Chapter 2 - The Case With Their Names
Vincent stared at the panel.
Very few people had that authority.
His chief of security.
His attorney.
His finance director.
And Michael Caruso.
Michael, who had been Vincent’s closest friend since they were sixteen.
Michael, who’d stood beside him at his wedding.
Michael, who had carried Claire’s casket.
“No.”
Hannah studied his face.
“You know who.”
“I know who could.”
“That’s enough for now.”
There was another route to the garage through the laundry corridor.
They reached it in less than ninety seconds.
The underground garage was dark except for emergency lighting.
Vincent saw his armored SUV twenty yards away.
Then a familiar voice came from the shadows.
“You were always too stubborn to know when it was over.”
Vincent froze.
Michael Caruso stepped into the light.
He looked exhausted.
Older.
A pistol hung loosely in his hand.
Behind him stood two strangers.
Vincent didn’t look at them.
He looked only at Michael.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
Michael swallowed.
“Vince—”
“Tell me.”
“I had no choice.”
Vincent actually laughed.
It was one short, empty sound.
“There’s always a choice.”
“They had my brother.”
“You should have come to me.”
“They had photographs of my wife leaving Emma’s school. They had my house. My parents’ place.”
“And so you gave them mine?”
Michael’s face twisted.
“I gave them codes. I didn’t know they were coming for the kids.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I thought they wanted you.”
Vincent took a slow step forward.
Hannah shifted subtly between the twins and the men.
Michael raised his gun.
“Don’t.”
Vincent stopped.
“Who are they working for?”
Michael shook his head.
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
A stranger answered.
“Roman Volkov.”
Vincent recognized the name immediately.
A rival who’d spent two years attempting to force Moretti Maritime out of three high-value shipping terminals.
Vincent had humiliated him six months earlier by exposing a theft operation inside one of Volkov’s supposedly legitimate import firms.
He’d expected retaliation.
Against him.
Never the twins.
“What does Volkov want with my children?”
The stranger smiled.
“Insurance.”
Hannah’s gaze sharpened.
“Against what?”
No answer.
Then Emma whispered behind her.
“Hannah.”
Everyone looked toward the child.
Emma was staring past Michael.
At a black medical transport case resting near the SUV.
Hannah saw the label.
BIOLOGICAL TRANSPORT.
Her expression changed.
Very slightly.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
“We leave now.”
“Hannah.”
“Now.”
The stranger moved.
Everything happened at once.
Hannah slammed a button on a remote clipped inside her sleeve.
The garage lights died.
Vincent heard Emma scream.
He grabbed both children and dropped behind the reinforced wheel well of a nearby vehicle.
Two sharp impacts echoed through the darkness.
Someone shouted.
Then silence.
Emergency lights flickered back on.
Michael was on the floor, alive but disarmed.
The two strangers weren’t moving.
Hannah stood six feet away, breathing hard.
“Vehicle.”
Vincent didn’t ask questions.
He opened the armored SUV and got the twins inside.
Hannah grabbed the medical case.
Michael looked up.
“Vince.”
Vincent stopped.
There was a time when that voice could have made him turn around for anything.
Not tonight.
Michael’s eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
Vincent stared at the man who’d been his best friend for twenty-three years.
“You were Uncle Mike to them.”
Michael closed his eyes.
That hurt more than any threat could have.
Vincent got into the SUV.
Hannah climbed beside him.
The armored doors locked.
They drove into the storm.
For the next forty minutes, nobody spoke.
The twins finally fell asleep beneath one blanket in the back seat.
Vincent headed toward a downtown Manhattan apartment registered through layers of corporations Michael had never known existed.
When they reached the private garage, Vincent shut off the engine.
Rainwater streamed from the roof.
His hands remained on the steering wheel.
“You knew.”
Hannah turned toward him.
“About what?”
“The case.”
She looked down at the black medical container.
Then back at the sleeping children.
“I have a theory.”
“Tell me.”
She hesitated.
For the first time that night, Hannah Mercer actually looked afraid.
“Not until I verify it.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“Those are my children.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Hannah opened the case.
Inside were two pediatric restraint kits, sterile collection equipment, and printed hospital identifiers.
Vincent’s stomach turned.
On one label was Emma Moretti’s name.
On another was Noah’s.
He looked at Hannah.
“What the hell is this?”
She swallowed.
“I don’t think Roman Volkov was planning to ransom your children.”
Vincent felt the room tilt.
“Then what did he want?”
May you like
Hannah’s voice dropped to almost a whisper.
“I think he needed something inside them.”
