Chapter 8 - The Doctor Who Refused to Die
The body recovered from Boston Harbor had Vance’s wallet.
His watch.
His dental records had supposedly matched.
They had not.
The dental report was forged.
Helen explained everything.
Vance had planned his disappearance months earlier. Salvatore considered him expendable, and Vance knew it. He prepared another corpse and paid someone inside the medical examiner’s office to falsify identification.
Now he had Cynthia.
“Where?” Carter demanded.
Helen looked at the message.
“There’s an abandoned surgical center in Quincy. Preston used it years ago.”
Luca grabbed his jacket.
Carter stopped him.
“He said alone.”
“And you're obviously not going alone.”
“He’ll kill her.”
“He may kill her anyway.”
Carter hated that Luca was right.
They compromised.
Carter would enter alone.
Luca’s team would remain outside until Cynthia was located.
The surgical center smelled of mildew and antiseptic.
Carter entered carrying Marianne’s cassette.
“No gun!” Vance shouted.
Carter lifted his jacket.
Empty.
“Keep walking.”
He followed the voice into an old operating theater.
Cynthia sat strapped to a chair.
Her face was bruised.
But she was awake.
“Carter.”
Relief nearly dropped him to his knees.
Vance stood behind her with a pistol.
“You should be dead,” Carter said.
“Several people have said that today.”
“Let her go.”
“The tape.”
Carter held it up.
“You think this is the only copy?”
“I think Marianne hid something else.”
“The imaging.”
Vance smiled.
“Smart.”
“You want the bullet.”
“I want everything connecting me to Anthony’s death.”
“You were a resident.”
“I was twenty-eight and drowning in debt. Salvatore offered me more money than my father earned in ten years.”
“And you took it.”
“Yes.”
Vance’s face tightened.
“But Marianne saw me.”
Cynthia stared at him.
“You killed my mother.”
“No. Salvatore ordered that.”
“You helped.”
Vance did not deny it.
Cynthia’s expression changed.
For twelve years she had imagined a random accident.
Now the man who helped destroy her family stood six feet away.
And somehow, what she felt was not rage.
It was clarity.
“You mocked me that morning because you were scared.”
Vance laughed.
“Of you?”
“Yes.”
Cynthia’s voice remained calm.
“You knew I documented everything. You knew I noticed mistakes. So you tried to make me doubt myself.”
Vance stopped smiling.
“You made comments about my body because you knew everyone would remember the humiliation instead of asking why you were attacking my documentation.”
Carter watched her.
Even tied to a chair, wounded and terrified, Cynthia was taking back every inch Vance had tried to steal from her.
“You were never better than me,” she said.
“You were just louder.”
Vance struck her.
Carter moved.
The gun snapped toward him.
“One more step.”
Carter froze.
Blood appeared at Cynthia’s lip.
Something inside him begged for violence.
He refused it.
“Take me instead.”
Vance laughed.
“You?”
“You wanted access to Moretti records. Accounts. Routes. Everything.”
“You'd give me that?”
“For her.”
Cynthia shook her head.
“No.”
Carter looked at her.
Thirty-six visits.
He had spent three years sitting across from this woman without knowing why her presence made a sterile room feel quiet.
Now he understood.
She saw people before she saw power.
She had done it with him.
She had done it with Ethan.
She had even done it with Vance.
“Cynthia.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“You don't get to make yourself a martyr because I did something stupid first.”
Despite everything, Carter almost smiled.
“Three bullets is more than stupid.”
“Shut up.”
Vance shouted, “Enough!”
That was the distraction Cynthia needed.
She had spent fifteen minutes working one wrist free against the broken metal edge of the chair.
She ripped her hand loose and drove her elbow backward.
Vance stumbled.
Carter moved.
The gun fired.
Cynthia screamed.
Carter slammed Vance into the wall.
The weapon skidded away.
Luca and federal agents stormed through both entrances seconds later.
Vance was dragged to the floor.
Carter ignored everyone.
He turned toward Cynthia.
She stared at his chest.
Blood spread across his white shirt.
“No.”
He looked down.
The bullet had struck his side.
“Carter.”
She reached him just as his knees gave way.
He laughed weakly.
“This feels familiar.”
“Don't you dare.”
She pressed both hands against the wound.
“You're going to be fine.”
“You don't know that.”
“I’m a nurse.”
“You're always saying that.”
“Because you never listen.”
Sirens approached.
Carter looked at her.
“Cynthia.”
“What?”
“If I survive this—”
“When.”
“When I survive this…”
His eyes began closing.
She slapped his cheek.
“Finish the sentence.”
“I’m going to ask you something.”
“What?”
He smiled faintly.
“Later.”
Then he lost consciousness.
Cynthia stared at him in disbelief.
“You unbelievable son of a—”
May you like
Paramedics pulled her away.
For the first time since she had met Carter Moretti, Cynthia Quinn was furious that a man had left her without an answer.
