Chapter 2 - The Bride Chosen by Blood
I stopped breathing.
The man outside the elevator was perhaps forty-five, broad shouldered, gray beginning at his temples.
He wore a dark overcoat.
No expression.
The white Northwestern Memorial envelope hung between two gloved fingers.
My name was printed on the front.
ELENA MARLOWE.
He looked at me.
Then at my suitcase.
“Ms. Marlowe.”
I backed toward the control panel.
“Where did you get that?”
He stepped forward.
I slammed the close-door button.
Nothing happened.
His shoe crossed the threshold.
The elevator remained open.
“I don't want trouble.”
“Then you chose the wrong building.”
My hand moved toward my purse.
There was no weapon inside.
Only my phone, wallet, ultrasound, and the absurd little baby socks.
The man glanced toward my hand.
“Don't.”
I froze.
Then a voice behind him said, “You first.”
Marco Bellini appeared from the hallway.
Declan's head of security.
He pressed a handgun against the stranger's back.
Two more men emerged behind him.
The stranger didn't move.
Marco's eyes found mine.
“Elena. Stay inside.”
I did not stay inside.
Maybe pregnancy had destroyed my ability to follow sensible instructions.
Maybe I was simply tired of men deciding where I should stand.
I stepped out.
Marco cursed quietly.
The stranger lifted both hands.
The hospital envelope remained in one.
“I'm not armed.”
Marco patted him down.
No gun.
No knife.
Nothing.
“Name,” Marco said.
“Elliot Crane.”
Marco's face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“You know him?” I asked.
Marco didn't answer.
Crane looked at me.
“Your boyfriend does.”
“He isn't my boyfriend.”
Crane almost smiled.
“Tonight probably isn't the best night to debate titles.”
Marco snatched the envelope from his hand.
Inside were photocopies.
My appointment record.
The doctor's name.
The time I checked in.
The time I left.
My blood went cold.
“Where did you get these?”
Crane's expression became serious.
“From the man who paid a hospital employee for them.”
Marco pressed the weapon harder.
“Who?”
“If I knew his name, I wouldn't be here.”
“Then why are you here?”
Crane looked at me.
“Because someone offered two hundred thousand dollars for confirmation that Elena Marlowe is pregnant.”
My knees weakened.
Marco caught my arm.
I pulled away immediately.
“Who offered it?”
Crane shook his head.
“The message came through three intermediaries.”
“Why bring this to me?”
“Because Declan once saved my brother.”
Marco laughed without humor.
“You sold Declan out three years ago.”
“I sold information. I didn't sell him.”
“Difference is thin.”
“Tonight it's thick enough.”
Crane turned toward me.
“Leave Chicago.”
That was the second man in one hour to tell me the same thing.
I hated that it frightened me more this time.
Marco called Declan.
He answered immediately.
Marco said only four words.
“Crane has hospital records.”
Even from where I stood, I heard Declan's voice through the phone.
“Keep Elena there.”
My anger sparked.
I grabbed the phone from Marco.
“Stop giving orders about me.”
“Elena.”
“Someone bought my medical information.”
“I know.”
“No, you didn't.”
A pause.
Then: “I'm coming.”
“I don't want you here.”
“I'm coming anyway.”
He hung up.
I gave Marco back the phone.
Crane watched me with something like sympathy.
That irritated me.
“Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I'm already a victim.”
He considered the accusation.
“Fair.”
Marco took Crane into another room.
I returned upstairs.
My suitcase remained by the elevator.
I stared at it.
The smart thing was to leave.
But leave for where?
My mother had died seven years earlier.
My father lived in Arizona and believed I worked in corporate communications for a difficult businessman.
My closest friend, Leah, lived in Boston with two children.
Every person I loved could become part of that list Declan mentioned.
The list.
I suddenly understood why he had looked terrified.
It didn't forgive him.
But it changed the shape of my anger.
Declan arrived eleven minutes later.
No coat.
No hesitation.
He crossed the apartment directly toward me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did Crane touch you?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
Declan looked at my stomach as though expecting visual confirmation that the baby was still there.
I noticed.
“Stop.”
His eyes lifted.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like I'm fragile.”
“You're not fragile.”
“You're acting like I might break.”
“I am acting like someone put a price on information about my unborn child.”
There it was.
My unborn child.
Not the baby.
His child.
I folded my arms.
“So now what?”
“Now you go somewhere safe.”
“I decide where.”
“Elena—”
“I decide.”
He stared at me.
Then nodded once.
That surprised me.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You choose. Marco secures it.”
“No armed guards inside.”
“Outside.”
“No trackers on my phone.”
His expression remained neutral.
That meant he hated the condition.
“Fine.”
“And I want the truth.”
“That may take longer.”
“No. It begins now.”
I pointed to the television.
Savannah and Declan were still being replayed.
“Start with her.”
He looked at the screen.
Then at me.
“Savannah's younger brother was kidnapped eight months ago.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Henry Calloway. Twenty-six. He disappeared after leaving a restaurant in River North.”
“That wasn't in the news.”
“Families like ours don't put kidnappings in the news.”
Families like ours.
I hated the phrase.
“Was he found?”
“No.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
“Savannah believes the same group targeting my people took Henry.”
“And the engagement?”
“The Calloways have shipping access. I have street intelligence. Together, we can search places neither family could reach alone.”
“You needed a diamond ring for that?”
“We needed whoever is watching us to believe the alliance was permanent.”
“Why?”
“Because divided families can be pressured. United ones are harder to attack.”
I shook my head.
“There were other ways.”
“Yes.”
“Then why choose the one that destroyed us?”
His eyes darkened.
“Because Savannah's father demanded it.”
“And you said yes.”
“I said yes because three hours earlier, someone sent me a photograph of you walking into your office.”
The room went still.
My mouth opened.
No sound.
Declan reached into his pocket.
He removed his phone.
He showed me the image.
It was me.
Taken from across the street.
Three days earlier.
I wore a green coat.
Coffee in one hand.
Laptop bag over my shoulder.
A red circle had been drawn around my body.
Beneath the photograph were five words.
WE KNOW WHAT YOU LOVE.
I stared.
The anger drained out of me, replaced by something much worse.
“When?”
“Wednesday.”
“You kissed me Wednesday night.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You came home and slept beside me knowing someone had followed me.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“How could you not tell me?”
“Because you would have done exactly what you're doing now.”
“What?”
“Refused protection.”
“Maybe I would have made informed decisions.”
“You would have left me.”
The honesty stopped me.
Declan lowered the phone.
“I thought if I could end the threat quickly, you would never need to know.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Yes.”
“And instead you announced an engagement.”
“Yes.”
“To make them think I didn't matter.”
His silence was answer enough.
Something in my chest tightened.
That was the cruel logic.
If everyone believed Savannah was the woman Declan loved, maybe I would stop being valuable.
Except someone had already discovered the pregnancy.
“You publicly humiliated me to protect me.”
His expression hardened with self-disgust.
“I told myself it was temporary.”
“You don't get to choose humiliation for someone else.”
“I know.”
“No, Declan. I don't think you do.”
He looked away.
For the first time, I wondered how many terrible things this man had done while telling himself they were necessary.
Probably more than I wanted to know.
I picked up my suitcase.
“Where are you going?”
“A hotel.”
“No.”
I stared.
He exhaled.
“Sorry. That sounded like an order.”
“Because it was.”
“Choose somewhere Marco can secure.”
“I'll stay with Leah.”
“In Boston?”
“Yes.”
Declan frowned.
“That puts her at risk.”
My stomach turned.
He was right.
I hated him for being right.
“Then the Wisconsin house.”
Relief appeared briefly in his eyes.
“But you don't come with me.”
“Elena—”
“No.”
“If someone already knows—”
“You can put guards outside. You can put helicopters in the trees for all I care. But you do not come inside unless I invite you.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
“Savannah?”
“What about her?”
“You're still marrying her?”
His face went cold again.
“The announcement stays.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“The ceremony is scheduled.”
My throat tightened.
“And?”
“I need time.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everyone needs time except me.”
“Elena.”
“You have three weeks.”
He looked at me.
“To do what?”
“To figure out whether your fake marriage matters more than your real child.”
His jaw tightened.
“That isn't fair.”
“Neither was the television.”
He accepted that.
I left before I could weaken.
Marco drove me north.
Two SUVs followed.
The city lights disappeared behind us.
Snow began somewhere past Lake Forest.
I held the half-burned ultrasound in my lap.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One photograph arrived.
At first I didn't understand what I was seeing.
Then I recognized Savannah Calloway.
She was standing beside a man tied to a chair.
Her missing brother.
Alive.
The timestamp was from ten minutes earlier.
Beneath it was one message.
TELL DECLAN THE WEDDING HAPPENS.
May you like
Then a second message appeared.
OR NEXT TIME, WE SEND YOU THE BABY.
