Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD
Z
I had imagined dangerous men differently.
Louder, maybe.
More obviously cruel.
Patrick Callahan looked like someone’s favorite uncle.
Silver hair.
Tailored coat.
Kind blue eyes.
That frightened me more than Adrian’s gun.
Ethan stepped in front of me.
“How are you alive?”
Patrick smiled.
“I eat well.”
Twelve weapons pointed toward him.
He didn’t seem impressed.
“You vanished seventeen years ago.”
“I traveled.”
“You murdered my father.”
Patrick’s smile faded.
“That’s what Javier believed.”
“What do you believe?”
“That your father was weak.”
Something changed in Ethan.
I caught his sleeve.
It was instinct.
His eyes dropped toward my hand.
Then back to Patrick.
Patrick noticed.
Of course he did.
“Well,” he murmured. “That’s unexpected.”
“What?” I snapped.
“You.”
Ethan’s voice became lethal.
“Don’t.”
Patrick ignored him.
“I’ve spent years wondering what could make Ethan careless.”
“I’m not anything to him.”
Patrick smiled.
“That’s not what his face says.”
My pulse jumped.
I hated that my body chose that exact moment to notice Ethan’s hand had closed protectively over mine.
Patrick glanced at the ledger.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“My father wrote it,” I said.
“Your father was an employee.”
“My father was apparently the only man in Chicago capable of keeping copies.”
Declan coughed.
I realized he was hiding a laugh.
Ethan actually looked annoyed with me.
Patrick did not.
He reached inside his coat.
Every gun lifted.
Slowly, he removed a phone.
“There are six men outside this building with instructions.”
“For what?” Ethan asked.
Patrick touched the screen.
A photograph appeared.
Sophie.
My heart stopped.
She was asleep in Margaret’s arms.
The image had clearly been taken inside Ethan’s house.
“No.”
I lunged forward.
Ethan caught me.
“Who took that?”
Patrick slipped the phone away.
“You should choose your household staff more carefully, nephew.”
Ethan turned toward Declan.
“Call Margaret.”
He was already doing it.
No answer.
My vision blurred.
“Sophie.”
Patrick smiled.
“The baby is perfectly safe.”
“If you touched her—”
“I’m not interested in hurting children, Rachel.”
“Then why do you have her picture?”
“To demonstrate access.”
My knees weakened.
Ethan’s hand tightened around my arm.
Patrick looked at him.
“I want the ledger and Javier’s digital key.”
“In exchange for?”
“I disappear.”
Ethan laughed.
It contained no humor.
“You already did that once.”
“Then you know I’m good at it.”
My phone rang.
Margaret.
I snatched it.
“Margaret?”
“Rachel, sweetheart, Sophie is fine.”
I almost sobbed.
“What happened?”
“One of the downstairs guards is missing.”
“Are you safe?”
“We are now.”
Ethan held out his hand.
I gave him the phone.
“Margaret.”
His expression darkened while he listened.
“Lock down the property.”
He ended the call.
Patrick sighed.
“That wasn’t meant to become messy.”
“You sent someone into my house.”
“I sent someone to take a photograph.”
“You threatened a child.”
“No. I reminded you what happens when sentiment enters business.”
Ethan released my arm.
Then stepped toward Patrick.
“Leave Chicago tonight.”
Patrick smiled.
“Give me the ledger.”
“No.”
“Then this gets unpleasant.”
“It already has.”
Men appeared outside.
Patrick’s men.
I heard weapons being raised behind us.
For several seconds, the storage facility felt impossibly small.
Then Ethan spoke without looking away from his uncle.
“Rachel.”
“Yes?”
“When I tell you to move, go with Declan.”
“I’m not leaving the ledger.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is not the moment to argue.”
“That is becoming your favorite sentence.”
Patrick laughed.
“Definitely unexpected.”
Then the lights went out.
Someone screamed.
A gunshot cracked.
Declan grabbed me.
I clutched the ledger against my chest as we ran between storage units.
“Elena!”
“She’s behind us!”
Emergency lights flickered red.
Footsteps echoed.
Another gunshot.
I heard Ethan shouting somewhere in the darkness.
Then a hand seized my shoulder.
I swung the ledger.
Hard.
A man cursed.
Declan slammed him into a metal door.
“Keep moving!”
We reached the rear exit.
Elena was already there.
“Where’s Ethan?”
Declan didn’t answer.
I stopped.
“Rachel!”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“You have a baby waiting for you.”
That stopped me.
The reminder cut straight through panic.
Sophie.
My daughter.
My responsibility.
I climbed into the SUV with Elena.
Declan stayed outside.
Minutes passed.
Then Ethan emerged.
Blood covered one sleeve.
My chest seized.
The moment he climbed inside, I grabbed his arm.
“Were you shot?”
“Grazed.”
“You keep saying things like that as though bullets are mosquito bites.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That is not comforting!”
Ethan stared at me.
Then my hand.
I was still holding him.
I released him.
Elena looked away suspiciously quickly.
“Patrick?”
I asked.
“Gone.”
“With the key?”
“No.”
“The ledger?”
I held it up.
“No.”
For the first time, Ethan exhaled.
Back at the mansion, I ran to Sophie.
I didn’t care about crime families or ledgers or Chicago.
I took my daughter into my arms and cried into her soft hair.
She woke, blinked at me, and smiled.
That nearly destroyed me.
Hours later, Sophie slept beside me in a guest room.
I sat at the window.
Someone knocked.
Ethan entered.
His arm had been bandaged.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Apparently neither do mothers.”
He stood awkwardly near the door.
For a man who commanded rooms full of armed men, he looked strangely uncertain.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“Patrick got into my house.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“It happened under my protection.”
“You didn’t invite him.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He became quiet.
I studied him.
“Did my father save your life?”
His expression changed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The night my father died.”
“What happened?”
“Patrick poisoned him during dinner. Javier realized something was wrong. He got me out before Patrick’s men could kill me too.”
My throat tightened.
“And Dad?”
“He went back for the records.”
“He died because of your family.”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
But he didn’t hide from it.
“I hated you when Elena said your name,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I thought maybe you killed him.”
“I know.”
“And now?”
His gaze held mine.
“Now you should hate me for better reasons.”
I almost smiled.
“Are there many?”
“Quite a few.”
“Give me your top three.”
His mouth moved.
Then Sophie made a tiny sound in her sleep.
We both looked toward her.
Something in Ethan’s face softened.
Danger disappeared.
Only for a second.
I stood.
“Why were you so good with her on the plane?”
He was silent long enough that I almost thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then:
“I had a daughter.”
Every thought left my mind.
“Had?”
“She died.”
My heart sank.
“How old?”
“Eight months.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Her mother too?”
He nodded.
“Car accident?”
“No.”
His eyes turned cold.
“Patrick.”
And suddenly I understood why the King of Chicago had looked so natural holding my screaming daughter.
Why he had known how to support her head.
Why he had known the right temperature for the bottle.
Why he had watched Sophie sleep like someone looking through a window into a life he had lost.
I took one step toward him.
Then another.
Ethan looked at me as though I was doing something dangerous.
Maybe I was.
I put my arms around him.
He didn’t move.
For several seconds, neither of us breathed.
Then his arms came around me carefully.
Not possessively.
May you like
Not like a king.
Like a man trying to remember how to hold something without losing it.
