Chapter 4 - The Dead Man on the Phone
Patrick Sullivan had taught Claire never to trust a voice without seeing a face.
Now his own voice came through the phone.
"Claire."
She gripped the edge of the poker table.
Daniel looked ready to be sick.
"Dad?"
The line went dead.
Nobody moved.
Vincent took the phone.
"Trace it."
Marco was already working.
Daniel paced once, then turned.
"That wasn't him."
Claire stared.
"You heard him."
"Voices can be copied."
"Not like that."
"Claire—"
"He called me sweetheart."
"So?"
"He always did."
"Anyone who knew him could know that."
Claire shook her head.
"It was him."
Daniel's expression turned desperate.
"You watched him die."
"No."
She stopped.
Vincent caught the word.
"No?"
Claire closed her eyes.
The memory had lived inside her for eight years.
A hotel parking garage.
Her father pushing her into the passenger seat.
Headlights.
Men shouting.
A gunshot.
Patrick falling.
Then Daniel dragging Claire away before she could look back.
"I saw him get shot."
Daniel stared.
"You told me you saw the body."
"I thought I did."
"You testified that you did."
"I testified to what the agents told me afterward."
Daniel cursed.
Vincent studied them.
"So Patrick Sullivan may have survived."
Daniel shook his head.
"I was told he died in surgery."
"By whom?"
Daniel stopped.
Vincent repeated the question.
"Who told you?"
Daniel looked at him.
"Agent Warren."
Claire froze.
Special Agent Michael Warren had been the federal officer assigned to her family after Patrick's supposed death.
He had arranged Claire's new identity.
He had overseen her relocation.
He had later supervised the grand jury testimony against Rourke.
Vincent saw the answer in her face.
"The same agent who ran your protection?"
Claire nodded slowly.
Daniel sat down.
"No."
Marco looked toward Vincent.
"Boss."
"What?"
"The number Rourke called from bounced through four relays."
"Location?"
"Last signal came from the river district."
Daniel stood.
"Rourke owns a warehouse there."
Vincent looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"I spent five years inside his network."
"Then we're going."
Claire turned sharply.
"We?"
Vincent picked up his jacket.
"You heard your father's voice."
"That doesn't mean—"
"It means someone wants you to follow."
"Exactly."
"And we're going to find out why."
Daniel stepped forward.
"It's probably a trap."
Vincent looked at him.
"Of course it's a trap."
Marco smiled slightly.
Vincent continued.
"The question is who built it."
Thirty minutes later, Claire sat inside an armored SUV between Vincent and Daniel.
Chicago moved past the tinted glass.
For the first time since Grant dragged her into the poker room, she had enough silence to think.
She wished she did not.
Grant.
His hands.
His words.
Fifty thousand.
She had spent two years convincing herself that his selfishness was ordinary.
Ordinary had felt safe.
Ordinary men worried about mortgages and promotions.
Ordinary men did not know Damian Rourke.
Ordinary men did not sell their fiancées' locations.
Vincent looked toward her.
"You okay?"
"No."
A faint expression crossed his face.
"Good answer."
Claire almost laughed.
Almost.
"Why are you helping me?"
He looked out the window.
"Someone fired into my building."
"That explains Rourke. Not me."
"You were in the line of fire."
"I've been in the line of fire for years."
He looked back.
"Maybe that's the problem."
Claire frowned.
"What?"
"You've gotten used to believing surviving alone is the same as being safe."
The words irritated her because they sounded true.
She turned toward the window.
Daniel watched them.
"So what's Moretti's price?"
Vincent looked at him.
"For what?"
"Nobody like you does favors."
Vincent's eyes cooled.
"Nobody like me?"
"Crime boss. businessman. Whatever label you prefer."
Claire interrupted.
"Daniel."
Vincent raised one hand.
"No. Let him talk."
Daniel leaned forward.
"You win my sister in a poker game, suddenly you're her guardian angel?"
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"I didn't win your sister."
"Grant thought you did."
"Grant is an idiot."
"On that we agree."
Claire closed her eyes.
"Could both of you stop acting like I'm luggage?"
The car fell silent.
Vincent nodded once.
"Fair."
Daniel looked ashamed.
"Sorry."
Claire leaned back.
A few minutes later, the convoy entered an industrial district along the river.
Warehouses.
Rail yards.
Loading docks.
The SUV stopped behind an abandoned freight building.
Marco's team moved first.
Vincent turned to Claire.
"You stay here."
She laughed.
"No."
"Claire."
"If my father is inside, I'm going."
Daniel agreed.
"She's right."
Vincent glared at him.
"You changed sides quickly."
Daniel shrugged.
"Family tradition."
They entered through a side door.
The warehouse smelled of oil and river water.
Lights had been left on.
No guards.
No voices.
Nothing.
Vincent hated empty spaces that should not be empty.
Marco moved ahead.
They found Damian Rourke in an office overlooking the warehouse floor.
Alive.
Barely.
He sat against a wall with blood soaking one sleeve.
A dead guard lay near the door.
Claire stopped.
Rourke looked up.
For the first time, she saw the feared Damian Rourke as an old man.
Tired.
Gray at the temples.
Bleeding.
He smiled weakly.
"Patrick's daughter."
Vincent crouched beside him.
"Who attacked you?"
Rourke laughed.
"You still think it's about territory."
"Answer."
Rourke looked at Claire.
"Agent Warren."
Daniel went still.
"No."
Rourke coughed.
"Michael Warren built his career from your father's files."
Claire stepped closer.
"What does that mean?"
"Patrick discovered Warren was selling federal intelligence."
Daniel shook his head.
"Warren recruited me."
"Exactly."
Rourke smiled bitterly.
"He sent you inside my organization so he'd always know what I knew."
Daniel's face changed as years of memories rearranged themselves.
Claire asked, "Where is my father?"
Rourke looked toward the warehouse floor.
"Alive."
Her knees weakened.
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"You spoke to him."
"No."
Claire frowned.
Rourke nodded toward a phone on the desk.
"That call was patched in after the shooting started."
Vincent looked around.
"Someone wanted Claire to hear Patrick's voice."
Rourke nodded.
"Someone wants the ledger found."
"Why?"
"Because the encryption requires her."
Claire stared.
Rourke continued.
"Patrick built the code around memories only his children could answer."
Daniel whispered, "Why us?"
"So nobody could open it without you."
Claire looked at her bracelet.
"417."
Rourke nodded.
"First key."
"Where does it lead?"
"The book."
"We have the book."
Rourke smiled faintly.
"No."
Claire frowned.
"What?"
"You have a book."
Vincent understood.
"Decoy."
Rourke nodded.
"Patrick made three copies."
Daniel stepped closer.
"Where are the others?"
"One burned."
"And the third?"
Rourke looked directly at Claire.
"Your mother was buried with it."
Claire stepped back.
"No."
Rourke closed his eyes.
"Patrick trusted Eleanor more than anyone."
Claire's voice cracked.
"You're saying we have to dig up our mother's grave?"
Rourke opened his eyes.
"I'm saying Warren already did."
Daniel went pale.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
Claire stared at him.
Rourke continued.
"The grave is empty."
The words did not make sense.
Claire blinked.
"Empty?"
"Your mother's coffin was opened."
Daniel's voice dropped.
"And?"
"Nothing inside."
Claire grabbed the desk.
"That's impossible."
Rourke looked almost sympathetic.
"No, Claire."
She shook her head.
"I buried her."
"You buried a closed coffin."
Claire remembered.
The funeral director saying the illness had changed Eleanor too much.
The family recommending she remember her mother as she had been.
A closed casket.
Claire whispered, "Where is she?"
Rourke laughed once.
"That's the question Patrick spent eight years making sure nobody could answer."
Vincent leaned closer.
"Patrick faked his wife's death too?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
Rourke's expression changed.
"I'm saying Patrick wasn't running from me."
"Who was he running from?"
Rourke looked at Daniel.
"Your employer."
Daniel went rigid.
"Warren."
Rourke nodded.
A gunshot sounded below.
Marco spun.
"Movement!"
Vincent stood.
Another shot.
Then shouting.
Daniel drew a pistol from one of the guards.
Claire ducked beside the desk.
Vincent moved toward the door.
Rourke grabbed his sleeve.
"Moretti."
Vincent looked down.
Rourke whispered something.
Vincent's expression changed.
"What?"
Rourke repeated it.
"Your father knew."
Vincent stared.
"Knew what?"
Rourke looked toward Claire.
"Who Patrick really was."
Before Vincent could ask more, the warehouse lights died.
Darkness swallowed the office.
Claire heard footsteps below.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then the emergency lights came on.
A man stood on the warehouse floor.
Gray suit.
Silver hair.
No weapon visible.
Daniel raised his pistol.
Claire recognized him immediately.
Special Agent Michael Warren looked up toward the office.
May you like
Then he smiled.
And beside him stood Grant Holloway.
