Chapter 2 - The Man in the White Shirt
Vincent said nothing for several seconds.
Chloe watched the hard lines of his face change.
Not into fear.
Recognition.
The voice on the phone was distorted.
“Bring Maria Bennett’s daughter to Pier Nine.”
Vincent’s gaze moved to Chloe.
“Who is this?”
“You already know.”
The call ended.
Vincent immediately dialed another number.
“Trace it.”
A pause.
“I don’t care how. Do it.”
Chloe hugged herself.
“Who was that?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
“Vincent.”
“My father’s private number.”
“You said he was dead?”
“Twelve years.”
Chloe stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes.”
He sounded less convinced than she expected.
Outside, Marco forced Derek toward one of the SUVs.
Derek twisted around.
“Chloe!”
Vincent lowered the window an inch.
“Don’t,” Chloe whispered.
But Vincent was watching Derek.
“What do you know about Maria Bennett?”
Derek laughed nervously.
“More than she does.”
Chloe lunged toward the window.
“What does that mean?”
Derek’s eyes found hers.
“You think I met you by accident?”
The world seemed to tilt.
Vincent’s voice became quiet.
“Put him in the other vehicle.”
“No!” Chloe shouted. “Wait.”
Derek smiled.
It was the same smile he had worn the first night they met.
Charming.
Patient.
False.
“You really thought I loved you?”
Marco shoved him forward.
Chloe went numb.
Two years.
Two years of apologies and flowers after arguments.
Two years of Derek asking questions about her childhood.
Her mother.
Her belongings.
The storage locker Chloe had inherited but never opened.
Vincent closed the window.
“Don’t listen to him.”
“He targeted me.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Yes, we do.”
Her voice broke.
She hated that.
She wiped her face.
Vincent handed her a clean handkerchief.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
“You carry handkerchiefs?”
“My grandmother raised me.”
It was such an ordinary answer that Chloe finally took it.
Marco opened the driver’s door.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found this in his pocket.”
He passed something backward.
A key.
Small.
Brass.
Stamped with the number 317.
Chloe recognized it immediately.
“My mother’s.”
Vincent turned.
“You’ve seen it?”
“In a photograph.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
Derek had searched the apartment.
Suddenly Chloe understood what he had wanted.
Not the flash drive.
The key.
“He was looking for this.”
Vincent examined it.
“Three-seventeen could be a locker.”
“My mother used to keep things in a storage facility.”
“Where?”
“Queens.”
Marco looked back.
“Boss, Pier Nine is twenty minutes.”
“We’re not going.”
Marco nodded.
Chloe frowned.
“The caller told you to.”
“That’s precisely why we’re not going.”
“What about Derek?”
“He comes with us.”
Vincent’s men loaded Derek and Evan into the second SUV.
The Audi pulled away.
For several minutes, Chloe watched the city slide past.
She realized she was shaking.
Vincent noticed.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
He removed his jacket anyway and placed it beside her.
Not on her.
Beside her.
A choice.
She took it.
It smelled faintly of cedar.
“Why are you helping me?”
Vincent looked out the window.
“I haven’t decided.”
“That’s comforting.”
“You prefer lies?”
“No.”
“Then don’t ask questions when you only want comforting answers.”
She should have been offended.
Instead, she almost smiled.
“What did your father have to do with my mother?”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“I don’t know.”
“You recognized her.”
“I recognized the photograph.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Chloe waited.
Vincent finally sighed.
“My father had enemies. He also had secrets. Maria Bennett was one of them.”
“My mother wasn’t involved with criminals.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you when she disappeared?”
“Eleven.”
Vincent looked at her.
“That’s what I thought.”
Chloe felt anger replace fear.
“You don’t get to talk about her like you knew her.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then stop.”
Vincent nodded once.
“All right.”
The lack of argument disarmed her.
The car turned into an underground garage beneath a building with no visible sign.
Marco parked.
Vincent stepped out.
Chloe remained inside.
He looked back.
“You can stay.”
“Where are we?”
“A place Derek cannot enter.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“A Moretti property.”
Chloe looked toward the garage exit.
She could leave.
Vincent seemed to understand.
“The door is unlocked.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You asked me to lock it earlier. I did. Now you don’t need it locked.”
He stepped away.
Chloe stared at the handle.
She could run again.
Into the rain.
Into a city where Derek had somehow watched her for years.
Or she could follow a man everyone else seemed afraid of.
She hated both choices.
But only one had asked permission before touching her bracelet.
Chloe opened the door.
Vincent was waiting near the elevator.
He said nothing when she joined him.
Upstairs, a doctor cleaned the cut on her cheek and examined her bruises.
Vincent stayed outside.
When Chloe emerged, he was standing by a window.
Marco approached.
“We traced the call.”
“And?”
“Burner routed through six relays.”
Vincent frowned.
“But?”
Marco held out a tablet.
“The last physical signal came from one of our properties.”
“Which?”
Marco hesitated.
“Moretti House.”
Vincent’s family home.
Chloe watched his expression close.
“Who’s there?”
“Your aunt. Staff. Security.”
“And Salvatore?”
Marco shook his head.
“Missing.”
Vincent turned.
“Since when?”
“Twenty minutes.”
The same time as the call.
Vincent reached for his coat.
Chloe stepped forward.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“You said this involves my mother.”
“It also involves someone using my dead father’s phone.”
“Exactly.”
Vincent looked at her.
She refused to lower her eyes.
Finally he said, “Stay beside me.”
They drove to Moretti House.
This time Chloe wore borrowed shoes.
The estate was silent when they arrived.
Security lights illuminated the entrance.
The front door stood open.
Vincent drew his weapon.
Marco did the same.
Chloe’s heart hammered.
Inside, nothing appeared disturbed.
Then a woman screamed upstairs.
Vincent ran.
Chloe followed despite Marco ordering her back.
They reached the third floor.
An elderly housekeeper stood outside a bedroom.
She was trembling.
“The wall,” she whispered.
Vincent entered.
A section of wood paneling had been ripped away.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside sat a box.
Vincent opened it.
Photographs.
Letters.
A cassette recorder.
And another brass key.
Chloe reached for the first letter.
Her mother’s handwriting covered the envelope.
VINCENT.
Not Vincent’s father.
Vincent.
His face drained of color.
“That’s impossible.”
Chloe turned the envelope over.
On the back, Maria Bennett had written six words.
GIVE THIS TO VINCENT WHEN CHLOE RETURNS.
Chloe stared at him.
“Returns from where?”
Before Vincent could answer, footsteps sounded behind them.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone stopped in the doorway.
The elderly housekeeper gasped.
Vincent raised his gun.
May you like
Chloe turned.
The man standing there smiled at her and said her mother’s name.
