Chapter 3 - THE MAN BEHIND THE SCARS
Leandro led me into a private sitting room beside the ballroom.
It was quieter there.
The music became a distant murmur.
He placed the photograph on a table.
Then stood near the window.
For the first time that evening, I noticed how tired he looked.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
As though the photograph had reopened something he had spent years trying to close.
“Who is Wesley Harkort to you?” he asked.
I folded my arms.
“A donor. A board member. A man who enjoys hearing himself talk.”
Leandro looked at me.
“And Blair?”
“His favorite accomplice.”
He almost smiled.
Then looked away.
“Do you trust either of them?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I studied him.
“Leandro, what happened four years ago?”
He remained silent.
I waited.
Finally, he spoke.
“My car was forced off the road.”
I felt cold.
“The newspapers said it was an accident.”
“They were wrong.”
“Did the police know?”
“They suspected.”
He looked toward the photograph.
“But the driver of the other vehicle disappeared.”
I swallowed.
“And Wesley?”
Leandro's expression changed.
“He was involved in a business dispute with me at the time.”
“What kind of dispute?”
“A development contract worth hundreds of millions.”
I stared.
“He wanted you dead?”
“I don't know.”
His voice was quiet.
“But someone did.”
I looked at his scars.
The deep lines across his cheek.
The damaged skin near his eye.
The way he kept the left side of his face slightly turned away from the light.
“Did you ever find out who ordered it?”
“No.”
I thought of the photograph.
“Then why would someone send this to me?”
Leandro looked at me.
“That's what frightens me.”
Before I could answer, his security guard entered.
“Sir.”
Leandro turned.
“What?”
“We found Miss Donnelly's handbag.”
Relief rushed through me.
“Where?”
The guard hesitated.
“In Wesley Harkort's private suite.”
My stomach dropped.
Leandro went completely still.
Then the guard added:
“And there's something else.”
He held out a small black device.
“We found this inside the lining.”
I stared.
“What is it?”
May you like
Leandro's expression darkened.
“A tracker.”
