Chapter 5 - The Night Patrick Brennan Died
Kayla stepped away from Vincent.
The bank vault felt suddenly airless.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“You were in my father’s truck?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“When would have been convenient, Vincent? Before or after my son got kidnapped?”
Anthony’s voice still came through the phone.
“Ask him why he survived.”
Vincent ended the call.
Kayla stared.
“Answer him.”
Vincent sat on the steel chair beside the safe-deposit table.
For the first time since walking into her diner, he looked old.
Not physically.
Burdened.
“I was twenty-three.”
Kayla said nothing.
“Patrick called me that night. He said he had proof against Elias. He wanted me to help him get it to my father.”
“Why you?”
“Because he didn’t trust Anthony.”
“Good instinct.”
Vincent accepted the blow.
“We met at the diner after midnight. He gave me the lighter.”
“The one you carry.”
“Yes.”
“He said if something happened, I had to find Mary. But before we could leave, Patrick got a call.”
“From who?”
“Anthony.”
Kayla’s hands tightened.
“He said my father had been attacked.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
Vincent looked ashamed.
“We drove out toward Route 9. A car followed us.”
Kayla could almost see it.
Her father at the wheel.
Vincent beside him.
Night highway.
A lie waiting ahead.
“They forced the truck toward the guardrail.”
Kayla swallowed.
“What happened?”
“Patrick told me to jump.”
“What?”
“He slowed near a construction turn. Told me to open the passenger door.”
“You jumped from a moving truck?”
“Yes.”
“And him?”
“He kept driving.”
Kayla’s eyes burned.
“Why?”
“To make them follow him instead of me.”
Vincent’s voice broke slightly.
“He saved my life.”
Kayla turned away.
She had waited twenty-two years for details.
Now every one hurt.
“I tried to get back.”
Vincent continued.
“I ran. A driver found me. By the time I reached the crash site, the truck was burning.”
Kayla closed her eyes.
“I never saw Patrick alive again.”
She faced him.
“Did you see who hit him?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you tell my mother?”
“I tried.”
“What?”
“Two days later I went to your house.”
Kayla remembered men outside after the funeral.
Dark coats.
Her mother refusing to open the door.
“I saw Mary through the window. Before she came out, my father’s attorney arrived.”
“Elias.”
“Yes.”
“I thought he was protecting her.”
Kayla laughed bitterly.
“He was protecting himself.”
“I didn’t understand until years later.”
“And when you did?”
“Your mother had moved.”
“You could have found us.”
“I looked under Mary Brennan.”
“She remarried briefly. Became Mary Keller.”
Vincent nodded.
“I know now.”
Silence.
Kayla looked down at Patrick’s documents.
“You carried guilt for twenty-two years.”
“Yes.”
“You should.”
Vincent flinched.
Kayla immediately hated how much satisfaction it gave her.
But grief was not polite.
“Kayla.”
“I need you to stop saying my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you have a right to make it sound gentle.”
Vincent stood.
“I don’t think I have any rights where you’re concerned.”
That stopped her.
He continued.
“You can hate me.”
“I don’t.”
“Maybe you should.”
“That would be easier.”
Their eyes met.
Something had been growing between them since the diner.
Neither had named it.
This was not the time.
Maybe there would never be a time.
Kayla gathered the documents.
“We take this to federal investigators.”
Vincent nodded.
“Agreed.”
“No Moretti justice.”
“Agreed.”
“No disappearing people.”
A faint humorless smile.
“Agreed.”
“No fixing my mortgage.”
Vincent sighed.
“That has nothing to do with—”
“It has everything to do with it.”
“Elias bought your debt to control you.”
“And I’ll deal with it.”
“You could lose the diner.”
“I might.”
“Patrick built that place.”
“Exactly. And if I save it by becoming indebted to you, then Elias still wins.”
Vincent looked frustrated.
“You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
“Single motherhood is mostly refusing to collapse because you don’t have time.”
They left the bank with copies.
The originals stayed secured.
Vincent contacted a federal prosecutor named Diane Mercer.
Not bought.
Not connected.
Someone Patrick had apparently trusted years earlier as a young assistant district attorney.
Diane agreed to meet privately.
Six o’clock.
County courthouse annex.
Kayla called Noah.
He answered on the first ring.
“Mom?”
“I’m okay.”
“Aunt Rachel keeps making me eat.”
“That’s her love language.”
“Are you coming?”
“Soon.”
A pause.
“Is Vincent there?”
Kayla looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Tell him his guys ate all Aunt Rachel’s lasagna.”
Vincent heard.
“I’ll reimburse her.”
Noah said loudly, “Mom says you’re not allowed to pay for stuff.”
Vincent smiled.
Kayla rolled her eyes.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
At five fifty they arrived at the annex.
Diane Mercer waited alone.
Sixty-two.
Silver hair.
Navy suit.
Sharp eyes.
She shook Kayla’s hand.
“Patrick Brennan’s daughter.”
“You knew him?”
“He once ruined my entire week by bringing me documents I couldn’t ignore.”
Kayla smiled despite herself.
“That sounds like Dad.”
They laid out the evidence.
Diane read quietly.
After twenty minutes she said, “This could dismantle half a network.”
“Can you protect Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Can you protect Vincent’s men?”
“If they cooperate.”
Vincent nodded.
Diane looked at him.
“You understand what cooperation means?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get immunity for unrelated crimes.”
“I’m not asking.”
Kayla glanced at him.
That answer mattered.
Diane collected copies.
Then her office phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She looked at Kayla.
Then Vincent.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“The judge who signed the emergency protection order was just found unconscious in his office.”
Vincent stood.
Diane raised a hand.
“Alive.”
Kayla exhaled.
“But the sealed filing is gone.”
“Anthony?”
“Likely.”
Diane’s phone rang again.
Different line.
She answered.
A receptionist spoke rapidly.
Diane’s face drained.
“What do you mean?”
She hung up.
“Kayla.”
“What?”
“Your sister just called the courthouse.”
Kayla’s stomach dropped.
“Noah?”
“He’s gone.”
The room spun.
“No.”
“Security detail?”
“Two agents found sedated in the driveway.”
Vincent grabbed his coat.
Diane said, “Wait.”
Kayla’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A video.
Noah sat in a chair.
Alive.
Terrified.
Behind him stood Anthony Moretti.
Anthony looked into the camera.
“Bring Vincent to Brennan’s Diner by midnight.”
Kayla’s hand shook.
Anthony smiled.
“And come alone.”
Then Noah looked past the camera.
His eyes widened.
“Mom,” he whispered.
A second figure stepped into frame.
Kayla recognized him instantly.
Darren Brennan.
Noah’s father.
Her ex-husband.
The man who had abandoned them five years earlier.
May you like
Darren looked into the camera and said:
“Sorry, Kayla.”
