Page 57 of His Gift
"Is there something I can help you with? You should be resting." A nurse appears at the door, summoned by the snitching machine.
"I need to go," I grit out, though the black spots blurring my vision make me doubt I'll be able to do so.
She glances to her side, and two agents come into view.
"Mr. Sinclair, good evening. I'm Special Agent Garcia, and this is Special Agent Clark. We're here to ensure your security. While your injuries required only sutures, we understand from medical personnel that youare experiencing severe anemia. For your well-being and in accordance with protocol, we cannot authorize your departure until you have received appropriate medical treatment and are medically cleared. The doctor will be with you shortly to explain everything."Kill me now.
"You don't have to authorize shit. I'm discharging myself. Take me to Harper.Right. Now."
"Mr. Sinclair…" Garcia makes a pause, struggling to calm himself, but it's clear by his tone he's hanging by a thread. It has been, in fact, a shitshow. His colleague's sour face seems to agree with me. "Please try to understand. Ms. Schmidt is safe, she's been updated about your condition and we will bring you to her as soon as the hospital clears you."Yeah, safe.Tell it to someone who hasn't been stabbed twice because you couldn't do your job.
Defiance can bring me so far, though. I can't fight it. My vision is narrowing and I don't have the strength to stay up anymore. With a disgruntled sound, I lie down and breathe deeply.
"How long?"
"I'll send the doctor in. He'll explain everything." I nod and the Feds retreat while the nurse fusses over me, straightening the sheets and checking the numbers. I'll give it until the blood bag is empty, then I'm out of here. Even if I have to crawl.
Agent Garcia rolls me out of the hospital doors and I can practically hear the sigh of relief coming from the medical staff. I admit I've been a huge pain in the ass, trying again and again to stand up and leave and raging against everything and everyone. It has worked though. The initial five days' prognosis has shortened to two and a half. Too long. I'm in no shape to protect Harper, and I won't be for a while, but I must be there. It has been a constant thought that has driven me almost mad since I've woken up in that damn room.
I'm slightly reassured when I see we are going to board a plane. This time they're moving Harper far away from New York, hopefully somewhere the mob doesn't have any reach. I'm not even pissed anymore that the Feds won't tell me where until we arrive. I'm just worried how much moving and losing her friends will impact my sweet girl. She just told me she was happy, and it all has gone to hell. And I wasn't there to take care of her.
The short flight drained more from me than the stabbing itself. I knew better than to stay seated after such a massive round of transfusion, andby the time the plane lands, I am short of breath and every muscle screams in protest. Garcia's offer of a wheelchair feels like a merciful release, but I'll be damned if I use that thing again, and the thought of Harper waiting spurs me on. So I force myself down the stairs and slide inside the car that's waiting for me. Only to find another asshole. This one looks like he's in charge.
"Mr. Sinclair," the man says, his tone more subdued and empathic than I expected. "I'm Special Agent Levy, and I've taken over Ms. Schmidt's case. I understand this is incredibly difficult, and I want to assure you we're doing everything we can now. Regarding what happened... from the initial information, the individual who attacked you was sent to scout the location. A direct assault on Ms. Schmidt wasn't the immediate plan. It appears our agent inadvertently crossed his path, which unfortunately triggered the attack. There's no excuse for this failure in security, Mr. Sinclair. But we are now focused entirely on ensuring your and Ms. Schmidt's safety."
"How's Harper?" My patience is threadbare. Nothing this guy says will convince me they can keep her safe.
"She's not doing well, sir. She's understandably shaken and has declined psychological support. Her primary concern has been your well-being; she's been asking for updates on your condition. We need to discuss the next steps, and frankly, Ms. Schmidt… Harper, will probably respond best if that conversation comes from you."
I'll talk to her, that's for damn sure. And if she listens to me, we are gone. We're doing thismywaynow.
He doesn't need to know just yet, though, so I mumble a "Sure" between gritted teeth, then recline my head back to discourage him fromanymoretalk.
The low hum of the engine lulls me into a shallow doze and, as the car finally shudders to a stop, I blink, trying to orient myself. Where the hell are we? I haven't paid a damn bit of attention after we left the small regional airport. Time to concentrate and get back in the game. I can't afford to be so weak.
The door opens, and Agent Levy stands there, his expression neutral. "We're here, Mr. Sinclair."
Pushing myself out of the car, I look around. "Here? Here where?" I scan the unremarkable brick building, the generic entrance offering no clues.
"Boston. We felt it offered a balance of security, access to medical facilities, and the resources necessary for our team to properly investigate the recent attack. It allows us to keep you both safe while we reassess the threat level and determine the best long-term plan."
Boston. Right. It makes sense. But as I follow him into the smallest, most impersonal apartment I've ever seen—there's not even a kitchen, for fuck's sake—a knot of unease tightens in my stomach. This isn't going to work.
"This place won't cut it. We need space and privacy. I'll rent a couple of apartments. One for us, somewhere quiet, where Harper can focus ongetting back to her rehab. And another nearby for your guys." Two weeks. That's what I'll give them. Two weeks to get their act together, and then we are gone.
Levy's expression remains impassive, but I see a flicker in his eyes. "Mr. Sinclair, I appreciate your proactive approach. However, for security reasons, the Bureau typically prefers to manage housing arrangements for protected witnesses."
He pauses, considering. "While I understand your need for privacy, our priority is to ensure continuous protection. What we can offer is a secure, discreet apartment or perhaps a small, monitored complex where Ms. Schmidt can have a degree of privacy within a protected environment. We can certainly ensure it's comfortable and conducive to her recovery, with space for any necessary medical equipment or at-home therapy. Our team would be housed in adjacent units, providing both security and readily available assistance if needed. We can also arrange for transportation to and from her physical therapy appointments."
I hate to admit it, but what he said sounds... reasonable.
"Okay. Make it happen. I want to move Harper somewhere else tomorrow morning. Meanwhile..." I look around, finally acknowledging there are two other agents in the room who don't look at all happy with me, "please wait outside. I have no clue how Harper will react to my appearance, and I don't want her under scrutiny."
One of the two agents steps forward with a thundering expression, butLevy raises his hand, halting him. Then, jaw twitching, he just nods and signals to his men to go. I guess they screwed up too badly to lay down the law as they're used to.
And now, finally, I get to see my gift.
forty-five
