Chapter 2 - THE BOY IN THE RED HOODIE
I don't remember leaving the ballroom.
I remember Daniel's jacket around my shoulders.
I remember refusing his car until Marco told me arguing would cost us time.
I remember calling Noah eleven more times.
And I remember thinking about breakfast.
That was the worst part.
Noah had complained because I'd burned the toast.
I told him fifteen-year-olds were capable of making their own.
He stole mine anyway.
Six hours later, there was blood on his phone.
Our apartment was unlocked.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Noah's backpack was beside the sofa.
His algebra homework was open.
One sneaker sat near the kitchen.
The other was missing.
Daniel walked through the apartment slowly.
He noticed everything.
Then stopped beside our refrigerator.
Photographs covered it.
Mom holding Noah as a baby.
Me at nursing school graduation.
Noah with braces.
A photograph of Mom in the blue dress.
Daniel reached toward it.
Then stopped himself.
“She looked the same.”
I stared at him.
“You really knew her.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me how.”
“After we find Noah.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You keep deciding when I deserve answers.”
“Emma—”
“My mother is dead. My brother is missing. Somebody is sending messages about my dress, and you're standing in my kitchen acting like you're the only person qualified to understand my life.”
I stepped closer.
“Start talking.”
Daniel did.
Twenty-eight years earlier, Daniel Carter was fourteen.
His father, Michael Carter, was building the organization Daniel would eventually inherit.
One winter night, someone inside the family betrayed Michael.
Daniel was caught in the middle.
A car exploded outside a restaurant.
Daniel survived.
His bodyguard didn't.
Daniel ran.
Bleeding.
Terrified.
He reached a twenty-four-hour laundromat.
Claire Bennett was nineteen.
Working nights.
“She hid me in a dryer.”
Despite everything, I stared.
“A dryer?”
“It was industrial.”
“That doesn't improve the story.”
For half a second, Daniel almost smiled.
Then he continued.
The men searching for him entered the laundromat.
Claire lied.
After they left, she stitched a tear in Daniel's coat.
Yellow thread.
It was all she had.
Years later, Daniel found her.
He offered money.
She refused.
He offered a job.
She refused that too.
Eventually she accepted bookkeeping work for one of Michael Carter's legitimate companies.
Then she discovered something.
A ledger.
Payments showing that several trusted Carter associates were selling information to rivals.
Claire copied it.
Before Michael could act, he was murdered.
The ledger disappeared.
So did Claire.
“Mom never left Chicago.”
“She changed her name.”
“No.”
“Her surname before Bennett was Marino.”
I sat down.
Mom had never told us that.
Daniel continued.
“My father died believing Claire betrayed him.”
“And you?”
“I didn't.”
“Why?”
“Because she could have handed me over that night.”
Simple.
Certain.
“She saved me when there was nothing in it for her.”
Daniel looked at the photograph.
“I never forgot.”
Marco entered.
“We found traffic footage.”
Noah appeared on-screen.
Red hoodie.
Walking voluntarily beside the unknown man.
“He wasn't kidnapped,” I whispered.
Marco shook his head.
“Not there.”
Then another camera.
Three blocks later.
Noah suddenly stopped.
The man grabbed his arm.
Noah fought.
A van pulled up.
They forced him inside.
I covered my mouth.
Daniel's voice became lethal.
“Plate?”
“Stolen.”
“Face?”
“We're running it.”
Then I saw something.
“Wait.”
Marco paused the footage.
The man holding Noah had a ring.
Silver.
Black stone.
I knew it.
I'd seen it before.
At the gala.
On the hand of the man who had escorted Victoria Ashford into the ballroom.
I looked at Daniel.
“He was with Victoria.”
May you like
Daniel went very still.
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