Chapter 3 - What Tessa Was Running From
“Where was she going?” I asked.
Brendan checked the footage.
“Portland, Maine.”
“When did the bus leave?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
I stood.
“Get the car.”
Arthur spoke behind me.
“If Victor knows she has the key, you don't have much time.”
I turned.
“What does the key open?”
“I told you—”
I slammed my palm onto his desk.
“Think.”
Arthur went pale.
Then something changed in his expression.
“Samuel kept a safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“He never told me.”
Brendan was already typing.
“Callaway had accounts at three Boston banks before he died.”
“Check them.”
Twenty minutes later, we had an answer.
Beacon Commonwealth Bank.
The box had been accessed yesterday.
By Tessa.
“She didn't go to Maine to run,” I said.
Brendan looked at me.
“She went there because she found something.”
We intercepted the bus outside Portsmouth.
Tessa stepped off at a rest stop carrying her suitcase.
When she saw me beside the black sedan, she stopped walking.
For four years, I had watched this woman lower her eyes whenever I entered a room.
This time, she stared straight at me.
Then she turned around.
“Tessa.”
She kept walking.
“Tessa.”
“Go home, Mr. Moretti.”
I caught up.
“No.”
She stopped.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“You resigned without notice.”
She stared at me in disbelief.
“You chased a bus across state lines because I didn't give two weeks' notice?”
“Among other things.”
For one second, I saw the old Tessa.
Almost amused.
Then fear returned.
“You need to leave.”
“I saw Victor.”
Her face drained of color.
That confirmed everything.
“You knew.”
She looked away.
“What did you take from the bank?”
“Nothing.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
“I learned from working around you.”
Brendan coughed to hide a laugh.
I looked at him.
He immediately became fascinated by the parking lot.
“Tessa.”
She tightened her grip on the suitcase.
“My father left evidence.”
“Against Victor?”
“Against several people.”
“What kind?”
“Enough to explain why he died.”
I said nothing.
Tessa finally looked at me.
“My father knew Victor was stealing from you. But the money wasn't the important part.”
“What was?”
“He was selling information.”
“To whom?”
“Anyone willing to pay.”
Names of witnesses.
Business routes.
Private addresses.
Security schedules.
I felt something cold settle inside me.
“My father discovered it,” Tessa continued. “He collected proof because he knew nobody would believe him without it.”
“Why didn't he give it to me?”
“He planned to.”
Her voice tightened.
“He died first.”
“Tessa—”
“You sent him home that night.”
I froze.
She knew.
“He called me,” she said. “He told me he'd finally spoken to you. He sounded relieved.”
Her eyes filled, but she refused to let the tears fall.
“He said, ‘Mr. Moretti will handle it now.’”
I looked away.
Samuel had trusted me.
He died hours later.
“I should have protected him.”
“You didn't know.”
“I should have.”
“That doesn't bring him back.”
“No.”
She took a breath.
“That's why I worked for you.”
My eyes returned to hers.
“To investigate me?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“My father told me that if anything happened, I should find the safest place Victor would never think to look.”
She gave a humorless smile.
“Your house.”
I understood.
“You weren't working for me.”
“I was hiding with you.”
“For four years?”
“Victor was supposedly dead. I finally started believing it.”
“And then Arthur appeared.”
She nodded.
“He told me Victor was alive.”
“What was in the box?”
Tessa looked around.
“Not here.”
I opened the rear door.
“Then get in.”
“No.”
“Tessa.”
“Mr. Moretti, this is exactly why I left.”
“What is?”
“You.”
I almost laughed.
“That's unusually insulting for you.”
“You see a threat and immediately walk toward it.”
“Usually works.”
“My father did that.”
That silenced me.
She continued.
“I didn't want you involved.”
“You were living under my roof for four years.”
“I cleaned your house.”
“You remembered my medication.”
Her expression changed.
“How do you know about that?”
“The pharmacist misses you.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I wasn't trying to interfere.”
“You took a train through a snowstorm.”
“You needed the pills.”
“You could have told me.”
“You would have sent someone.”
“Yes.”
“That person might have forgotten.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
And somehow, standing beside a highway rest stop while my dead uncle hunted her, I nearly smiled.
Then Brendan's voice came through my earpiece.
“Luca.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Black SUV entered the lot twice.”
“Plate?”
“Covered.”
I looked toward the entrance.
There it was.
Black Chevrolet.
Tinted windows.
“Tessa.”
She saw my expression.
“What?”
“Get in the car.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
The SUV accelerated.
Brendan reached beneath his jacket.
I grabbed Tessa and pulled her behind the sedan as the SUV roared past.
No shots.
No attack.
Instead, something flew from the passenger window.
A phone.
It landed on the pavement.
The SUV disappeared.
Brendan retrieved it carefully.
The screen illuminated.
One message.
TESSA HAS SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME.
A second message appeared.
BRING IT HOME, LUCA.
Then a photograph loaded.
My mansion.
Taken less than ten minutes earlier.
May you like
Someone was already inside.
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