Chapter 2 - THE WRONG PILLS“Rebecca?”
Nicholas Valenti’s voice was barely more than air.
Hannah stopped with the glass of water halfway to his mouth.
For a second, the mansion disappeared.
There was only the dim bedroom, the digital clock glowing 2:17 a.m., Nicholas’s sweat-soaked shirt, and the strange softness in the eyes of a man who usually looked at the world like he expected it to betray him.
“My name is Hannah.”
Nicholas blinked.
His fingers tightened weakly around her wrist.
“Rebecca…”
Then his eyes rolled closed.
Hannah caught the glass before it spilled.
She checked his pulse again.
Too slow.
His blood pressure was lower than it had been six hours earlier.
That made no sense.
His chart showed nothing newly prescribed that should have caused such a change.
Hannah opened the medication drawer.
Nicholas’s medications were arranged in labeled containers by time: morning, afternoon, evening, emergency.
She had inspected them when she arrived three weeks earlier.
Tonight, something looked different.
The tablet inside the evening compartment was pale yellow.
The tablet listed in the pharmacy record was white.
Hannah picked one up with gloved fingers.
Different shape.
Different imprint.
Her stomach tightened.
She checked the medication administration record.
Nothing.
She pulled out her phone and photographed the pill.
Then the container.
Then the label.
Four angles.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Hannah turned.
Claire Whitmore stood in the doorway wearing a cream silk robe.
“What are you doing?”
Hannah closed the drawer.
“Checking his medication.”
“At two in the morning?”
“He became confused.”
Claire glanced toward Nicholas.
Her concern appeared instantly.
Almost beautifully.
“Oh, God.”
She crossed the room.
“Nicholas?”
Hannah stepped slightly between them.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
“Did anyone give him medication after dinner?”
Claire’s expression changed by less than an inch.
“No.”
“Anyone bring him anything?”
“Water.”
“Who?”
“I did.”
Hannah held her gaze.
Claire folded her arms.
“You’re looking at me strangely.”
“I’m asking questions.”
“You’re a nurse.”
“Yes.”
“Not a detective.”
“Tonight those jobs are overlapping.”
Claire laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You should be careful.”
“About medication errors?”
“About forgetting where you work.”
Before Hannah could answer, Nicholas moved.
His eyes opened.
This time they were clearer.
“Hannah.”
“I’m here.”
He stared at Claire.
Something unreadable passed across his face.
Then he whispered, “Leave.”
Claire stiffened.
“Nicholas—”
“Not her.”
He looked directly at Claire.
“You.”
The silence became enormous.
Claire’s lips parted.
Then she smiled.
It was the smile Hannah had seen in charity photographs.
Perfect.
Controlled.
“Of course. You’re exhausted.”
She leaned down as if she intended to kiss Nicholas.
He turned his face away.
Claire stopped.
For one terrible second, Hannah saw hatred.
Then it disappeared.
Claire walked out.
Hannah waited until her footsteps vanished.
“Who is Rebecca?” she asked.
Nicholas stared at the ceiling.
“My sister.”
Hannah hadn’t known he had one.
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
His voice became harder.
“Everybody is sorry after someone is dead. It’s the easiest thing in the world.”
Hannah sat beside him.
“How long ago?”
“Twelve years.”
“Why did you think I was her?”
Nicholas looked at her.
“Because she used to look at me the way you do.”
Hannah almost smiled.
“How do I look at you?”
“Like I’m being stupid.”
“That seems medically useful.”
A quiet sound escaped him.
Not quite laughter.
But close.
Then his face tightened.
“My legs feel heavier.”
That caught Hannah’s attention immediately.
“Compared with yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Arms?”
“A little.”
Hannah began a neurological assessment.
Grip strength.
Pupil response.
Orientation.
Sensation.
Nothing catastrophic.
But enough had changed that she was no longer willing to dismiss the episode as fatigue.
“I’m calling your doctor.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Hannah.”
“Nicholas.”
He stared at her.
People probably did not interrupt Nicholas Valenti often.
Unfortunately for him, Hannah had spent years arguing with insurance companies.
Fear had competition.
She called the number listed for his rehabilitation physician.
Dr. Samuel Monroe answered after four rings.
Hannah explained what happened.
When she mentioned the pale yellow tablet, Monroe went silent.
“What yellow tablet?”
Hannah looked toward Nicholas.
“The one in his evening medication container.”
“There shouldn’t be one.”
Her heartbeat changed.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m looking at his prescription list now.”
Hannah stood.
“What about anything recently added?”
“Nothing.”
Nicholas watched her face.
He understood before she hung up.
“What?”
Hannah didn’t answer immediately.
She returned to the drawer.
Three yellow tablets remained.
She removed one.
Dropped it into a clean specimen bag.
Sealed it.
Nicholas’s expression became very still.
“What did the doctor say?”
“That tablet isn’t his.”
A minute passed.
Outside, Lake Michigan was black beneath the moon.
“Medication gets mixed up,” Nicholas said.
“Sometimes.”
“You think this wasn’t accidental.”
“I think I don’t know yet.”
She put the evidence bag inside her locked nursing case.
Nicholas watched her.
“What happens now?”
“Tomorrow I confirm what that tablet is.”
“And if someone put it there deliberately?”
Hannah met his eyes.
“Then we find out who.”
The next morning, she arrived downstairs to discover Claire already seated at breakfast.
Walter Bell was reading a financial newspaper.
Nicholas remained upstairs.
Claire stirred coffee without drinking it.
“You upset him last night.”
Hannah poured herself water.
“He was already upset.”
“You frightened him with unnecessary medical drama.”
“His physician disagrees.”
Walter lowered his newspaper.
Claire’s spoon stopped.
Hannah noticed both reactions.
“What physician?” Claire asked.
“Dr. Monroe.”
“You called him?”
“Yes.”
“Without consulting me?”
Hannah stared.
“You are not the patient.”
Claire smiled coldly.
“I am his fiancée.”
“That still doesn’t make you his physician.”
Walter hid something behind his coffee cup that might have been a smile.
Claire stood.
“I hired this agency.”
“Nicholas’s office signed the contract.”
“I can have you replaced.”
That frightened Hannah.
Not because she cared about the mansion.
Not because she cared about Nicholas’s reputation.
Because one dependent was included.
Ethan.
His heart surgery.
For half a second, Claire saw the fear.
And Hannah knew she had seen it.
Claire stepped closer.
“Everyone who comes into this house eventually learns something.”
“What?”
Claire’s voice lowered.
“The difference between being brave and being unemployed.”
She walked away.
Hannah remained beside the table.
Walter folded his newspaper.
“You should listen to her.”
Hannah turned.
Walter stood.
“Excuse me?”
“You have a younger brother.”
Every muscle in Hannah’s body tightened.
“How do you know that?”
“I know everyone who enters this house.”
He passed her.
Then stopped.
Without looking back, he added quietly:
“But if I were you, Miss Reed, I would also find out why Nicholas’s previous three nurses left within six weeks.”
Hannah stared after him.
That afternoon she called the first nurse.
No answer.
The second number had been disconnected.
The third nurse answered.
Her name was Patricia Conway.
When Hannah identified herself, Patricia became silent.
“I’m working for Nicholas Valenti.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s an interesting response.”
“You should quit.”
“Why?”
“You have a family?”
Hannah looked through the kitchen doorway.
Ethan’s newest paper crane sat inside her purse.
“Yes.”
“Then quit.”
“Patricia, did something happen?”
Another pause.
Then the woman whispered:
“I started noticing medication discrepancies.”
Hannah’s skin went cold.
“What kind?”
“I never found out.”
“Why?”
“Because two days after I reported it, someone broke into my apartment.”
Hannah stopped breathing.
“Did they take anything?”
“No.”
“What did they do?”
Patricia’s voice shook.
“They put a photograph of my daughter on my pillow.”
The call ended thirty seconds later.
Hannah stood alone in the hallway.
Then she heard the soft mechanical hum of Nicholas’s wheelchair behind her.
She turned.
He was watching her.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re leaving.”
It wasn’t a question.
Hannah thought about Ethan.
About the crossed-out surgery dates.
About Claire’s warning.
About the yellow tablet.
Then she looked directly at the most feared man she had ever met.
“No.”
Nicholas frowned.
“Why?”
“Because somebody wants me to.”
That evening, while Nicholas slept, Hannah opened the locked nursing case.
She expected to see the evidence bag.
It was gone.
In its place lay a folded piece of paper.
May you like
Three words had been written across it.
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.
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