Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Where have I seen them before?
“Hi,” the petite girl says, studying me with a peculiar expression. Her eyes are huge and dark in her delicately featured face. “You must be Peter’s wife. I’m Nora Esguerra.”
The name rings a bell, too—beyond the now-familiar “Esguerra.”
“And I’m Rosa Martinez,” the other girl says with a faint Spanish accent. Like Nora, she’s staring at me like I’m some kind of exotic animal, and I realize that her name is familiar as well.
We’ve definitely met. But where?
“Hi,” I say slowly as a memory nibbles at the back of my mind. It’s something from years ago, something having to do with my hospital… “I’m Sara Cobakis—that is, Sokolov.” Or Garin, or whatever identity Peter’s going to have us assume next.
“And you’re a doctor, right?” Nora cocks her head. “I don’t know if you remember, but—”
“You were a patient of mine!” I exclaim as it comes to me. My gaze falls on Rosa, and my shock intensifies. “You both were.”
I remember it now. It was years ago, not long after George’s accident. I’d been called into the ER to treat two young women who had been assaulted at a nightclub. One of them—Rosa—had been raped, while the other one—Nora—had suffered a miscarriage in the process of trying to defend her friend.
Nora’s husband had been there too, a stunningly handsome man who’d looked like he was on the verge of murdering everyone but his young wife.
Had that been Julian Esguerra?
Have I already met the man I’ve heard so much about?
Nora’s lips curve in a smile. “You have a good memory. I’m sure you’ve had thousands of patients over the years.”
“I… yes, but…” Realizing I’m keeping them outside like some door-to-door salesmen, I step back and open the door wide. “Please, come in. You must be hot standing there.”
“Thank you,” Nora says, walking in, and Rosa follows, pushing the stroller in front of her.
“Is that your child?” I ask Rosa, but she smiles and shakes her head.
“She’s Nora’s.”
“Oh, yes, this is Lizzie.” Nora pushes back the hood of the stroller and leans over to pick up the sleeping baby. Cradling her gently against one shoulder, she beams at me. “She’s five months old.”
“Congratulations,” I say softly. I remember how devastated she’d looked in the hospital, how worried for her friend. And Rosa… It’s hard to believe the battered girl I’d treated that night is the bright-eyed woman standing in front of me. If not for Nora’s presence, it might’ve taken me longer to recognize her; half of Rosa’s face had been swollen and crusted with blood when I last saw her.
“Thank you.” Nora’s smile dims slightly, then comes back in full force. “She’s our world—which is why I told Julian we must give you shelter, no matter how pissed he is about the Henderson situation.”
I blink at her. “What?”
Rosa not-so-subtly kicks Nora’s foot and says something in rapid-fire Spanish.
“I’m sure she knows about Henderson,” Nora says, frowning at her friend before looking back at me. “You do know about Henderson, right?”
“Yes, of course,” I say. “I’m just confused as to what your daughter has to do with giving us shelter.”
“Oh, that.” Nora looks relieved. “Peter didn’t tell you?” At my blank look, she explains, “Your husband did a huge favor for us in recent months—one that may have saved Lizzie from the clutches of a very evil man.”
“And you,” Rosa reminds her, and Nora nods.
“Right, and me. And Julian’s life too, though he doesn’t want to acknowledge that part.”
“Oh, I see.” This must’ve been the favor that Peter had mentioned—the one that ultimately got him the amnesty deal. I want to ask a million questions about that and everything else, but first, I need to stop being such a bad hostess. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” I offer. “I think Peter stocked the fridge yesterday…”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Nora says and walks over to sit down on the couch.
“A glass of water for me, please,” Rosa says when I look at her.
Grateful to have something to do, I go into the kitchen and fill two glasses with filtered water from the refrigerator—one for myself and one for Rosa. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen is clean and modern, if not overly fancy. I can definitely picture Lucas Kent being at home here; the minimalist aesthetic seems like something that would appeal to him.
“So, how did you and Peter meet?” Nora asks when I return to the living room and hand Rosa her glass of water. She’s now on the couch next to Nora, and Lizzie is back in the stroller, still sleeping peacefully.
She must’ve worn herself out with all that crying earlier.
“It’s kind of a long story,” I say in response to Nora’s question as I sit down on a chair across from them. “What about you and your husband? And what brought you to Chicago that time? Are you originally from the area?”