Chapter 1 - The Call That Changed Everything
Ethan grabbed the edge of the booth and tried to stand.
“I can’t feel my legs.”
Damian Moretti rushed through the diner door and saw a silver medical bracelet lying beside his son.
Three letters had been scratched into its clasp.
“R.M.C.”
Damian stopped breathing.
This wasn’t an accident.
Harper Lane had no idea who Damian Moretti was when she called him.
That was probably the only reason she had called at all.
Ten minutes earlier, her biggest problem had been figuring out whether the seventeen dollars in her checking account could survive until Friday.
Her landlord wanted the rest of the rent.
Her manager wanted her to cover another double shift.
The electric company had left a final notice beneath her apartment door that morning.
And the diner had been nearly empty since seven.
Harper had been wiping the counter when Ethan Moretti walked in.
He looked too polished for the neighborhood and too exhausted for his clothes.
Beige blazer.
White shirt.
Expensive watch.
Dark trousers.
But his hair was messy, his face pale.
He chose booth seven.
“Coffee?” Harper asked.
“Please.”
“Food?”
He shook his head.
Harper poured the coffee anyway.
When she returned five minutes later, he had not touched it.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He wasn't.
Harper knew the word.
She had used it herself hundreds of times.
Yeah meant please stop asking because I don't know how to explain what is happening.
She left him alone.
Then came the crash.
A glass shattered.
A chair went over.
Ethan hit the checkered floor hard enough to make Harper drop the coffeepot.
She ran.
“Hey. Can you hear me?”
Ethan blinked.
His breathing came quickly.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you're not.”
He planted one hand against the floor and tried to push himself upright.
His arm shook.
He fell back.
That was when the fear appeared.
Not pain.
Fear.
“I can’t get up.”
Harper crouched beside him.
“Don't move.”
“My phone.”
“Where?”
“Pocket.”
She found it.
“Who do I call?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Dad.”
There was only one emergency contact.
DAD.
Harper pressed it.
Someone answered before the second ring.
“Yes?”
The voice was calm.
Cold.
Harper looked at Ethan.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Silence.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Harper Lane. I'm a waitress at Callahan's Diner on—”
“What happened?”
“Your son fell.”
Another silence.
“He can't get up.”
The line went dead.
Harper stared at the phone.
“Your dad hung up.”
Ethan actually laughed once.
Weakly.
“No.”
“What?”
“He’s coming.”
Harper called 911 next.
She folded her apron beneath Ethan's head.
“You're going to be okay.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
Harper looked him directly in the eyes.
“But you're not going to be alone while we find out.”
Something changed in his expression.
Then tires stopped outside.
Harper looked toward the windows.
A black sedan had pulled to the curb.
A man emerged before the driver could get around the vehicle.
He came through the door at a run.
Black three-piece suit.
Dark hair.
Trimmed beard.
The kind of face that looked as if smiling was something it had forgotten how to do.
“Ethan!”
He dropped beside the young man.
Every trace of authority disappeared.
For several seconds, Damian Moretti was simply a terrified father.
“Look at me.”
Ethan opened his eyes.
“Dad.”
“Can you move your feet?”
“Barely.”
“Any pain?”
“My back.”
Damian looked at Harper.
“What happened?”
“He was sitting there. I heard the chair fall. When I reached him, he was already on the floor.”
“You moved him?”
“No.”
A quick flicker of approval crossed Damian's face.
“Good.”
Sirens approached.
Harper stood.
Something glittered beside Ethan's coat.
She picked it up.
A silver bracelet.
“Is this his?”
Damian reached for it.
Then stopped.
His entire expression changed.
“What?”
Harper held it out.
Damian turned the bracelet over.
Three letters had been scratched into the clasp.
R.M.C.
Ethan saw them too.
His face went whiter.
Damian's voice dropped.
“Where did you get this?”
“Beside him.”
“That isn't mine,” Ethan whispered.
Damian looked at his son.
“What?”
“I've never seen it.”
The paramedics arrived.
Harper stepped aside as they stabilized Ethan and transferred him onto a stretcher.
One paramedic asked questions.
Had he hit his head?
Any medical history?
Medication?
Damian answered what he knew.
Ethan tried to speak.
“My drink.”
Everyone turned.
“The coffee?” Harper asked.
“No.”
Ethan swallowed.
“Before here.”
Damian leaned closer.
“What drink?”
“At the club.”
“What club?”
Ethan hesitated.
“The Harbor Room.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“Who were you with?”
Ethan looked toward Harper.
As though suddenly remembering there was a stranger listening.
“Doesn't matter.”
“It matters now.”
“Dad.”
“Who?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Uncle Vincent.”
Damian went perfectly still.
Harper didn't know the name.
But she understood the reaction.
Family.
And somehow that made it worse.
The paramedics wheeled Ethan outside.
Damian followed, then stopped at the door.
He turned toward Harper.
“You called me?”
“Yes.”
“You stayed with him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Harper frowned.
She genuinely didn't understand the question.
“Because he was on the floor.”
Damian stared at her.
Apparently, in his world, that answer was unusual.
Harper crossed her arms.
“You should go with your son.”
Damian reached into his jacket.
She immediately stepped backward.
He removed a card.
Not money.
A business card.
“Call this number if anyone asks about tonight.”
“I already spoke to the paramedics.”
“Anyone else.”
“What does that mean?”
His gaze went toward the bracelet in his hand.
“It means I don't think my son fell because he was sick.”
Harper looked at the ambulance.
“Then tell the police.”
Damian almost smiled.
Almost.
“You don't know who I am.”
“No.”
“That's probably good.”
He walked outside.
The ambulance pulled away.
Damian's sedan followed.
Harper stood in the diner doorway holding his card.
MORETTI DEVELOPMENT GROUP.
There was nothing frightening about the name.
She went back inside.
Her manager, Lou, had finally emerged from the kitchen.
“What the hell happened?”
“Customer collapsed.”
“You called an ambulance?”
“Yes.”
Lou stared at the broken glass.
“Who's paying for that?”
Harper looked at him.
“A glass?”
“And the chair.”
“He nearly couldn't move.”
“And now he's gone.”
Harper bent down and began cleaning.
That was life.
A boy nearly died.
An ambulance came.
A terrified father ran through the door.
Then somebody had to sweep the floor.
Her shift ended at eleven.
Harper changed into her old coat and walked toward the bus stop.
Snow had started falling.
She shoved her hands into her pockets.
Her fingers touched Damian's card.
She almost threw it away.
Then she noticed a black SUV parked across the street.
Its lights were off.
Harper slowed.
The driver's window lowered.
A man she had never seen before watched her.
Harper kept walking.
The SUV moved.
Slowly.
She crossed the street.
It crossed behind her.
Her pulse quickened.
She pulled out her phone.
Before she could dial, the SUV accelerated.
It stopped beside her.
The rear door opened.
A man stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Harper Lane?”
She backed away.
“How do you know my name?”
He smiled.
“Mr. Moretti wants to know exactly what you saw tonight.”
Harper reached into her pocket for Damian's card.
Then she saw the man's wrist.
A silver bracelet slipped beneath his sleeve.
Three letters were scratched into the clasp.
R.M.C.
Harper looked up.
May you like
The man was still smiling.
And he was not one of Damian's men.
