Chapter 1 - Ten Seconds to Live
Coffee splashed across Gabriel Moretti's black suit, and I blurted, "Oh God—don't move!"
Gabriel sat motionless in his wheelchair while I grabbed the armrest.
A tiny medication capsule was wedged beside the right wheel.
Someone had scratched the number 417 into its shell.
This was no longer about spilled coffee.
My name was Claire Bennett, and until that morning, the most dangerous person I had ever dealt with was an eighty-three-year-old retired dentist who had thrown a television remote at me because I wouldn't let him eat cheesecake before his blood test.
Gabriel Moretti was different.
For one thing, the retired dentist had never threatened to bury me beneath roses.
For another, Gabriel had two men standing behind him who looked perfectly capable of doing the digging.
I stared at the coffee running down Gabriel's black shirt.
He stared at me.
His eyes were so dark they almost seemed black beneath the warm lights of the study.
"Nine seconds," he said.
I swallowed.
"You're counting?"
"Eight."
"That's unnecessarily dramatic."
The bodyguard near the window blinked.
The other one didn't move at all.
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
"Seven."
I should have apologized.
I should have begged.
I should probably have run.
Instead, something terrible happened.
I laughed.
It wasn't because anything was funny. It was the nervous laugh that had ruined job interviews, funerals, and one extremely unfortunate traffic stop.
Gabriel's expression changed.
Not softer.
More confused.
"You think this is funny?"
"No."
I laughed again.
His eyes narrowed.
"That's convincing."
"I'm nervous."
"You laugh when you're nervous?"
"Sometimes."
"What do you do when you're terrified?"
I looked at the two bodyguards.
"I'll let you know."
Something moved at the corner of Gabriel's mouth.
It disappeared so quickly I wasn't sure I'd seen it.
I grabbed a cloth from the drink cart and crouched beside him.
"Don't touch me."
"I'm a nurse."
"You're unemployed."
"You haven't fired me yet."
"I haven't decided how you're leaving."
"That sounds ominous."
"Six seconds."
"You stopped counting for almost a minute."
His stare could have cracked marble.
But he let me clean the coffee.
That was when I saw the capsule.
It was caught between the lower frame of his wheelchair and the edge of the seat cushion.
At first I assumed Gabriel had dropped medication.
Then I noticed its condition.
The capsule had been separated and pushed back together.
Powder coated one edge.
Someone had scratched three tiny numbers into the translucent shell.
I stopped cleaning.
Gabriel noticed immediately.
"What?"
I reached toward it.
The bodyguard beside the fireplace spoke for the first time.
"Leave it."
My fingers froze.
His name, I'd been told, was Marco Bellini.
He was Gabriel's head of security.
The other man was Luca Russo, Gabriel's driver and longtime bodyguard.
I looked at Marco.
"Why?"
"It's probably garbage."
"Then why do you care?"
Marco's expression hardened.
Gabriel turned his head toward him.
"Marco."
"Boss."
"She asked you a question."
Marco's shoulders became rigid.
"I don't want her touching something unknown."
That explanation made sense.
Almost.
I picked up the capsule using the cloth.
Marco took one step forward.
Gabriel saw it.
So did I.
"Mr. Moretti," I said quietly, "was this supposed to be in your medication?"
Gabriel held out his hand.
I hesitated.
"Use the cloth."
His gaze sharpened.
"Claire."
It was the first time he'd said my name.
I wrapped the capsule and placed it carefully in his palm.
Gabriel studied it.
"417," he murmured.
"You recognize that number?"
"No."
Marco did.
I knew because he looked away.
Only for a second.
But Gabriel Moretti had survived long enough in his world because he noticed seconds.
"Luca," Gabriel said.
The bodyguard by the window straightened.
"Lock the doors."
Marco turned.
"Gabriel—"
"Did I ask you?"
Silence.
Luca crossed the room and locked the study.
The small click suddenly sounded louder than the coffee cup hitting the carpet had.
I stood slowly.
"Maybe I should leave."
"No."
Gabriel didn't look at me.
That single word stopped me.
He continued examining the capsule.
"You're my nurse."
"I thought I was unemployed."
"You're rehired."
"When did that happen?"
"When you found this."
"That's not how employment usually works."
"Neither is spilling coffee on your employer."
Fair.
Gabriel rolled his wheelchair toward the desk.
His movements were practiced and strong. His upper body compensated easily for legs that no longer obeyed him.
I'd read the medical summary before arriving.
Spinal injury.
Vehicle explosion eighteen months earlier.
Partial sensation.
No functional movement below the waist.
Chronic nerve pain.
A complicated medication schedule.
What the agency hadn't included was that three nurses had resigned in six months.
I'd assumed Gabriel was difficult.
Now I wondered whether they had been frightened.
Gabriel placed the wrapped capsule on his desk.
"Tell me what you see."
"Without testing it?"
"Yes."
I leaned closer.
"The capsule was opened."
"How can you tell?"
"The seam isn't aligned. Whoever closed it again pressed too hard. That's why the shell cracked."
"What else?"
"Powder residue."
"Medication?"
"Maybe."
"Poison?"
Marco said it.
I looked at him.
"Maybe."
Gabriel's eyes stayed on me.
"If someone wanted to poison medication, would it look like this?"
"Someone careful? Probably not."
"And someone careless?"
"Possibly."
His expression changed.
That answer had disturbed him more than if I'd simply said yes.
Because carelessness meant desperation.
Or urgency.
"Where are my medications?" he asked.
Marco answered.
"Upstairs. Locked cabinet."
"Who has access?"
"You. Me. Dr. Mercer."
"And?"
Marco hesitated.
"Housekeeping has an emergency key."
Gabriel gave a humorless laugh.
"So half the mansion."
"That's not fair."
"I wasn't trying to be fair."
I examined the capsule again.
"Do you have today's medication?"
Marco reached inside his jacket.
Gabriel's voice turned cold.
"Don't."
Marco stopped.
Everyone stared at his hand.
He slowly withdrew it empty.
"Gabriel."
"Why were you reaching into your jacket?"
"For your pill case."
Gabriel looked at me.
"You administer it."
Marco's face tightened.
"I've handled his medication for eighteen months."
"And today," Gabriel replied, "Claire handles it."
I suddenly wished I had taken the receptionist job my sister had suggested.
The salary had been terrible.
But receptionists rarely had to determine whether organized criminals were poisoning each other.
Probably.
"Where's the pill case?" I asked.
Marco placed a silver container on the desk.
I put on gloves from my nursing bag.
Gabriel watched every movement.
Inside were six compartments.
Morning.
Noon.
Evening.
Emergency pain medication.
Blood pressure.
Muscle relaxant.
I examined each pill.
Nothing obvious.
Then I reached the evening compartment.
One capsule had a faint indentation.
Three numbers.
I stopped breathing.
Gabriel saw my face.
"What?"
I lifted it.
Marco swore under his breath.
Luca moved away from the door.
Gabriel stared at the capsule.
"Same number?"
"Yes."
"Open it."
"No."
His eyes snapped toward me.
"No?"
"We don't know what's inside."
"That's why I'm telling you to open it."
"And I'm telling you we need a laboratory."
Gabriel leaned back.
"You're very comfortable saying no to me."
"I'm getting better at it."
For the second time, that almost-smile appeared.
Then vanished.
"Bag it."
I placed both capsules into separate evidence bags from my medical kit.
Gabriel looked at Marco.
"Who prepared today's medication?"
Marco didn't answer.
"Marco."
"I did."
The room changed.
Luca stared at him.
My stomach tightened.
Gabriel's voice became quieter.
"You prepared the pills."
"Yes."
"And you didn't notice the marking."
"No."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I've protected you for twelve years."
"That wasn't my question."
Marco stepped closer.
"I would die for you."
Gabriel looked almost tired.
"Men who say that usually expect applause."
"You know me."
"I thought I did."
Marco's face hardened with something that looked less like guilt than hurt.
That confused me.
"Gabriel," he said, "someone wants you looking at me."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Convenient."
"Think. Whoever did this left something obvious enough for a nurse to find."
I raised my hand slightly.
"Accidentally."
Both men looked at me.
"I only found it because I spilled coffee."
Gabriel's gaze dropped to his destroyed suit.
"An achievement you'll apparently mention forever."
"Probably."
But Marco's argument bothered me.
If someone had deliberately marked poisoned capsules, why?
A poisoner wouldn't label evidence.
Unless 417 wasn't meant for us.
Maybe it was meant for someone else.
"What happened on April seventeenth?" I asked.
Gabriel went completely still.
Marco looked at him.
Luca looked at the floor.
I felt cold.
"What?" I asked.
Gabriel's voice lost every trace of humor.
"Why did you say April seventeenth?"
"417. Four-seventeen. Maybe it's a date."
Gabriel turned toward the window.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he said, "That's the day my car exploded."
My skin prickled.
The accident.
The one that had put him in the wheelchair.
"Was anyone else hurt?"
Gabriel didn't answer.
Luca did.
"His father died."
I looked at Gabriel.
He was staring at nothing now.
Eighteen months earlier, someone had planted an explosive device beneath Gabriel's armored SUV.
Gabriel had survived.
His father, Vittorio Moretti, hadn't.
The police investigation had gone nowhere.
Gabriel's doctors had told him he might never walk again.
And now a tampered medication capsule had appeared beside his wheelchair with the date of that attack scratched into it.
This wasn't random.
Someone was sending a message.
Gabriel turned back.
"Claire."
"Yes?"
"You don't leave this house."
My stomach dropped.
"Excuse me?"
"Until I know what this is."
"I'm not a prisoner."
"No."
"That sounded exactly like something a kidnapper would say."
"It's protection."
"From whom?"
Gabriel looked at Marco.
Then Luca.
Then the locked door.
"That's the problem."
A knock sounded.
Everyone froze.
Three slow knocks.
Marco moved toward the door.
Gabriel raised one hand.
"Who is it?"
A woman's voice answered.
"Dr. Mercer."
I looked at Gabriel.
His physician.
One of the people with access to his medication.
Gabriel nodded at Luca.
Luca unlocked the door.
Dr. Evelyn Mercer entered carrying a leather medical case.
She was perhaps fifty, composed and elegant.
Her gaze moved across the room.
Coffee-covered Gabriel.
Me.
Marco.
Luca.
Then the evidence bags.
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Gabriel noticed.
"Doctor," he said. "Do you recognize this capsule?"
She stared at it.
"No."
Too quickly.
I looked at her hands.
One was gripping her medical case.
Her knuckles had gone white.
Gabriel rolled closer.
"Interesting."
"What's going on?"
"Claire found something."
Dr. Mercer looked at me.
Not curiously.
Fearfully.
And suddenly I understood something.
She wasn't frightened of Gabriel.
She was frightened for him.
"Gabriel," she whispered, "you need to get out of this room."
Marco reached for his jacket.
Luca moved toward the hallway.
Gabriel's expression hardened.
"Why?"
Dr. Mercer looked toward the fireplace.
Then toward the desk.
Then directly at me.
"Because 417 isn't a date."
Nobody moved.
Gabriel's voice dropped.
"What is it?"
She swallowed.
"It's an account number."
The lights went out.
May you like
Somewhere behind me, the study door opened.
And a man's voice whispered my name.
