Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Photograph
Declan moved before Penny understood what he had seen.
“Down.”
He pulled her from the chair.
The conference room erupted.
Two men closed the blinds.
Another dragged Liam away from the windows.
Vanessa dropped behind the marble desk.
Penny found herself on the carpet with Declan shielding her body.
No gunshot came.
No breaking glass.
Only silence.
Declan looked at one of his men.
“Trace the number.”
“Already doing it.”
Penny’s heart hammered.
“You think someone’s going to shoot me?”
“I think someone wants you afraid.”
“They succeeded.”
Declan looked at her.
“Good. Fear keeps careless people alive.”
It was an awful thing to say.
It was also strangely comforting.
Ten minutes later, the office had been swept.
No weapon had been found in the neighboring building. The photograph had been transmitted through an encrypted service.
Declan confiscated Penny’s phone.
She objected.
He ignored her.
Then he told everyone except Penny to leave.
Liam refused.
Declan’s men removed him anyway.
Vanessa paused at the doorway.
Her eyes settled on Penny.
“Be careful who you trust.”
Declan answered for her.
“She will.”
The door closed.
Penny stood opposite him.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like you do.”
A flicker of something crossed his face.
Approval, perhaps.
“You’ve worked for my brother four years.”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He hates mornings, lies about reading reports, spends too much money, and believes charm is an acceptable substitute for preparation.”
Declan almost smiled.
Almost.
“What else?”
Penny hesitated.
“He’s been moving money.”
“How long have you known?”
“I noticed inconsistencies six months ago. I assumed accounting errors.”
“You never reported them.”
“To whom? Liam?”
Fair point.
Declan placed Margaret’s photograph on the table.
“Tell me about your family.”
“My parents died when I was seventeen.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“Names?”
“Daniel and Susan Higgins.”
“Grandmother?”
“Margaret raised me afterward.”
“Grandfather?”
“Never knew him.”
“Any aunts?”
“No.”
“Uncles?”
“No.”
Declan studied her.
Penny folded her arms.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because your grandmother had my murdered mother’s ring.”
“That doesn’t make me part of your family.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
But something in his voice told her he had considered exactly that.
Declan slid the photograph closer.
Penny studied Margaret.
Her grandmother looked perhaps forty.
Moira Gallagher stood beside her.
Between them was a baby carriage.
Penny leaned closer.
There was a tiny hand visible beneath the blanket.
“Whose baby?”
Declan’s expression hardened.
“I don’t know.”
“Were you alive?”
“I was eight.”
“Liam?”
“Three.”
Penny stared at the photograph.
Something had been cut from the right edge.
A person.
Only a hand remained.
The hand wore another emerald ring.
“There were three rings?”
Declan leaned closer.
“No.”
“Then what is that?”
His silence answered her.
He had no idea.
Penny flipped the photograph over.
There was writing.
St. Agnes. June 1997.
Declan immediately reached for his phone.
“What’s St. Agnes?”
“A maternity home that closed twenty years ago.”
Penny’s stomach tightened.
“Maternity?”
“Yes.”
“Why was your mother there?”
“I intend to find out.”
He ordered a car.
Penny grabbed her bag.
“You’re staying here.”
“No.”
“Penny.”
“Someone sent the message to me.”
“Which is exactly why—”
“And if I stay here, I’ll spend the next six hours imagining people watching through every window.”
Declan stared at her.
“I’m going.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“My ex-fiancé preferred ‘difficult.’”
“Your ex-fiancé was an idiot.”
Penny blinked.
“You don’t know him.”
“I know he left you.”
“How?”
“Liam talks.”
Her embarrassment returned instantly.
Wonderful.
Even the Gallagher crime empire apparently knew she had been dumped.
Declan noticed.
“He shouldn’t have told me.”
“No, he shouldn’t.”
Penny walked past him.
Declan followed.
St. Agnes occupied a neglected brick building on Chicago’s West Side.
The former maternity home had become an archive warehouse for a Catholic charity.
Declan’s men waited outside while Penny and Declan entered.
An elderly administrator named Sister Catherine recognized Moira’s photograph.
Not immediately.
But enough.
“She came here,” Catherine whispered.
Declan leaned forward.
“When?”
“Summer of 1997.”
“With Margaret Higgins?”
The woman’s eyes filled with fear.
“Where did you hear that name?”
Penny stepped forward.
“She raised me.”
Sister Catherine stared at her.
Then at the ring.
“Oh, dear God.”
Declan’s voice hardened.
“What happened here?”
Catherine closed the archive-room door.
“Your mother brought a woman here.”
“Who?”
“Eleanor Gallagher.”
Declan went still.
“My aunt.”
“She was pregnant.”
Penny felt the room tilt.
“When?”
“June.”
The photograph had been taken in June.
“What happened to the baby?” Penny asked.
Catherine looked at her for a long time.
“You should ask Margaret.”
“She’s dead.”
The old woman crossed herself.
“Then God help us.”
Declan slammed his palm against the table.
“Enough riddles.”
Catherine flinched.
Penny touched his sleeve.
He looked at her hand.
Then backed away.
Catherine opened a filing cabinet and removed an old register.
Several pages had been torn out.
But one carbon copy remained.
Eleanor Gallagher.
Admitted June 11, 1997.
Female infant.
No father listed.
Discharged—
The line had been scratched through.
Penny’s breath became shallow.
“What happened to her?”
Catherine whispered, “She never left.”
Declan’s eyes darkened.
“She died?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Someone came for her.”
“Who?”
Catherine shook her head.
“I never saw his face.”
Penny looked at the baby record.
“What about the child?”
The nun looked directly at Penny.
“Margaret took her.”
Penny stopped breathing.
“No.”
“You were given another name.”
“No.”
“You had a small crescent-shaped birthmark behind your right shoulder.”
Penny’s hand rose automatically.
She had never told anyone about it.
Declan saw the answer on her face.
Sister Catherine began crying.
“Margaret promised she would keep you safe.”
Penny stepped backward.
“My parents—”
“Loved you,” Catherine said quickly. “Daniel and Susan were good people. They agreed to raise you.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was killing everyone connected to Eleanor.”
Declan moved closer.
“Who?”
Catherine looked toward the door.
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching.
Catherine’s face collapsed in terror.
May you like
“He found us.”
The doorknob began to turn.
