Chapter 3 - The Man Who Came Back for Me
Damian lowered me behind a marble column.
"Stay here."
"You're developing a terrible habit of saying that."
"You're developing a terrible habit of ignoring it."
The silhouette remained behind the glass.
Damian approached.
"Identify yourself."
"It's Cole."
Damian's shoulders loosened slightly.
He opened the door.
A broad man in a soaked dark suit entered.
His gaze went from Damian to me.
"She's alive."
Damian stared at him.
"Why wouldn't she be?"
Cole didn't answer quickly enough.
I noticed.
So did Damian.
"Why," Damian repeated, "wouldn't she be?"
Cole's face tightened.
"We intercepted radio traffic. They're asking for a woman named Hart."
The corridor seemed to tilt.
"Me?"
Cole looked at me.
"Apparently."
"I serve appetizers."
"No," Damian said quietly.
"What?"
He looked toward the smoke.
"Tonight you were serving appetizers."
I hated the emphasis.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means somebody believes you're something else."
Cole handed Damian a phone.
On the screen was a photograph.
Mine.
Taken outside my apartment.
I stared.
The world narrowed.
"Where did you get that?"
"One of the intruders."
"Why does he have my picture?"
Neither man answered.
My fear changed.
Before, Blackwood had been dangerous.
Now the danger had my name.
Damian said, "We get her out."
Cole nodded.
"North stairwell is clear to ground level."
"You sure?"
"Checked it myself."
Damian lifted me again.
Cole raised an eyebrow.
I braced for the familiar reaction.
Instead he simply asked, "Need help?"
"No."
No joke.
No look.
No comment.
For some reason that nearly made me cry.
We entered the stairwell.
Damian carried me down one flight before I insisted on walking.
My ankle hurt, but it held if I leaned against the railing.
We reached the second floor.
Then a fire door slammed between Damian and me.
"Elena!"
I grabbed the handle.
Locked.
"Damian!"
Smoke curled from the ceiling.
I heard him hitting the other side.
"Back up!"
I moved.
Something struck the door.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
Then alarms changed tone.
Evacuation warning.
The smoke thickened.
I coughed.
"Damian!"
No answer.
For the first time that night, I was alone.
I limped down the stairs.
First floor.
The exit sign glowed ahead.
I pushed through.
Fresh rain hit my face.
I almost laughed.
Outside.
I'd made it.
Then somebody grabbed me.
A hand clamped around my wrist.
"Elena Hart?"
I jerked backward.
The man wore a catering jacket.
The empty-tray waiter.
"You need to come with me."
"No."
"Your mother sent me."
Everything stopped.
"My mother?"
He leaned closer.
"She said you'd understand if I told you about Saint Agnes."
Saint Agnes.
The hospital where I'd been born.
My mother never discussed it.
Not once.
"Who are you?"
"There's no time."
He pulled me toward the trees.
I resisted.
Then he looked over my shoulder.
His face changed.
"Too late."
Damian came through the smoke.
He saw the man's hand around my wrist.
Something in his expression turned glacial.
"Let her go."
The man did.
Immediately.
Interesting.
"Vescari."
"You know me."
"Everybody knows you."
"Who sent you?"
"I told her."
"You told her a story."
Damian stepped closer.
"Now tell me the truth."
The man looked at me.
"Ask your mother why your birth certificate was amended."
My mouth went dry.
"What?"
He backed away.
Damian moved toward him.
Then the man ran.
Cole appeared from the rain.
"Want me to follow?"
Damian shook his head.
"No. Elena first."
Again.
Elena first.
I didn't understand why those words affected me.
Maybe because nobody had ever built a plan around me before.
I was usually the person adjusting.
Accommodating.
Moving.
Making room.
Damian brought me beneath a stone archway.
"Can you call your mother?"
I took out my phone.
No signal.
Cole handed me his.
I dialed from memory.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"Hello?"
"Mom."
Silence.
Then:
"Elena?"
"Why was my birth certificate amended?"
Longer silence.
My stomach dropped.
"Who told you that?"
"That's your question?"
"Where are you?"
"Blackwood Estate."
She inhaled sharply.
"Oh, God."
Damian heard it.
"Mom, what's happening?"
"Get out."
"I'm trying."
"No. Elena, listen to me. Leave Damian Vescari."
I looked at him.
He was watching me.
"How do you know I'm with him?"
My mother started crying.
I had heard my mother cry exactly twice in my life.
At my grandfather's funeral.
And when my father left.
"Mom?"
"You were never supposed to meet him."
I couldn't breathe.
"Meet who?"
"Damian."
He went perfectly still.
My mother whispered, "I'm sorry."
Then the call disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Damian said nothing.
"What aren't you telling me?"
"I don't know."
"Liar."
"Elena—"
"My mother knows your name."
"Apparently."
"She knew I'd be with you."
"Apparently."
"Stop saying apparently!"
My voice broke.
Damian waited.
Rain hammered the courtyard.
Firelight pulsed through windows behind him.
Finally he said, "I have never met your mother."
"Do you know her name?"
"No."
"Rebecca Hart."
His expression changed.
Tiny.
But I saw it.
"You know that name."
"No."
"You reacted."
"I know another Hart."
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
Cole looked away.
That told me enough.
"Who?"
Damian stared at me.
Then said, "Nathaniel Hart."
My father.
My supposedly ordinary father who had disappeared when I was fourteen.
My knees weakened.
"How do you know my father?"
Damian looked toward the burning house.
"He worked for mine."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Twenty-eight years ago."
The number struck me.
Twenty-eight.
My age.
Damian seemed to realize it too.
Cole's phone buzzed.
He checked the screen.
"Damian."
"What?"
"We have a vehicle approaching the west gate."
"Friendly?"
Cole looked at me.
"I don't know."
Headlights appeared through the rain.
A black sedan stopped beyond the archway.
The driver's door opened.
A woman stepped out.
I recognized her before she reached the light.
My mother.
She stared at Damian.
Then at me.
Her face collapsed.
"No."
She whispered my name.
Then looked back at Damian.
"You carried her out."
Damian frowned.
My mother began crying.
"Just like your father carried me."
Nobody spoke.
She reached into her coat.
And pulled out an old photograph.
May you like
On the back was one name.
Vescari.
