Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For several seconds, neither Gabriel nor I moved.
I stared at the photograph until the shapes stopped looking like people.
My mother.
Evelyn Hayes.
The woman who had raised Liam and me.
The woman whose hospital bed I had sat beside while cancer reduced her to eighty-seven pounds.
The woman whose ashes I had personally scattered near Cape Cod.
Except apparently not.
“That isn’t possible.”
Gabriel took the phone.
“Could the photograph be altered?”
“I watched my mother die.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“No, I don’t know.”
Gabriel enlarged the image.
My mother stood outside a warehouse.
Older.
Thinner.
Gray threaded through her brown hair.
But unmistakable.
Beside her stood a man in his late fifties.
Silver hair.
Expensive coat.
A face Gabriel clearly knew.
“Who is Leo?”
Gabriel handed the phone back.
“Leonardo Costa.”
“Costa?”
“My uncle.”
I stared at him.
“I thought Anthony was your uncle.”
“He is. My father had two brothers.”
“And nobody mentions Leonardo?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he died seventeen years ago.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“Great. My dead mother is meeting your dead uncle.”
Gabriel looked out the window.
“Apparently death is becoming unreliable.”
His house was not what I expected.
I imagined marble lions and men with machine guns.
Instead, Gabriel lived in an old brick mansion overlooking the harbor.
Security was discreet.
Which probably meant terrifying.
Inside, he ordered a doctor to examine me.
“I work in a hospital.”
“You also have a concussion.”
“I don’t.”
“You were hit.”
“I’m a pharmacist.”
“And therefore uniquely qualified to diagnose head trauma?”
I hated that he was right.
A physician named Dr. Mercer examined me.
Minor concussion.
Split lip.
Bruised shoulder.
Nothing broken.
Gabriel remained outside until I was dressed again.
That mattered.
I didn’t want it to.
Afterward, I found him in a library.
Marco’s phone sat on the desk inside a clear bag.
A younger man worked at a laptop.
“This is Julian,” Gabriel said. “He handles security.”
Julian nodded.
“Marco’s phone had remote deletion software. We isolated it before someone wiped the device.”
“Can you unlock it?”
“Already did.”
He rotated the laptop.
Messages filled the screen.
Most were ordinary criminal bookkeeping.
Numbers.
Addresses.
Names.
But one conversation was different.
L.C.
No full name.
No photograph.
Instructions.
Follow Quinn Hayes.
Confirm schedule.
Wait until Liam disappears.
Take Quinn after shift.
Make sure Costa sees.
Get photographic proof.
I felt sick.
“This was planned.”
“For eleven days,” Julian said.
Gabriel stood behind me.
“Why?”
Julian clicked another file.
“There’s more.”
A photograph appeared.
A pharmaceutical shipping manifest.
St. Catherine’s Medical Center.
My employee number was listed beside an authorization.
I leaned closer.
“I didn’t approve this.”
“What was shipped?” Gabriel asked.
“According to the manifest, oncology medication.”
“That isn’t what arrived.”
We turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
Gabriel’s bodyguards reacted instantly.
The newcomer raised both hands.
He was maybe forty.
Wet hair.
Gray sweatshirt.
Terrified.
“Liam.”
I crossed the room and slapped him.
Hard.
He deserved worse.
Then I hugged him.
He held me like he was drowning.
“I’m sorry.”
“You idiot.”
“I know.”
“Forty thousand dollars?”
“I know.”
“A gun, Liam.”
His face collapsed.
“I didn’t know they’d touch you.”
Gabriel approached.
Liam stiffened.
Gabriel said, “Sit.”
Liam sat.
Immediately.
I almost admired the efficiency.
Gabriel remained standing.
“Start at the beginning.”
Liam rubbed his hands together.
“Six weeks ago, a guy approached me.”
“Name?”
“Caleb.”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know.”
Gabriel’s expression said Liam should reconsider his life choices.
Liam hurried on.
“He knew I had gambling debt. He offered to clear it if I borrowed forty grand through one of Costa’s bookmakers.”
“Why?”
“To create a trail.”
Gabriel nodded slowly.
“A legitimate Costa debt.”
“Yeah.”
“Then?”
“He paid me to pick up a truck.”
“What truck?”
“Medical supply shipment.”
My stomach tightened.
Liam continued.
“I thought it was stolen pharmaceuticals. Then I saw containers hidden beneath the pallets.”
“What containers?” Gabriel asked.
“Biological samples.”
I stared.
“Human samples?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
Liam reached into his jacket.
Every guard moved.
“Easy,” he said.
He produced a flash drive.
“I copied the shipping records.”
Gabriel took it.
Julian inserted it into an isolated laptop.
Files appeared.
Patient numbers.
Dates.
Genetic sequences.
Experimental treatment codes.
I recognized enough medical terminology to understand something was deeply wrong.
“These aren’t ordinary samples.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“What are they?”
“Clinical trial specimens.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I scrolled.
Then I saw a familiar code.
EH-17.
My breath stopped.
“What?”
Gabriel leaned closer.
I pointed.
“EH.”
“So?”
“My mother’s initials.”
Liam looked at the floor.
I turned toward him.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew!”
“I found her name in another file.”
“You let me believe she was dead.”
“I didn’t know she was alive until three days ago.”
“Then how did you get the photograph?”
“Someone sent it.”
“Who?”
Liam looked at Gabriel.
“Leo Costa.”
Silence.
Gabriel’s voice lowered.
“My uncle contacted you?”
“He told me Quinn was in danger.”
“Why?”
“He said Quinn had something they needed.”
“I don’t have anything.”
Liam shook his head.
“He said you do.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Liam reached into his pocket again.
This time slowly.
He removed an old brass key.
“I found this in Mom’s storage unit.”
I recognized the small paper label attached to it.
St. Catherine’s.
“Where?”
“Her old things.”
A number was engraved into the key.
My pulse accelerated.
Hospital pharmacy lockers were numbered.
But locker 317 had not existed for years.
The old wing had been renovated after my mother’s death.
I looked at Gabriel.
“There used to be private medication lockers in the basement.”
“Can we access them?”
“Not anymore.”
Liam shook his head.
“One still exists.”
“How do you know?”
“Mom left instructions.”
He handed me a folded paper.
My mother’s handwriting covered it.
Quinn,
If Liam gives you this key, then I failed to keep you away from them.
Do not trust the hospital.
Do not trust anyone who tells you my death was natural.
And if a Costa is standing beside you, ask him what happened on September 14, 2008.
I looked up.
Gabriel had gone pale.
“What happened September 14, 2008?”
He didn’t answer.
“Gabriel.”
“That was the night my father died.”
My hand tightened around the letter.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Liam whispered, “No.”
Gabriel looked at him.
Liam turned the laptop.
Another file had opened.
A scanned medical report.
September 14, 2008.
St. Catherine’s Medical Center.
Patient: Matteo Costa.
Cause of death: cardiac trauma following motor vehicle collision.
Attending pharmacist authorization:
Evelyn Hayes.
My mother.
Gabriel read the page twice.
Then Julian’s computer beeped.
Someone had accessed the hospital archive remotely.
A file was disappearing.
Julian swore.
“They know we opened the records.”
Gabriel grabbed his coat.
“Where is locker 317?”
“Old pharmacy basement.”
“We’re going.”
At 2:17 a.m., we entered St. Catherine’s through a service corridor.
I led Gabriel past the pharmacy where I had worked twelve hours earlier.
Everything felt different.
We descended two floors.
The renovated corridor ended at a locked maintenance door.
The brass key fit.
Behind it was a narrow abandoned hallway.
At the end stood a row of old metal lockers.
I inserted the key.
Gabriel stood behind me.
Liam remained upstairs with Julian.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a single envelope.
My name was written across it.
QUINN.
I opened it.
There was no letter.
Only a photograph.
My mother.
Gabriel’s father.
And a newborn baby.
On the back, my mother had written a date.
October 3, 1994.
My birthday.
Below it were five words.
Gabriel read them over my shoulder.
May you like
Then neither of us breathed.
QUINN IS NOT MY DAUGHTER.
