Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(10)

“Sara?”

I pivot to the right, my heartbeat jumping at the familiar voice.

It’s my friend Marsha. She’s dressed in her nurse’s scrubs and staring at me like I just jumped out from under her bed. Behind her is another shocked—and familiar—face: Isaac Levinson, one of my dad’s closest friends. He and his wife, Agnes, are sitting in the corner of the small waiting room I poked my head into, and next to them is—

“Dad!” I rush over, nearly tripping over a chair as tears blur my vision and choke off my breath.

“Sara!” Dad’s arms fold around me, so much thinner and weaker than I remember, and I realize he’s crying too, his frail frame shaking with sobs. Pulling away, he stares at me in disbelief mixed with dawning joy, his mouth trembling as he grips my hands. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

“I’m here, Dad.” I squeeze his shaking hands and step back, wiping my tears as I steady my voice. “I’m here now. Tell me… How’s Mom?”

His face crumples. “She’s still hemorrhaging. They thought they had it under control, but they must’ve missed something or the stitches tore after they sewed her up. Her blood pressure dropped again, so they’re going back in and—”

“Dr. Cobakis.”

My muscles lock up as I turn to face the unfamiliar male voice.

It’s a security guard, accompanied by a baby-faced policeman. Their expressions are wary but determined, and the policeman’s right hand is hovering over his gun, as though he expects me to get into a shootout with him.

“Dr. Cobakis, you need to come with us,” the security guard says, and I realize his blond goatee looks vaguely familiar. I must’ve seen him around the hospital. Not that it matters. Judging by the resolute look on his freckled face, I can expect no help or sympathy from him—or from the young policeman, who’s staring at me like I’m wearing a suicide vest instead of jeans and a sweater.

“Now wait a minute—” my dad begins indignantly.

“He’s not here,” I interrupt, raising my hands above my head to show my lack of weapons. I understand where their wariness is coming from, and I intend to do what I can to diffuse it. “I’m all alone, I promise.”

Marsha, apparently recovering from shock, steps forward, frowning at the guard. “What are you doing, Bob? This is my friend Sara. She’s—”

“We know who she is.” The young policeman’s voice quivers slightly, his fingers closing over the hilt of his weapon as he cautiously edges closer. “We don’t want any trouble, but—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, the girl’s mother is in surgery!” Agnes Levinson elbows her way past her husband and my dad to glare at the guard and the policeman from her full four-foot-eleven height. Her salt-and-pepper hair poofs out like a halo around her small face as she steps in front of me, hands on hips in a wrathful pose as she states, “My husband and son are both lawyers, and I can assure you, we will file harassment charges. Let the girl talk to her father, and then you can have your turn.” She turns toward me, her brown gaze softening. “Sara, dear, are you all right?”

I blink and slowly lower my hands when neither Bob the guard nor the policeman make a move toward me. “I’m… I’m fine. Thank you.” The Levinsons’ friendship with my parents goes back almost two decades, and my parents have always said that Agnes and Isaac consider me to be the daughter they never had. Until this moment, I was convinced it was an exaggeration; I certainly never thought of them as anything more than a nice older couple who happened to be my parents’ friends. Agnes’s defense of me, though, is more like something family would do, and I find myself absurdly touched, especially when Isaac comes forward and starts haranguing my would-be arresters with all the legalese at his disposal, giving my dad a chance to grab my arm and pull me aside.

“Quickly, darling, talk to me.” Dad’s voice is low and urgent as his gaze roams over my face before lingering worriedly on the half-healed scar on my forehead. “What happened? What did he do to you? How did you get away?” Before I can answer, he leans in and whispers in my ear, “We need to get you to a lawyer right away. I know you had to say those things on the phone, but they refuse to believe me. I overheard them talking about it, and they’re going to invoke the Homeland Security Act on account of his links to terrorism. We need to get you a good attorney or—”

“Sara! Holy shit, girl, where have you been?” Marsha joins us, grabbing my arm like I’m about to evaporate into thin air. Her Marilyn Monroe curls sway wildly as she spins me to face her. “What happened to you? Where did you go?” Her blue gaze hones in on my scar, and she gasps. “What happened to your face?”

Overwhelmed, I take a step back. “Marsha, please—”

“Sara Cobakis.” The baby-faced cop somehow got past the Levinsons and is shoving Marsha aside, his hand once again on the hilt of his weapon. “You need to come with me right now.”

I raise my hands again. “No problem. Please, I’m cooperating, I promise.”

Now it’s my dad who belligerently steps forward. “She’s not going anywhere until she gets a lawyer and—”

“Everybody freeze!”

And as we all gape in shock, SWAT commandos swarm the room, face shields lowered and weapons drawn.