Chương 10
"No."
"You said you would keep it discreet."
"I did."
"Vincent, there is a photograph of my child on a crime site."
"I can see it."
"Do not tell me you can see it."
He closed his eyes.
"You're right."
Her voice shook.
"This is exactly what I was afraid of."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
"I am going to fix the photo."
"That's not fixing this."
He had no answer.
Elena continued.
"You wanted to know what happens if she's yours."
Vincent looked through the tinted window at Queens sliding past.
"This."
Her voice broke.
"This is what happens."
Vincent kept the phone against his ear after Elena stopped speaking.
Neither of them ended the call.
Traffic moved around him in slow afternoon bursts.
A cyclist slapped the side of a delivery van.
Somebody leaned on a horn three cars back.
Marco watched Vincent without interrupting.
Finally Vincent said, "I'm coming back."
"No."
"Elena."
"No."
Her voice had steadied.
"Do not come back here and turn this into a bigger circus."
"I'm not planning a circus."
"You bring one with you."
The sentence landed because it was true.
Vincent looked at Marco.
Marco looked out the opposite window.
"Then tell me what you want me to do."
There was a long pause.
"I want Sophie's face gone."
"I'm working on it."
"I want no reporters outside the building."
"Without threatening anyone."
"Yes."
"And I want to know who took those pictures."
"So do I."
Elena breathed out.
"That answer scares me."
"It shouldn't."
"It does."
Vincent closed his eyes.
"Then I'll find out and tell you before I do anything."
Marco turned back toward him.
Elena stayed quiet.
Vincent added, "Anything."
"Fine."
She hung up.
Marco waited three seconds.
"You hated saying that."
"I hated meaning it more."
They found the source of the first photograph before Vincent reached Manhattan.
A freelance photographer named Curtis Vale had been sitting in a coffee shop across from Elena's building when Vincent arrived.
Vale recognized the car first.
Then Vincent.
He took pictures because that was what he did for money.
The second image had come from somebody else.
That bothered Marco.
"Hospital employee?"
Vincent asked.
"Could be."
"Visitor?"
"Could be."
"Someone following me?"
Marco didn't answer immediately.
Vincent looked at him.
"Could be."
The car went quiet.
For most of his adult life, being followed had been inconvenient rather than surprising.
He had assumed observation the way other men assumed weather.
Federal agents.
Rivals.
Reporters.
Police.
Men hoping to sell information.
Men hoping to use it.
That had been manageable when the consequences belonged to him.
Now Sophie's face was on a website because she had held his hand.
He looked at the image again.
She appeared frightened.
He had not noticed that at the time.
He had been too relieved to have her hand in his.
"Find out who's been watching me."
Marco nodded.
"No noise."
Another nod.
"And send Vale a lawyer."
Marco raised an eyebrow.
"A lawyer?"
"Privacy, image rights, harassment, whatever applies."
"Whatever applies is not usually how you describe legal strategy."
"I'm evolving."
"Slowly."
Vincent's cardiologist did not care about his evolution.
Dr. Nadia Stein cared about the monitor data and the fact that Vincent had apparently interpreted discharge instructions as suggestions.
"You had an arrhythmia event at four seventeen this morning."
"I was asleep in a chair."
"Congratulations."
She turned the monitor toward him.
"Your heart does not care whether the chair was comfortable."
"It wasn't."
"That was not the point."
Stein had treated him for less than a week and already spoke to him like an irritated aunt.
Vincent disliked her immediately.
He trusted her almost as quickly.
She adjusted his medication and told him stress was not a poetic abstraction.
"People hear stress and think scented candles."
"I don't."
"You probably think gunfire."
"Occasionally."
She stared at him.
"Was that a joke?"
"Mostly."
She rubbed her forehead.
"You are going to take the medication."
"Yes."
"You are going to sleep."
"Eventually."
"Tonight."
He said nothing.
"Mr. Moretti."
"Doctor."
"If you collapse again because you're stubborn, I will have less sympathy than the six-year-old who called the ambulance."
Vincent looked at her.
Stein froze.
"I saw the article."
His face changed.
She raised both hands.
"I am not asking."
"Good."
"I am telling you the stress is relevant."
"Understood."
"Do you actually understand?"
"No."
She almost smiled.
"Take the pills."
By the time Vincent returned to Elmhurst, two local reporters were waiting near the main entrance.
Marco swore.
Vincent looked at the camera equipment.
"Use the garage."
"They'll find out."
"Eventually."
They entered through a staff-access corridor after hospital security redirected them.
Vincent did not ask for special treatment.
The distinction felt thin.
He found Elena sitting upright in bed with Sophie beside her.
A cartoon played silently on the television.
Elena looked exhausted.
Sophie looked angry.
She held up a phone as soon as Vincent entered.
"People are saying you're my dad."
Vincent stopped.
Elena's expression told him this conversation had already gone badly.
"Where did you see that?"
"Mr. Chen's phone."
Mr. Chen, standing near the sink, looked unapologetic.
"I was reading."
"She reads upside down," Elena said.
Sophie frowned.
"Not all words."
Vincent pulled the visitor chair closer but stayed standing.
"People online don't know yet."
"They said secret daughter."
"I saw."
"Am I secret?"
Elena closed her eyes.
Vincent answered.
"No."
Sophie looked at him.
"Then why does it say secret?"
"Because secret sounds more interesting than something complicated happened."
She considered this.
"That's dumb."
"Often."
Elena gave him a warning look.
"What?"
"Do not teach her to hate journalists."
"I didn't."
Mr. Chen made a noise.
Nobody asked what it meant.
Sophie turned the phone toward Vincent.
Someone had placed his photograph beside hers.
The resemblance looked more obvious when arranged deliberately.
The eyes.
The brow.
Even the slight tilt of the mouth when irritated.
Vincent looked away.
"Can they make it stop?" Sophie asked.
May you like
"We're trying."
"Who is we?"
