Chapter 2 - The Man I Almost Married
Eric stepped out of the elevator as if he had arrived for dinner.
No weapon.
No panic.
No surprise.
That was the worst part.
“Claire,” he said again.
Marcus aimed directly at his chest.
“Stop.”
Eric stopped.
Behind him stood two men I did not recognize.
One was older, silver-haired, wearing a dark overcoat.
The other carried a slim metal case.
My eyes returned to Eric.
“You knew.”
His smile disappeared.
“It's complicated.”
Three months of grief rearranged itself inside me.
The nights I had cried against his chest.
The mornings he had told me everything would work out.
The day he packed his clothes and said my “instability” was becoming too much.
All of it suddenly looked different.
“You knew,” I repeated.
Eric glanced at Adrian.
“I told them she wasn't ready.”
Adrian's voice was cold.
“You don't get to decide anything about her anymore.”
Eric laughed softly.
“Still pretending you're her protector?”
I looked between them.
“You know each other.”
“Unfortunately,” Adrian said.
Eric took one more step.
Marcus tightened his grip.
“Don't.”
Eric stopped again.
“Claire, put down the folder.”
I looked at it.
Then at him.
“No.”
His jaw flexed.
That tiny expression told me more than any confession could.
He needed what was inside.
“Were you ever going to marry me?”
For the first time, Eric looked uncomfortable.
That was answer enough.
Something inside me broke.
But beneath the heartbreak came something stronger.
Clarity.
“Why me?”
The silver-haired man behind Eric spoke.
“Because your father was careless.”
Adrian's face hardened.
“Victor.”
So they knew him too.
Victor removed his gloves.
“Adrian Vale. Still difficult to kill.”
Marcus said, “Last warning.”
Victor ignored him.
His attention remained on me.
“You look like Thomas.”
I hated hearing my father's name in his mouth.
“You knew him?”
“I knew what he stole.”
“My father didn't steal anything.”
Victor smiled.
“Children rarely know their parents.”
“I was fourteen.”
“Exactly.”
Adrian struggled to stand.
I immediately moved toward him.
He caught the sofa instead.
“Stay down.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're bleeding through the dressing.”
Victor watched us with unsettling interest.
“So that's how it happened.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Adrian's voice sharpened.
“Why are you here?”
“For what Thomas Bennett took.”
“She doesn't have it.”
“We disagree.”
Eric looked at me.
“Claire, your father gave you a silver music box.”
My heartbeat changed.
I said nothing.
Eric saw it anyway.
Of course he did.
He had lived with me for two years.
He knew my face.
Victor smiled.
“There.”
Adrian swore.
I gripped the folder tighter.
The music box.
My father had given it to me on my fourteenth birthday.
Small.
Silver-plated.
A ballerina inside that turned when the key was wound.
After he died, I kept it through every move.
It was one of the few things I refused to sell after losing my job.
“You searched my apartment,” I whispered.
Eric didn't deny it.
“You couldn't find it.”
“Claire—”
“You slept beside me while you searched my things.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed.
“You destroyed me.”
“No. I delayed them.”
“By getting me fired?”
“That wasn't supposed to happen.”
“But it did.”
Victor's patience disappeared.
“Enough.”
Marcus shifted.
Victor glanced toward him.
“You won't shoot me.”
“Try me.”
“If I die, the building locks down and a team enters in six minutes.”
Marcus did not move.
Victor smiled.
“Professional men understand leverage.”
I looked at Adrian.
“How do we get out?”
His eyes met mine.
For a second, something changed between us.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But alignment.
“We don't use the elevator,” he said.
Victor turned.
Adrian moved faster than an injured man should have been able to.
He knocked the lamp from the side table.
Darkness swallowed half the room.
Marcus shouted.
A gunshot cracked.
Glass shattered.
Someone grabbed my arm.
I drove my elbow backward.
A man cursed.
Then Adrian's hand found mine.
“Run.”
We ran.
Through the dining room.
Past the kitchen.
Toward a hidden door behind dark wood paneling.
Marcus followed.
Another shot hit marble behind us.
Adrian stumbled.
I caught him.
“Keep moving.”
“You're giving orders now?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Even half-conscious, the man was impossible.
Marcus opened the hidden door.
A narrow service corridor waited beyond.
We entered.
One guard followed.
The other stayed behind.
The door slammed shut.
Marcus locked it.
“Stairs.”
We descended.
Adrian leaned increasingly heavily against me.
“You're reopening the wound.”
“I'll schedule dying for later.”
“Stop making jokes.”
“They bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Then they're working.”
Four floors down, we entered another corridor.
Marcus opened a utility room.
Inside were street clothes, phones, cash and medical supplies.
Apparently billionaires prepared for siege conditions.
I redressed Adrian's wound while Marcus made calls.
“You knew Eric was involved,” I said.
Adrian stared at the concrete wall.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
“And you let me stay with him?”
“We were monitoring him.”
I nearly pushed my thumb into his wound.
His eyes flicked toward me.
“Tempting?”
“Very.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
His voice softened.
“I know what it is to discover that someone you loved was assigned to you.”
That stopped me.
“Who?”
He looked away.
“Another night.”
“You may not have another night.”
“Fair.”
I taped the dressing into place.
“Why do I matter to you?”
Silence.
“Adrian.”
“My father worked with yours.”
I froze.
“They were partners?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
“Your father tried to expose Halcyon. Mine ran it.”
I stepped backward.
There it was.
The missing piece.
Adrian Vale.
Vale.
I remembered the newspapers.
Charles Vale.
Founder and CEO of Halcyon Strategic Systems.
The man accused of running illegal foreign operations before dying in a plane crash.
“You're Charles Vale's son.”
“Yes.”
“My father died because of your family.”
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
“I expect you to hate me,” he said. “But I also expect you to survive.”
Marcus approached.
“We have a vehicle.”
Adrian stood.
“Where?”
“Brooklyn site.”
I grabbed my bag.
Then stopped.
“The music box.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Where is it?”
I hesitated.
I had trusted Eric.
That had nearly destroyed me.
Trusting Adrian could be worse.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Keep it that way.”
“You don't want it?”
“I've spent years making sure Victor doesn't get it.”
That answer felt true.
Which terrified me.
We reached the garage through a service elevator.
Marcus drove.
I sat in the back beside Adrian.
Manhattan blurred beyond rain-streaked glass.
Adrian's eyes closed.
“Don't sleep.”
“They teach nurses to torture patients?”
“Only difficult ones.”
His mouth moved slightly.
Then his head fell against the seat.
“Adrian.”
No response.
I checked his pulse.
Still there.
I looked at Marcus.
“How far?”
“Twelve minutes.”
“Make it eight.”
He did.
The safe site was an unmarked brick building near the waterfront.
Inside was a small apartment above what appeared to be a closed architecture firm.
I got Adrian into bed.
Marcus disappeared downstairs.
For the first time, we were alone.
I sat beside Adrian.
“Why tonight?”
His eyes opened.
“What?”
“Why did they attack you tonight?”
“Because I found the final name.”
“What final name?”
“The person who ordered your father's death.”
My chest tightened.
“Victor?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Adrian reached toward his jacket.
His hand shook.
I helped him.
He pulled out a small flash drive.
“Everything I've collected is there.”
I stared at it.
“Why give it to me?”
“Because if I don't wake up, Marcus will get you out of the country.”
“I am not leaving.”
“You might reconsider.”
“Tell me the name.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then his eyes drifted toward the door.
Footsteps sounded downstairs.
Marcus shouted something.
A crash followed.
Adrian forced himself upright.
I grabbed the trauma scissors like they were a weapon.
The bedroom door slowly opened.
A woman stepped inside.
She was in her late fifties.
Gray streaked her dark hair.
Her eyes filled with tears when she saw me.
“Claire.”
I had not seen her in sixteen years.
May you like
But I recognized her immediately.
My mother was supposed to be dead.
