Chapter 4 - The Woman They Were Hunting
Every instinct told me to run.
I didn't.
Victor Hale looked older than Declan by perhaps twenty-five years.
Silver at his temples.
Dark coat.
Cane in one hand, though he didn't seem to need it.
There was a scar along his throat.
He looked like a man who had survived something he wasn't supposed to.
“You shouldn't know about the baby,” I said.
“No.”
“Yet you do.”
“Yes.”
“Did you buy my hospital records?”
Victor's mouth tightened.
“No.”
“Did you send the messages?”
“Some.”
My hand moved protectively to my stomach.
“Which ones?”
“The address.”
“And the threat against Henry?”
“No.”
“The threat against my baby?”
His expression changed.
Real anger.
“No.”
I believed him.
That frightened me.
“Then why bring me here?”
“Because Declan won't listen to me.”
“You haven't spoken to him in fifteen years.”
“Exactly.”
I laughed once.
“So naturally you contact his pregnant girlfriend.”
“Was there a safer option?”
“Yes. Almost every option.”
Victor nodded.
“Fair.”
He reached into his coat.
I stepped back.
He stopped.
Slowly, he removed a folded photograph.
He placed it on the pew.
“Take it.”
I did.
The photograph showed Declan at perhaps nineteen.
Younger.
Thinner.
Standing beside a dark-haired man who looked enough like him to be his father.
Beside them stood Victor.
On the back was a date.
Fifteen years earlier.
And an address at the Port of Chicago.
“What am I looking at?”
“The night before Declan's father was murdered.”
My throat tightened.
Victor sat.
“I need you to understand something. Declan didn't inherit an empire. He inherited a war.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you know what he allowed you to know.”
That irritated me.
“Everyone seems very proud of withholding information.”
Victor almost smiled.
“Another fair point.”
“Tell me why I'm here.”
He looked toward the ruined altar.
“Fifteen years ago, Declan's father discovered someone inside the organization was trafficking women through shipping containers.”
My stomach turned.
“People?”
“Yes.”
“Did Declan know?”
“No. His father kept him away from the worst of the business.”
“What happened?”
“He decided to shut the route down.”
“And someone killed him.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Victor looked at me.
“Graham Calloway.”
Savannah's father.
I stared.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It will.”
“The Calloways are helping Declan now.”
“Graham is helping Graham.”
Victor continued.
“He wasn't the head of his family then. He was ambitious. The trafficking route made millions. Declan's father threatened to expose it.”
“So Graham arranged the ambush?”
“With help from someone inside the Voss organization.”
“Who?”
“I never proved it.”
“Then why did Declan blame you?”
“Because I was meeting with Calloway.”
“You were working with him?”
“I was pretending to.”
“Why?”
“To collect evidence.”
The church felt suddenly colder.
“That line about betrayal being necessary to protect someone you love.”
Victor nodded.
“I was trying to protect Declan and his mother.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
His voice broke slightly.
It was the first emotion he'd shown.
“Declan's mother died in a car accident.”
“Her brakes were cut.”
I closed my eyes.
“Graham?”
“His people.”
“Does Declan know?”
“He suspects. He never had proof.”
“And now he's marrying Graham's daughter.”
“Which is exactly what Graham wanted.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
Victor leaned forward.
“Because the engagement does two things. It gives Graham access to Declan's network. And it makes Declan stop looking at Savannah's family as the enemy.”
I thought of Savannah.
Her missing brother.
Her voice.
Her grief.
“Savannah doesn't know?”
“No.”
“About her father?”
“She knows he is cruel. She doesn't know how cruel.”
“What about Henry?”
Victor's expression darkened.
“I believe Graham kidnapped his own son.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“He needed Savannah obedient.”
“That is insane.”
“Yes.”
“Why would Henry pay Northstar?”
Victor's eyes sharpened.
“You know about Northstar?”
“Savannah found payments.”
Victor stood.
“Then we have less time than I thought.”
“What is Northstar?”
“A shell company used to move money between Graham and corrupt members of Declan's network.”
“Henry discovered it.”
“Yes.”
“And Declan's accountant?”
“Yes.”
“That's why he's dead.”
Victor nodded.
My thoughts raced.
“Who else knows?”
“Someone close to Declan.”
“Marco?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Marco would die before betraying him.”
“Then who?”
Victor didn't answer.
Instead he said, “Graham knows you're pregnant.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“That's the most important question.”
“I agree.”
“If Graham wants the marriage, why threaten my baby?”
“Because you are the one thing that could make Declan cancel the wedding.”
My stomach tightened.
“So I'm leverage.”
“You're more dangerous than that.”
“To Graham?”
Victor nodded.
“Declan loves you.”
I looked away.
“He has an unusual way of demonstrating it.”
“You think the engagement was his choice?”
“He said it was necessary.”
“Declan has spent fifteen years believing sacrifice and love are the same thing.”
That sentence landed harder than I expected.
Victor continued.
“He learned it from men like me.”
For a moment, I saw Declan differently.
A nineteen-year-old boy inheriting enemies, money, violence, and grief.
Still not an excuse.
But an explanation.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Convince Savannah.”
“To turn against her father?”
“To look at the evidence.”
“What evidence?”
Victor produced a flash drive.
Small.
Black.
“I've spent fifteen years collecting enough to destroy Graham Calloway.”
I stared at it.
“Why not give it to the FBI?”
“Because half of what is on there implicates men who would kill witnesses before morning.”
“Declan?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
“Then why wait?”
“Because I was missing the final link.”
“What link?”
“Proof Graham ordered the murders.”
“And now?”
“Northstar.”
I took the flash drive.
“If Savannah can access Henry's financial records, we can connect the payments.”
“Then what?”
“Declan can decide whether to destroy Graham privately or legally.”
I almost laughed.
“Those are very different verbs.”
“Not in our world.”
I hated that phrase.
Our world.
I didn't want it to become my child's world.
I put the drive in my purse.
“I'll contact Savannah.”
Victor nodded.
Then suddenly his eyes shifted toward the rear of the church.
“Down.”
A window shattered.
Victor pulled me behind the pew.
A gunshot cracked through the church.
Wood exploded near the altar.
My ears rang.
Victor drew a weapon.
I curled around my stomach.
“Stay down.”
More shots.
Then shouting outside.
A door crashed open.
I thought whoever had followed me had come inside.
Instead I heard a voice I knew.
“Elena!”
Declan.
He appeared in the aisle with Marco behind him.
His face was terrifying.
Not because he was angry.
Because he was afraid.
He saw me.
Then Victor.
Everything stopped.
Fifteen years seemed to pass across Declan's face in one second.
Victor slowly lowered his gun.
“Hello, nephew.”
Declan raised his weapon.
“Move away from her.”
“Declan—”
“Now.”
I stood.
“Stop.”
His eyes snapped to me.
“You left the farmhouse.”
“Yes.”
“You came here alone.”
“Yes.”
“You could have been killed.”
“Yes.”
His control cracked.
“What were you thinking?”
“That nobody tells me anything unless I force them.”
“You climbed out a second-story window.”
“It was more like one and a half.”
Marco stared at me.
“This is not the moment to be technically correct.”
Victor almost laughed.
Declan didn't.
His gun remained pointed.
“Why is he here?”
I held up the flash drive.
“Because your uncle has proof Graham Calloway had your father murdered.”
Declan's expression emptied.
Not softened.
Not hardened.
Emptied.
Victor spoke quietly.
“I tried to tell you fifteen years ago.”
Declan looked at him.
“You told me nothing.”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“You disappeared.”
“Because staying would have killed you.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“Prove it.”
Victor looked at the drive.
I stepped between them.
“Not here.”
Declan's jaw tightened.
Then he looked at my stomach.
The anger drained slightly.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes for half a second.
Then he lowered the gun.
Outside, Marco's men secured the street.
Victor agreed to come with us.
For the first time in fifteen years, uncle and nephew sat in the same vehicle.
Neither spoke.
At Declan's secure office, Savannah arrived.
She looked at Victor.
Then at me.
Then the flash drive.
“What is this?”
“The reason your father wants you married.”
Savannah's face went still.
We spent two hours reviewing files.
Shipping manifests.
Payments.
Photographs.
Names.
Dates.
Enough corruption to bury several powerful men.
Then Savannah opened Henry's Northstar records.
A hidden transfer appeared.
One million dollars.
Sent three days before his disappearance.
The recipient account was coded.
Marco traced it.
He stared at the screen.
Declan leaned closer.
“What?”
Marco didn't answer.
“Marco.”
Finally, Marco turned the monitor.
The recipient wasn't Graham Calloway.
It wasn't Victor.
It wasn't anyone we expected.
The account belonged to Declan's most trusted attorney.
Thomas Rourke.
May you like
And at that exact moment, my phone rang.
Thomas's name appeared on the screen.
