Chapter 2 - The Debt Buried in Blood
Grace opened the door before Marcus could knock again.
“Down!”
Marcus moved faster than she expected.
He slammed into Grace, knocking her backward as the gunshot cracked through the hallway.
The bullet struck the doorframe.
Noah shouted.
Marcus drew his weapon and fired once toward the stairwell.
Footsteps thundered away.
“Stay inside.”
Marcus disappeared down the hall.
Grace locked the door.
Noah stared at the bullet hole.
“What the hell is happening?”
“I don’t know.”
“That man had a gun.”
“I noticed.”
“Grace.”
She looked at him.
Noah had gone pale.
She showed him the messages.
He read them twice.
“Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
Their father, Michael Walker, had supposedly died when Grace was eight and Noah was two.
Car accident.
That was the story.
Their mother never discussed him.
Twenty-two years later, Grace realized she knew almost nothing about the man whose last name she carried.
Marcus returned five minutes later.
“He’s gone.”
“Who was he?”
“If I knew, he wouldn’t have gotten away.”
Noah stepped between him and Grace.
“Get out.”
Marcus barely looked at him.
“Pack a bag.”
Grace laughed once.
“You’re joking.”
“Someone just shot at you.”
“So I should go where?”
“To a secure property.”
“Owned by Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“This stopped being optional when someone put a bullet through your door.”
Grace hated that he was right.
She hated more that the safest place in Boston might belong to the man who somehow possessed a necklace engraved with her initials.
Within twenty minutes, Grace and Noah were in an armored SUV.
Grace held her mother’s crucifix.
D.V.
Marcus noticed.
His face tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother.”
“Catherine?”
Grace turned sharply.
“You knew her.”
Marcus stared through the windshield.
“I knew of her.”
“Who was she to Dominic?”
“That’s his story.”
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
“Because it is.”
“Was my father involved with the Vales?”
Marcus remained silent.
That was answer enough.
Dominic woke the next morning.
Grace learned because Marcus’s phone rang.
They had spent the night at a brownstone overlooking the harbor, guarded by men who pretended not to be guards.
Marcus answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Grace.
“He’s asking for you.”
Of course he was.
Two hours later, she stood inside Dominic’s private hospital room.
He looked stronger.
Still pale.
Still bandaged.
Still dangerous.
His gaze moved immediately to her.
Then to the crucifix around her neck.
Dominic stopped breathing for a second.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother.”
He closed his eyes.
“Catherine.”
Grace’s stomach twisted.
“You knew her.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you have a necklace with my initials?”
Dominic looked toward Marcus.
“Leave us.”
Marcus left.
Grace stayed standing.
“Talk.”
Dominic studied her face.
“Your father saved my life.”
That was not what she expected.
“When?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
“The year he died.”
Dominic nodded.
Grace sat slowly.
“What happened?”
“My father had enemies. So did I. Michael Walker worked for our shipping company.”
“My father was a mechanic.”
“He was many things.”
Dominic’s voice remained quiet.
“He discovered someone inside my father’s organization was moving weapons through our warehouses without permission. Michael brought the evidence to me.”
Grace stared.
“What happened to him?”
“He was killed before he could testify.”
“My mother said car accident.”
“Your mother lied to protect you.”
Grace stood.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to verify it.”
Dominic opened a bedside drawer.
Inside was an envelope.
He handed it to her.
Grace opened it.
A photograph fell out.
Michael Walker.
Her father.
Standing beside a much younger Dominic.
Both wore identical silver crucifixes.
Grace looked up.
“The initials?”
“Your father had mine engraved on his.”
“Why?”
“Because we made a promise.”
“What promise?”
Dominic looked at her necklace.
“If one of us died, the other protected his family.”
Grace’s throat tightened.
“You knew about me.”
“From the day your father died.”
“And you did nothing?”
“I watched from a distance.”
“That is not protecting someone.”
“No.”
For the first time, shame crossed his face.
“It isn’t.”
Grace wanted to hate him.
That would have been easier.
Instead she remembered a dying man asking if she was real.
“Why did you think I wasn’t real?”
Dominic was silent.
Then he reached beneath his pillow.
He produced a worn photograph.
Grace recognized herself.
She was seventeen.
Leaving high school.
“You had people following me?”
“Protecting you.”
“For thirteen years?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t get to say that like it makes this normal.”
“It wasn’t normal.”
“Then why?”
Dominic’s eyes held hers.
“Because Michael Walker died saving me.”
That afternoon, Grace learned the second half.
Michael had uncovered a conspiracy led by Dominic’s uncle, Victor Vale.
Victor wanted control of the Vale organization.
Michael discovered financial records linking him to police officers, dock officials and a rival criminal crew.
Before he could expose Victor, Michael died.
Victor disappeared soon afterward.
Dominic believed him dead.
Until the shooting.
“The accountant who vanished,” Grace said. “He worked for Victor?”
“I believe so.”
“And now someone wants me dead because my father knew something twenty-two years ago?”
Dominic shook his head.
“No.”
Grace waited.
“They want you because Michael left something behind.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Grace laughed bitterly.
“Wonderful.”
Dominic tried to sit straighter and winced.
Grace instinctively stepped toward him.
He noticed.
“So you do care.”
“I’m a nurse.”
“That excuse again.”
She checked his dressing.
“You nearly died.”
“But I didn’t.”
“You’re irritatingly proud of that.”
His mouth curved.
Grace hated the warmth that flickered inside her.
She changed the bandage.
Dominic watched her hands.
“You kissed me.”
Grace stopped.
“I performed rescue breathing.”
“Marcus described it differently.”
“Marcus is never allowed to describe medical procedures again.”
Dominic almost laughed.
The sound pulled at his wounds and he grimaced.
Grace immediately steadied him.
Their faces came close.
Too close.
His amusement vanished.
“Grace.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“I know.”
She stepped away.
That evening, Noah arrived with food.
Dominic looked at him for a long moment.
“You have Michael’s eyes.”
Noah frowned.
“You knew our dad?”
Dominic nodded.
Before he could explain, Marcus entered.
His expression killed the conversation.
“We found the accountant.”
“Alive?” Dominic asked.
“No.”
Grace looked at Marcus.
“Where?”
“In an abandoned garage in Charlestown.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“What else?”
Marcus held out a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a key.
A brass tag hung from it.
Walker Storage — 317.
Grace recognized the handwriting scratched beneath the number.
Her mother’s.
Marcus said, “The accountant had this in his pocket.”
Dominic swung his legs from the bed.
Grace pushed him back.
“You are not going anywhere.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You were shot three days ago.”
“And someone just died carrying a key connected to your family.”
Grace stared at him.
Then at the key.
An hour later, against every medical instinct she possessed, she found herself entering an old storage facility with Marcus and two guards while Dominic waited in the vehicle under protest.
Unit 317 was at the end of the corridor.
Grace inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
Inside stood a single metal cabinet.
Nothing else.
Grace opened it.
There was a tape recorder.
A ledger.
And an envelope addressed:
TO GRACE WALKER.
Her hands trembled.
She opened it.
Inside was a note written by her mother.
Grace read the first sentence.
Then stopped.
Dominic appeared behind her despite orders to remain outside.
“What does it say?”
Grace slowly looked at him.
“My mother wrote this two weeks before she died.”
She unfolded the rest.
At the bottom was one sentence underlined twice.
IF DOMINIC VALE EVER COMES LOOKING FOR GRACE, TELL HER THE MAN WHO KILLED HER FATHER IS STILL INSIDE HIS FAMILY.
A sound came from behind the metal cabinet.
Someone was breathing.
May you like
Marcus reached for his gun.
The cabinet door began to move...
