Chapter 2 - The Money She Wouldn’t Touch
Delaney expected Emmett to threaten her.
Instead, he poured her tea.
That frightened her more.
Men who shouted could be understood.
Men who calmly prepared tea while explaining that someone's missing husband had been "taken" belonged to an entirely different category.
Lily had been sent upstairs with Mrs. Bell, the silver-haired nanny who arrived breathless and apologetic.
Once the doors closed behind them, Emmett removed his coat and sat opposite Delaney at a smaller table near the fireplace.
The money remained untouched on the desk.
It looked obscene now.
An enormous fortune sitting beneath the chandelier while Delaney calculated hospital costs in her head every night.
Emmett pushed a cup toward her.
She didn't touch it.
"Is it poisoned?"
"No."
"That's exactly what someone with poisoned tea would say."
"You're remarkably difficult to intimidate."
"I'm terrified."
He looked surprised.
Delaney folded her hands.
"My mother taught me fear and manners can coexist."
That almost-smile appeared again and disappeared.
"How did you get hired?"
"Application."
"Who referred you?"
"A housekeeping agency."
"Which one?"
"Beacon Domestic Services."
Emmett's expression tightened.
"Name of the recruiter."
"Teresa Hall."
He stood immediately and picked up his phone.
Delaney watched him send two messages.
"What?"
"Beacon Domestic Services hasn't supplied staff here in eighteen months."
A cold pressure spread beneath her ribs.
"But they interviewed me."
"Where?"
"Cambridge."
"Office?"
"Temporary suite. Second floor."
"When?"
"Last Thursday."
Emmett typed again.
Delaney replayed the interview.
A woman in her forties.
Brown glasses.
Friendly smile.
Questions about cleaning experience.
Questions about availability.
Questions about whether Delaney had family nearby.
At the time, they had seemed normal.
Now—
Her skin prickled.
"They asked whether I lived alone."
Emmett looked up.
"Who?"
"The recruiter."
"What did you say?"
"That my husband travels for work."
"You lied."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because employers hear 'missing husband' and assume complicated."
"You are complicated."
"Thank you."
He ignored that.
"Did they ask about children?"
Delaney unconsciously covered her stomach.
"Yes."
"Did you tell them?"
"No."
Emmett walked toward the window.
"So whoever sent you here probably doesn't know you're pregnant."
"Sent me?"
"You believe you chose this job."
"I did."
"Did you?"
Delaney thought about the advertisement.
She had found it online three days after learning that Ror Holdings listed the Beacon Hill property as Emmett's primary residence.
The timing had felt like luck.
Housekeeper needed.
Immediate start.
Excellent pay.
Private residence.
No experience required beyond references.
She had applied instantly.
Her interview had been scheduled within hours.
"You're saying somebody wanted me here."
"I'm saying coincidences become expensive around me."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
She stood.
"Then start with my husband."
Emmett's face became unreadable.
"Nolan worked for one of my companies."
"What company?"
"Ror Maritime."
Delaney knew that.
Nolan had told her he was doing accounting work for a logistics client.
He had never given the name.
"Doing what?"
"Auditing."
She frowned.
"Nolan was an accountant."
"Yes."
"Then why did he tell me he was consulting?"
"Because he wasn't supposed to discuss the work."
Her anger rose.
"What work?"
Emmett studied the fire.
"Internal financial irregularities."
"Speak English."
"Someone was stealing from me."
Delaney almost laughed.
"You put hundreds of thousands of dollars on desks to catch housekeepers, but someone stole enough from your company to require a secret accountant?"
"It wasn't cash."
"What was it?"
"Shipments. Payments. Names."
Emmett turned.
"Nolan discovered a system that had been operating inside my businesses for years."
"What kind of system?"
His silence told her she wouldn't like the answer.
Delaney lowered her voice.
"Are you actually in the Mafia?"
"I dislike that word."
"That wasn't a no."
"There are parts of my organization you would call criminal."
She stared.
He continued before she could speak.
"Nolan wasn't involved in them."
"That's comforting."
"He was trying to expose someone who was."
"To you?"
"Yes."
"And then he vanished after meeting you."
Emmett's jaw flexed.
"Before meeting me."
Delaney stopped.
"What?"
"He never arrived."
Her mind struggled to process the distinction.
Nolan's final text had said he was going to handle something.
She had assumed—
"Where was the meeting?"
"A private warehouse in South Boston."
"Why there?"
"Because Nolan believed he had evidence and didn't trust electronic communication."
"What happened?"
"His car was found three streets away."
"Police told me the car was abandoned near the harbor."
"I arranged for them to find it."
Delaney stared.
"You moved evidence?"
"I moved attention."
"That makes no sense."
"It kept you alive."
She stepped toward him.
"Don't pretend this was for me."
"You think the people who took Nolan didn't know he had a wife?"
Her anger cracked.
Emmett's voice remained controlled.
"They knew your name. Your apartment. Where you bought groceries. Which bus you took to work."
Delaney's hands went cold.
"How?"
"Because Nolan found something larger than theft."
Emmett crossed to a cabinet and removed a thin folder.
He placed it on the table.
Inside was a photograph.
Nolan.
Alive.
Walking into a coffee shop.
The date printed in the corner was four months after he disappeared.
Delaney stopped breathing.
She grabbed the photograph.
"No."
Her fingers trembled.
The man was thinner.
He wore a baseball cap.
But it was Nolan.
His nose.
His shoulders.
The way his left foot turned slightly outward from an old soccer injury.
"This is him."
"Yes."
"When?"
"Eight weeks ago."
She looked at Emmett.
"You knew he was alive."
"I knew he was alive eight weeks ago."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I couldn't."
"You couldn't?"
"If I contacted you, they would know I found him."
"Who are they?"
Emmett walked back to the window.
"Someone Nolan trusted."
"Name."
"I don't have one."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I have suspects."
"Then give them to me."
"No."
Delaney slammed the photograph on the table.
"My husband is alive."
"Possibly."
"You just said—"
"The photograph proves he was alive eight weeks ago."
She flinched.
Emmett saw it.
For once, his voice softened.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't need sorry."
"I know."
"I need Nolan."
Silence.
Then Delaney's eyes shifted toward the desk.
The cash.
The bracelet.
"Why test me?"
Emmett followed her gaze.
"Because whoever arranged your employment knew I test new staff."
Her pulse jumped.
"What?"
"The money wasn't only for you."
"Then what was it for?"
"To see whether you behaved like someone sent here for money."
"And?"
"You ignored it."
"Because I'm not a thief."
"Yes."
Delaney stared at him.
"Then why was I sent?"
Emmett answered quietly.
"That's what worries me."
A faint noise came from the hallway.
A scrape.
Then nothing.
Emmett moved instantly.
He opened the library door.
Empty corridor.
But on the floor outside sat Gus—the feather duster.
Delaney frowned.
"I left it inside."
Emmett looked back.
The spot beside the desk where she had propped it was empty.
Someone had entered the library while they were talking.
Or someone had taken Gus earlier and returned it without being seen.
Delaney reached for it.
"Don't."
Emmett grabbed her wrist.
He crouched.
The walnut handle appeared unchanged.
Then he twisted the small brass cap at its base.
It came loose.
Delaney stared.
Inside was a narrow hollow.
And inside that hollow—
A tiny memory card.
Her mouth went dry.
"Nolan put that there."
Emmett did not answer.
He lifted the card carefully.
"You knew?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
He looked at Delaney.
For the first time, fear appeared unmistakably in Emmett Ror's eyes.
"If this is what I think it is, Nolan didn't give you that duster by accident."
"Why?"
"Because he wanted something to reach me."
"Then open it."
Emmett's gaze moved toward the closed door.
"Not here."
"Why?"
He lowered his voice.
"Because whoever arranged your job may already know you brought it."
Delaney's heartbeat pounded.
Then a sound drifted from somewhere upstairs.
A little girl's laughter.
Lily.
Emmett's face changed.
He grabbed his phone.
"Mrs. Bell?"
No answer.
He dialed again.
Nothing.
Then heavy footsteps crossed the upper hallway.
Emmett pulled a handgun from beneath his jacket.
Delaney froze.
"What are you doing?"
"Stay here."
"My God."
"Lock the door behind me."
"Emmett—"
But he was already gone.
Delaney rushed toward the doorway.
Then she saw something lying on the floor.
A pink satin ballet ribbon.
Lily's.
At the far end of the hallway, the front door stood open.
Cold snow blew inside.
And across the white marble floor stretched a trail of tiny wet footprints leading out into the winter morning.
May you like
Someone had taken Lily from the house.
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