Chapter 2 - Eleven Years Without Touch
The woman standing in the doorway was around sixty.
Elegant.
Straight-backed.
Silver beginning to thread through dark hair that had once been black.
She wore a charcoal coat buttoned to her throat, and she looked at Vincent with the kind of grief that had survived too long to remain dramatic.
“Hello, Vincent.”
His expression hardened.
“Get out.”
Elena glanced between them.
Marco closed the door behind the woman.
Nobody moved.
The woman’s eyes drifted toward Elena.
Then to Vincent’s hospital gown.
Then his silver watch.
“You kept it.”
Vincent’s voice went flat.
“I said get out.”
“You nearly died tonight.”
“You would know.”
Marco stepped between them.
“Boss.”
Vincent ignored him.
The woman’s face tightened.
“My name is Claire Donovan,” she said to Elena.
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“Do not speak to her.”
Claire looked at him.
“She deserves to know why armed men followed you into her hospital.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“Followed him?”
Marco cursed quietly.
Vincent swung his gaze toward him.
“You said the shooter was alone.”
“He was.”
“That isn’t what she said.”
Claire reached into her coat.
Marco’s hand moved instantly toward his jacket.
She stopped.
“It’s paper.”
Vincent gave the smallest nod.
Claire removed a brown envelope.
She set it on the table.
“I received this yesterday.”
Vincent did not touch it.
Elena could see a typed label.
EVELYN MERCER — CASE 11-47.
“What is that?” Vincent asked.
Claire’s voice softened.
“The reason your mother died.”
The room became still.
Vincent stared at the envelope.
Then at Claire.
“You told me the case was closed.”
“I lied.”
The words landed harder than shouting.
Vincent’s hand tightened around the blanket.
Elena saw it.
So did Claire.
“I thought I was protecting you,” Claire said.
“From whom?”
“Your father.”
Vincent’s face changed.
Elena knew almost nothing about Vincent Mercer’s family, but everyone in Chicago knew the Mercer name.
His father, Dominic Mercer, had run construction companies, nightclubs, and half a dozen businesses that were rumored to be connected to things people discussed only in whispers.
Dominic had died nine years earlier.
Heart attack.
At least publicly.
Vincent looked toward Marco.
“Leave us.”
Marco hesitated.
“Boss—”
“Leave.”
Marco walked out.
Claire remained.
Elena started to follow.
Vincent looked at her.
“No.”
She stopped.
His eyes flickered toward the chair beside his bed.
“Stay.”
Claire noticed.
Something unreadable crossed her face.
Elena sat.
Vincent looked at Claire.
“Talk.”
Claire remained standing.
“Your mother had discovered your father was laundering money through the Mercy Foundation.”
Vincent’s brow furrowed.
“That foundation funded women’s shelters.”
“Yes.”
“My mother ran it.”
“Yes.”
Claire swallowed.
“And Dominic used it.”
Vincent’s expression grew colder.
“For what?”
“To move money.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“That wouldn’t have gotten her killed.”
“No.”
Claire paused.
“She discovered something else.”
Vincent waited.
Claire looked at Elena.
Then back at him.
“Dominic was paying a detective.”
“What detective?”
“Thomas Vale.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
Elena knew the name.
Everyone in Chicago over forty knew the name.
Thomas Vale had become deputy police commissioner before retiring seven years earlier.
A decorated cop.
Charity speaker.
Television commentator.
Vincent spoke slowly.
“Vale investigated my mother’s murder.”
Claire nodded.
“Yes.”
The silence felt physical.
Elena watched Vincent’s breathing change.
His pulse jumped visibly at his throat.
“You’re saying my father paid the detective investigating my mother’s murder.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“To bury evidence.”
Vincent laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“My father died before Vale retired.”
“He kept paying him through intermediaries.”
“Why?”
Claire hesitated.
Vincent leaned forward.
“Why?”
“Because your father didn’t order Evelyn’s death.”
Vincent stopped.
Claire’s next words came quietly.
“He helped cover it up.”
Elena felt cold.
Vincent’s eyes did not move.
“Who killed her?”
Claire lowered her gaze.
“I still don’t know.”
He stared at her.
“You came here after eleven years to tell me you don’t know?”
“No.”
Claire placed one hand on the envelope.
“I came because someone does.”
Vincent glanced toward it.
“Who?”
“The shooter from tonight.”
Elena stood.
Vincent turned toward her.
“You should sit.”
“I’m a nurse, Vincent. If someone attacked you because of this—”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“It happened inside my hospital.”
His mouth tightened.
Claire looked between them.
“How long have you known her?”
Vincent frowned.
“What?”
Claire nodded toward Elena.
“Her.”
“Two hours.”
Claire blinked.
Elena almost laughed.
Vincent did not.
Claire looked at his hands.
Then at Elena.
“You touched him?”
Elena felt Vincent tense.
“It was medical.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Don’t.”
Claire covered her mouth for a second.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being relieved.”
Vincent looked away.
Elena suddenly understood that Claire knew exactly what eleven years had done to him.
“Who are you to him?” Elena asked.
Vincent answered first.
“She was my mother’s attorney.”
Claire shook her head.
“I was her best friend.”
Vincent’s eyes flashed.
“You stopped being anything to her when you lied to me.”
Claire accepted the blow.
“Yes.”
Elena looked at the envelope.
“What’s inside?”
Claire slid it toward Vincent.
He did not reach for it.
Elena did.
Vincent caught her wrist.
Not violently.
Again.
His eyes met hers.
For one strange second, neither moved.
Then he released her.
“Open it.”
She did.
Inside were photocopies.
Bank records.
A police report.
A photograph of Evelyn Mercer standing beside a younger Claire.
A handwritten note.
Elena lifted it carefully.
The writing was elegant but rushed.
C—
If anything happens to me, it wasn’t Vincent.
Protect him from D.
He thinks fear makes people loyal.
He is wrong.
E.
Vincent stared.
His voice became very quiet.
“That’s her handwriting.”
Claire nodded.
“She mailed it to me the morning she died.”
“You had this for eleven years?”
“Yes.”
Vincent stood.
Pain instantly crossed his face.
Elena caught his arm without thinking.
His entire body locked.
She froze.
His eyes dropped to her hand.
Elena started to let go.
His fingers closed gently around hers.
“Stay.”
Claire looked away.
Vincent lowered himself back onto the bed.
Elena did not release him until he was steady.
Then she stepped back.
He looked angry.
Not at her.
At himself.
Claire whispered, “She would have wanted you to live.”
Vincent’s voice sharpened.
“Do not tell me what she wanted.”
“She loved you.”
“She died believing I couldn’t protect her.”
“No.”
“She died in my arms.”
“Vincent—”
“I felt her blood on my hands.”
Elena saw the room disappear from his eyes.
He wasn’t in the hospital anymore.
He was somewhere eleven years earlier.
Holding his mother.
Hearing her breathe.
Hearing her stop.
His shoulders tightened.
Elena moved closer.
She didn’t touch him.
Not yet.
“Look at me.”
He didn’t.
“Vincent.”
His gaze finally rose.
“Where are you?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Where are you?”
He looked around.
“Hospital.”
“What floor?”
“Twelve.”
“What city?”
“Chicago.”
“What year?”
He stared at her.
Then understood.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m grounding you.”
“I don’t need grounding.”
“Your pulse says otherwise.”
Claire’s mouth twitched.
Vincent glared at both women.
Then Elena held out her hand.
Palm up.
He stared at it.
She said nothing.
He could take it.
Or not.
His choice.
That mattered.
Vincent slowly placed his hand in hers.
His fingers were warm.
Heavy.
Calloused.
His breathing steadied.
Claire quietly began to cry.
Vincent noticed.
“You always cried too easily.”
Claire wiped her cheek.
“You always pretended you didn’t.”
The tension eased by one degree.
Then Marco burst back into the room.
No knock.
His face pale.
“Boss.”
Vincent released Elena instantly.
“What?”
“The shooter is gone.”
Vincent stood despite the pain.
“How?”
“He had help.”
“From who?”
Marco glanced toward the hall.
“One of our men.”
Vincent’s expression became terrifyingly calm.
“Name.”
Marco swallowed.
“Eddie Russo.”
Claire went white.
Vincent noticed.
“You know him.”
Claire didn’t answer.
“Claire.”
She looked at him.
“Eddie worked for your father.”
“That’s not enough to scare you.”
“He didn’t just work for Dominic.”
Her voice cracked.
“He was there the night Evelyn died.”
Vincent stared at her.
Marco’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
Marco slowly raised his eyes.
“They found Eddie.”
“Where?”
“Mercer Street.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
That was his childhood home.
A house he had not entered in eleven years.
Marco continued.
“He’s inside.”
“With the shooter?”
“No.”
“Then with who?”
Marco looked at Claire.
Then at Elena.
“With someone who says she saw your mother die.”
Vincent reached for his coat.
Elena stepped toward him.
“You are not leaving this hospital.”
He looked at her.
“You cannot possibly think you’re stopping me.”
“You have a fractured rib.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Less than before.”
“That is not how medicine works.”
He pulled on the coat.
Pain flashed across his face.
Elena grabbed the sleeve.
His eyes dropped to her hand.
She refused to let go.
“Vincent.”
He looked at her.
“If you collapse, I’m not dragging you back.”
“Good.”
“I’ll make Marco do it.”
Marco nodded solemnly.
“I can do that.”
Vincent stared at both of them.
Then sighed.
“Five minutes.”
Elena frowned.
“For what?”
“To get your coat.”
“My coat?”
“You’re coming.”
She laughed.
“No.”
Vincent moved toward the door.
“You’re the only person I’m allowing near me.”
“That is not my responsibility.”
He stopped.
His voice softened.
“No.”
He looked back at her.
“But tonight, it may be the only reason I can walk into that house.”
Elena’s anger disappeared.
Claire stared at him.
Vincent hated the vulnerability the second it left his mouth.
Elena saw it.
She walked to the closet.
Took her coat.
“Fine.”
Marco opened the door.
They crossed the hallway toward the private elevator.
The doors slid open.
A man was already standing inside.
Gray hair.
Expensive suit.
A gold police retirement pin on his lapel.
Claire gasped.
Vincent went completely still.
Thomas Vale smiled.
Then he looked directly at Elena.
May you like
“Ms. Brooks,” he said.
“I’ve been waiting to meet you.”
