no threat, the last thing either of us needed was for me to have shaky hands.

“One thing I can say is my real name isn’t Mary,” I admitted.

“I figured as much. What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.” Not even when his glower turned frighteningly hard. “No one in New York knows it. Not even Jane. Believe me, you’re better off not knowing.”

For some reason, he seemed to find that amusing. A slight smile curved the corners of his lips. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re dangerous?”

I shook my head. “No, but the people after me are.”

His smile disappeared in an instant, replaced by a stony coldness that was downright bone-chilling. “Who is after you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, quickly getting back to work.

He reached down and clasped my wrist, stilling it with the needle still threaded through his skin. “Tell me.”

When I didn’t answer right away, he started to sit up.

“No, don’t!” I shouted, worried he would tear the stitches that were only half done. “Fine. It’s just my brother-in-law. He’s the one after me.”

The client’s brows pulled together in confusion, but at least he relaxed enough to lie back down again. “You said people were after you. Dangerous people.”

“Yeah…well, my brother-in-law is an FBI agent, so I’m not lying.”

“You’re wanted by the feds? You?” Again, he sounded strangely amused by the thought. “For what?”

For a second, I considered lying, but what would be the point?

“My sister’s murder,” I said.

Even eighteen months later, those words still made my heart sink.

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