Chapter 1 - Keep the Camera Running
The electric clippers touched Mirabelle Hayes's hair as she shouted, "Untie me!"
Ronan Voss walked through the diner door and saw a phone recording beside a broken coffee mug.
A red light blinked on its screen.
Then Ronan looked at Mirabelle and said, "Keep it running."
Nobody laughed after that.
Tate Mercer—or Tate Lawson, depending on which last name he was using when he wanted people to know how closely connected he was to the Mercer family—stood frozen with his phone held chest-high.
The little red recording light continued blinking.
Brandon Mercer slowly lowered the electric clippers.
The buzzing stopped.
For several seconds, the only sound inside the Starlight Diner was Mirabelle's breathing.
She could hear it because suddenly she could hear everything.
The hum of the refrigerator.
The faint rattle of an air-conditioning vent.
A truck passing somewhere beyond the highway.
The metallic tick of the clippers cooling in Brandon's hand.
And Ronan Voss's shoes crossing the tile.
One step.
Then another.
He wasn't rushing.
That somehow frightened Brandon more.
Mirabelle had heard Ronan's name before. Everyone in Blackhaven had.
Some people called him dangerous. Others called him ruthless. Half the stories about him contradicted the other half, and Mirabelle had never cared enough to separate rumor from fact.
She worked double shifts.
She worried about rent.
She made sure her seventeen-year-old brother, Kellen, had enough money for lunch.
Men like Ronan Voss belonged to another universe.
Yet now he was standing six feet from her.
His gaze moved from the uneven section of her auburn hair to the rope around her wrists.
His expression barely changed.
That made Brandon nervous.
"Mr. Voss," Brandon said.
Ronan didn't answer.
Brandon cleared his throat.
"This isn't what it looks like."
Ronan finally looked at him.
"What does it look like?"
Brandon opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Ronan turned toward Tate.
"Phone."
Tate hesitated.
Ronan extended one hand.
"Bring it here."
Tate glanced at Brandon.
That was his mistake.
Ronan noticed.
"Why are you looking at him?"
"I'm not."
"You just did."
Tate swallowed.
He stepped forward and handed Ronan the phone.
Ronan looked at the screen.
The video had been recording for eleven minutes and forty-three seconds.
His thumb moved across the display.
Mirabelle's stomach tightened.
"Don't delete it."
Ronan looked at her.
Those were the first words she had spoken directly to him.
Her voice was rough.
"Please."
Ronan studied her for a moment.
"I won't."
Brandon gave an uneasy laugh.
"Come on. This is getting ridiculous. She threw coffee at me."
"I asked you to leave," Mirabelle said.
"You threw a mug."
"After you locked the front door."
Brandon's face changed.
Ronan noticed that too.
He looked toward the entrance.
One of the three men who had arrived with him walked to the door.
He examined the lock.
"Locked from inside," the man said.
Ronan looked back at Brandon.
"You locked her in?"
"No."
Tate spoke too quickly.
"Brandon—"
"Shut up."
Ronan's eyes shifted to Tate.
"Don't."
Brandon frowned. "Don't what?"
"Tell him to shut up."
The room went silent again.
Mirabelle watched Ronan move closer.
For the first time she noticed the tattoos disappearing beneath the cuffs of his suit and climbing the side of his neck. He looked exactly like the kind of man her mother once told her to cross the street to avoid.
But he wasn't looking at her the way Brandon had.
He wasn't amused.
He wasn't enjoying her fear.
He looked angry.
Not wild anger.
Controlled anger.
That felt different.
Ronan crouched beside her chair.
Mirabelle instinctively pulled away.
He stopped immediately.
"I'm going to untie you."
She stared at him.
"Okay."
He didn't touch her until she nodded.
Then he examined the knot.
"Knife," he said.
One of his associates reached into a pocket.
Mirabelle stiffened.
Ronan noticed.
"No."
He changed his mind.
"Use your hands."
The associate stepped back.
Ronan worked at the knot himself.
It took nearly a minute.
Nobody spoke.
When the rope finally loosened, Mirabelle pulled her arms forward.
Pain shot through her shoulders.
She rubbed her wrists.
Ronan stood.
"Can you stand?"
"I think so."
She tried.
Her knees buckled.
Ronan caught her elbow, steadying her without pulling her closer.
Mirabelle found her balance.
Then she saw the floor.
Auburn hair lay across the white tile.
Her hair.
Something inside her collapsed.
She had refused to cry for them.
Now she couldn't stop.
She touched the shaved section above her temple.
Brandon sighed.
"Oh, come on. It'll grow back."
Ronan turned.
His expression was almost blank.
"Say that again."
Brandon's confidence disappeared.
"I didn't mean—"
"Say it again."
"I said it'll grow back."
Ronan nodded once.
Then he looked at the phone.
"Good."
Brandon blinked.
"What?"
"You just admitted you did it."
Tate stared at him.
Ronan held up the phone.
"And you're still recording."
Brandon's face drained of color.
Mirabelle looked at Ronan.
For the first time she understood.
That was why he had said to keep recording.
Not intimidation.
Evidence.
Ronan handed the phone to one of his associates.
"Make copies. Don't edit anything."
Brandon stepped forward.
"You can't take his phone."
Ronan looked at Tate.
"Do you want it back?"
Tate shook his head immediately.
"No."
"Then apparently I can."
Brandon's jaw tightened.
"My father will hear about this."
"I'm counting on it."
That answer seemed to land harder than a threat.
Mirabelle slowly lowered herself onto the edge of a nearby booth.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Ronan noticed.
He took off his overcoat and placed it beside her rather than around her.
"You can use that if you want."
She looked at it.
"Why?"
"You're cold."
"I mean why are you helping me?"
Ronan's gaze settled on her face.
Something passed through his expression.
Recognition.
Then it vanished.
"Because someone should."
That wasn't an answer.
Mirabelle knew it.
Before she could ask again, headlights swept across the diner windows.
Two vehicles pulled into the parking lot.
Brandon smiled.
"There."
Ronan looked outside.
A black luxury sedan stopped beside the curb.
The rear door opened.
A gray-haired man stepped out.
Mirabelle recognized him immediately.
Graham Mercer.
Brandon's father.
Developer.
Donor.
The man whose name was on half the new buildings in downtown Blackhaven.
He entered without knocking.
"What the hell happened?"
Brandon immediately pointed at Ronan.
"He took Tate's phone."
Graham barely looked at his son.
His attention went to Mirabelle.
Her hair.
The rope.
The broken dishes.
Then Ronan.
For one strange second, Graham Mercer looked afraid.
Not surprised.
Afraid.
Ronan saw it.
"So," Ronan said quietly. "You recognize her."
Mirabelle's head snapped toward him.
Graham's face hardened.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Ronan reached into the inside pocket of his suit.
He removed an old photograph.
Mirabelle stared.
It showed two young women standing outside the Starlight Diner.
One was her mother.
She would have recognized Evelyn Hayes anywhere.
The second person was a much younger Ronan Voss.
Mirabelle stopped breathing.
"Where did you get that?"
Ronan didn't answer.
Graham Mercer backed toward the door.
And Mirabelle realized he wasn't staring at Ronan anymore.
He was staring at the photograph.
"No," Graham whispered.
Ronan turned it over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Mirabelle recognized her mother's handwriting.
Three words.
Protect my children.
Mirabelle looked up.
"Children?"
Her voice cracked.
"I only have one brother."
Ronan's expression changed.
Then Tate's phone vibrated in his associate's hand.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
The associate read it.
His face went still.
"Ronan."
"What?"
He turned the screen around.
May you like
The message contained only one sentence.
DON'T TELL MIRABELLE WHO KELLEN REALLY IS.
