“What’s wrong?” She was being too silent.
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I was chipped, too.”
He looked at her with confusion, turning down the music in the car. “What do you mean?”
“Like your car—a GPS chip.”
Carmine slammed the brakes as soon as the words registered, the car skidding to a stop with a loud squeal. Haven braced her hands against the dash, eyes wide with shock.
“There’s a tracking chip on you? Where?”
“It’s in me,” she said. “Under my skin.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Your father chipped you like a dog?”
She shook her head. “My father didn’t do it. Yours did.”
He blinked a few times. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. He stuck the needle into my back. He also scraped my cheek with some kind of cotton swab. I don’t know why, but he did it. He said I can never escape. It’s impossible.”
Carmine’s stomach sank. He was going to be sick.
* * *
Vincent stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor of the Belden Stratford Hotel and strolled toward his room at the end of the hall. The dim lighting was easy on his tired eyes. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep, his hectic schedule taking a toll on him.
Jet-lagged, he was looking forward to having some down time. The next ten hours of his schedule were uncharacteristically clear, and he had no intention of doing anything but lying in bed. He was sick of traveling. Sick of working. Sick of talking. Sick of thinking. He wanted, for once, to savor a bit of peace.
The moment he stepped into his hotel room, the phone in his pocket rang. He looked at the clock—six in the morning.
He pulled out his phone, too exhausted to deal with business, and was surprised to see it was Carmine. Vincent sat down on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t it a bit early for you to be up, son?”
Carmine sighed. “It’s called insomnia, remember? I never sleep.”
Vincent knew the feeling well. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Can’t I call my father to wish him a happy new year?”
Vincent was surprised. Carmine had certainly never called for casual conversation before. “Happy new year to you, too. Did you all have a nice night?”
“It was okay, I guess.”
“No fighting?”
“No, I didn’t send anyone to the hospital.”
“Good,” he said, yawning. The sky outside was starting to lighten as dawn approached. “What are you guys going to do today?”
“I don’t know,” Carmine said, “but I guess you’ll be able to tell later. You know, because of the tracking chip in Haven.”
The words went straight over Vincent’s head. It took a minute for them to sink in. “She told you about that?”
“She may have mentioned it,” he said. “She also may have said you swabbed her cheek. She isn’t, like, our cousin or something, is she? Illegitimate child? Were you f**king around on Mom?”
Vincent sighed. “Of course not. There’s no blood relation.”
“Okay, whatever. I was just curious.”
Vincent closed his eyes. His son was on to him.
Peace was fleeting once again.
26
The first week of January swiftly passed as the boys headed back to school. Haven lay in bed for a while that Friday morning before strolling into the library. Glancing toward the stairs, she gasped and grabbed her chest. Dr. DeMarco stood in front of her with his arms crossed.
He had been in Chicago all week, so he was the last person she expected to see. She stared at him, wondering when he’d gotten home, but more curious as to what he was doing on the third floor. There was a part of her—the part that would never forget what he did—that screamed something wasn’t right. She searched for some hidden emotion and saw a flicker of aggravation in his eyes.
The monster lurked today. “Good morning, Dr. DeMarco.”
“Good morning.” His voice was cold and detached. “Grab your coat and meet me downstairs.”
Fear consumed her, but she tried to keep her outward composure. He continued to stare at her, waiting for acknowledgment. She didn’t know why—it wasn’t as if she could say no. If he told her to be somewhere, she’d be there if she wanted to or not.
“Yes, sir.”
She exhaled sharply once he was gone, shaking her head as she grabbed her coat. She stuck her hands into her pockets as she descended the stairs, her palms sweaty. Was this the end of her time here? Was he tired of her? What would he do to her? Would he sell her? What if she never saw Carmine again?
In the middle of her near-breakdown, a hand gripped her shoulder. She recoiled from Dr. DeMarco behind her. “You’re awfully jumpy today.”
“Sorry.”
He glanced at his watch. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”
Dr. DeMarco opened the front door, and she kept her head down as she stepped outside. He set the alarm and locked up, brushing past her to the car as if she weren’t there.
Haven stared in the side mirror as he drove down the driveway, watching the house disappear behind the rows of dense trees. Sighing, she glanced at Dr. DeMarco, wishing she knew what bothered him. She kept her gaze on him for too long, and he glanced over at her. “It’s rude to stare, child. If you have a question, ask it. Otherwise, mind your manners. I’m not in the mood for insolence today.”
She had no idea what insolence was, but she had no intention of giving it to him. “I was wondering where we were going, sir.”
“The hospital,” he said, the same time Haven spotted the building in the distance. He pulled into a front parking spot and turned off the car. “Just like the football game, I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
She sat still, staring out the windshield at the sign with DR. VINCENT DEMARCO written on it in blue. “I’ll be good, sir.”
Haven followed him into the building, keeping his pace so as not to lag behind. They headed straight for the elevator and despite the fact that it only took thirty seconds, her anxiety tripled during the ride to the third floor. Logically she knew Dr. DeMarco wouldn’t hurt her in public, but it wasn’t easy being rational when confined in a small box with a man capable of harm.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the doors opened, and she followed Dr. DeMarco down a long corridor. Watching her feet, she didn’t notice he’d stopped until she ran into him. Gasping, she took a few steps back and held her hands up to shield herself. Dr. DeMarco stood in place, his hand twitching at his side. He balled it into a fist, fighting to keep his temper in check.
Pulling out a set of keys, he unlocked a door and flicked on a light inside the room. “Sit down. I’ll be back.”
As soon as she stepped into the room, his footsteps receded down the hallway. She stood in one spot, reading his nameplate on the desk, before surveying the rest of the office. It was orderly, books lining a shelf and folders neatly stacked on his desk. There weren’t any personal items, no family pictures or WORLD’S GREATEST DAD coffee mugs. The walls were white and plain, everything wooden except for the black leather chairs.
It looked like the house—sterilized.
She sat in one of the chairs and folded her hands in her lap, picking at her fingernails. Dr. DeMarco returned eventually and sat down behind his desk, putting on his glasses. She risked a peek at him and saw he was reading a file. He sensed her eyes again and sighed dramatically. “Ask.”
“I was wondering why we were here, sir.”
“I needed to get back to work, and you need a shot.” He pulled a book off a shelf and handed it to her. “A nurse will be around in a while, but other than that, you’re going to be sitting here most of the day. May as well entertain yourself, since you apparently know how to read now.”
* * *
Dr. DeMarco’s office was silent, except for the sound of the occasional turning page. Haven fidgeted as the minutes slowly passed. After a while there was a knock at the door, and Dr. DeMarco stood up to answer it. “Good afternoon.”
A young blonde-haired woman walked in, smiling sweetly at Dr. DeMarco. “Happy birthday!”
Haven froze. No one had told her it was his birthday.
“Thanks,” he said, not sounding enthusiastic as he turned to Haven. “I’ll grab some lunch.”
He narrowed his eyes in a silent warning before walking out.
“I’m Jen,” the woman said once he was gone. “It’s nice to meet the girl who whipped Carmine into shape. How did you manage that, anyway?”
Her heart rate spiked as Jen pulled out a needle. “I don’t know . . .”
“It’s unexplainable, huh? That boy used to land himself or someone else in the ER every week with all the fighting he did. It’s been months since it’s happened. Dr. DeMarco has to be happy.” She paused, smiling widely. “Turn around and unbutton your jeans. This has to go in the rear.”
Haven did as she was told, wincing as the needle penetrated her skin.
“It’s hard to believe the worst medical attention Carmine causes anyone these days is for his girlfriend to get birth control.”
Birth control? She pulled her pants back up as the door opened and Dr. DeMarco walked in. He set two food containers on his desk, pushing one toward Haven as she retook her seat. Haven opened her container and poked at the food.
“You two enjoy your lunch,” Jen said. “Once again, it’s nice to meet you, Haven. Don’t let those DeMarco men give you too much trouble. Sometimes you have to show them who’s boss.”
Dr. DeMarco let out a laugh at those words.
Jen started to walk out but paused in the doorway. “Plus, I’ve heard Carmine likes kinky girls.”
The amusement died in Dr. DeMarco’s eyes, his expression twisting again to aggravation. As the door shut, Haven’s hand trembled and shook the fork.
“Eat,” Dr. DeMarco said forcefully. She flinched from his harsh tone and took a bite, so nauseated she had a hard time swallowing. After about ten minutes of thick tension and forcing down half of her food, she set her fork aside, hoping that would satisfy him.
He grabbed her container and dropped it into the trash can with a thud. She watched as he picked up his office phone and dialed a number, putting it on speakerphone as it rang. Dread rocked her when the familiar voice answered the line.
“Yeah?” Carmine said. “Why are you calling me at lunch?”
“I need to see you at the hospital as soon as you get out of school.”
There was a pause. “I didn’t do it.”
Dr. DeMarco sighed. “Didn’t do what?”
“Whatever you think I did.”
“Just come to my office,” Dr. DeMarco said. “I’m not in the mood for your antics today.”
He hung up before Carmine could respond, his attention shifting to Haven. “It’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday, sir,” she said. “No one told me.”