Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
Nora released Declan’s hand.
“What photograph?”
Declan stood.
The softness that had existed in his face for the briefest moment disappeared.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
A broad-shouldered man Nora recognized as Declan’s security chief, Owen Mercer, entered carrying her old gray coat over one arm.
In his other hand was a photograph.
Nora knew it immediately.
“No.”
She pushed herself upright too quickly.
The room tilted.
Declan caught her shoulder.
“Easy.”
“Give me that.”
Owen glanced at Declan.
That hesitation angered her more than anything.
“It belongs to me.”
Declan held out his hand.
Owen gave him the photograph.
It showed two young women sitting on the steps outside St. Vincent’s Hospital.
Nora was twenty-three in the picture.
Beside her sat Lily.
Her sister had been painfully thin by then, but she was laughing.
Behind them stood a man in a charcoal coat.
He was looking away from the camera.
Declan stopped breathing for half a second.
Nora noticed.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
His eyes lifted.
Most people probably regretted saying those words to Declan Walsh.
Nora was too exhausted to care.
“You looked at him like you’d seen a ghost.”
Owen spoke quietly.
“His name was Patrick Keane.”
“Was?”
Nora looked between them.
Declan handed her the photograph.
“He died four years ago.”
Her fingers tightened around it.
“I never knew his name.”
“But he knew your sister,” Owen said.
Nora shook her head.
“He worked at the hospital.”
“He didn’t.”
Declan’s answer was immediate.
“He worked for me.”
Silence settled over the room.
Nora remembered Patrick.
He had brought Lily coffee.
Found extra blankets.
Once drove them home when Nora couldn’t afford a cab.
She had assumed he was hospital security.
“Why would one of your men be around Lily?”
“That,” Declan said, “is what I intend to find out.”
Nora swung her legs off the bed.
Pain stabbed behind her eyes.
“I need to leave.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I have work.”
“You collapsed.”
“I noticed.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I need my diner shift.”
Declan stared at her.
Nora reached for her shoes.
“If I miss another morning, I lose the job.”
“Then lose it.”
She looked up sharply.
He seemed to realize immediately that he had said the wrong thing.
“Easy for you.”
Declan’s jaw tightened.
“I meant you shouldn’t have to work after collapsing.”
“And I’m telling you I don’t get to choose.”
Nora stood.
Her knees buckled.
Declan caught her again.
This time she shoved his hand away.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry.”
“Good. Anger has more calories than whatever you’ve been eating.”
Owen coughed into his fist.
Nora glared.
Declan almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Owen reached into her coat again.
“There’s something else.”
Nora froze.
He produced a small silver bracelet.
Lily’s bracelet.
A tiny blue enamel bird hung from it.
Nora crossed the room and snatched it away.
“That stays with me.”
Declan stared at the charm.
“Where did she get that?”
“I bought it.”
“When?”
“For her twenty-first birthday.”
“Where?”
“A little jewelry shop near the hospital.”
Declan looked at Owen.
Owen understood something Nora didn’t.
“What?”
Declan took a breath.
“That bird is the symbol Patrick used when he needed to mark something as protected.”
Nora laughed once.
It sounded brittle.
“My sister wasn’t part of your world.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You’re standing there turning her bracelet into some mafia mystery.”
“I’m telling you what I recognize.”
“She was sick.”
“I know.”
“She spent the last year of her life terrified she was going to die.”
Declan’s expression changed.
“And you spent it trying to save her.”
Nora’s anger stumbled.
“How do you know that?”
“You’re paying a debt for treatment she received years ago.”
Her stomach dropped.
“I never told you about the debt.”
“No.”
Declan looked toward Owen.
“You said it while unconscious.”
Humiliation burned through her.
“What else did I say?”
“Mostly ‘ten more minutes.’”
Nora looked away.
Declan’s voice softened.
“And a name.”
She already knew.
“Lily.”
He nodded.
Owen left to call the physician Declan had apparently already summoned.
Nora sat on the edge of the bed.
Declan remained by the window.
Finally he asked, “How much did you borrow?”
“Eighty thousand.”
“How much have you paid?”
She hesitated.
“About a hundred and forty.”
Declan turned.
“And you still owe?”
“According to him, ninety-six thousand.”
“That’s not lending.”
“I know what it is.”
“Who?”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“You don’t get to order every answer out of me.”
“I can stop this.”
Her laugh was tired.
“That’s what powerful men always say right before they make the problem belong to them.”
Something in his face went still.
“Who taught you that?”
“Experience.”
The doctor arrived twenty minutes later.
Dehydration.
Severe exhaustion.
Low blood sugar.
Possible anemia.
The prescription was humiliatingly simple.
Food.
Rest.
Bloodwork.
Nora listened while calculating how many hours of wages she was losing.
Afterward, she found her clothes freshly washed and folded.
Her coat was missing.
She marched downstairs.
Declan sat at the long kitchen island, reading something.
“My coat.”
“Being repaired.”
“There was nothing wrong with it.”
“There’s a tear under the sleeve.”
“It has been there two years.”
“That doesn’t make it less torn.”
Nora stared at him.
“You’re very irritating.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
A plate waited at the empty chair opposite him.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
Coffee.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Fine. Stand and eat.”
Despite herself, she nearly laughed.
Then she saw what lay beside his coffee.
The photograph.
Declan had turned it over.
On the back was handwriting.
Not hers.
Not Lily’s.
Three words were written in faded blue ink.
KEEP HER SAFE.
Nora stopped breathing.
“Patrick wrote that?”
“I believe so.”
“Which one of us?”
Declan looked at the two sisters in the photograph.
“I don’t know.”
Owen entered through the kitchen doorway.
His expression was grim.
“I checked Patrick’s old personnel records.”
Declan waited.
Owen placed a thin folder on the island.
“He requested six months away from Grayhaven four years ago.”
Nora’s skin prickled.
“When?”
Owen looked at her.
“The exact six months your sister was receiving treatment.”
Declan opened the folder.
Inside was a handwritten expense sheet.
Hospital parking.
Prescription pickup.
Groceries.
Transportation.
Every line was labeled with one initial.
L.
Nora’s eyes filled before she could stop them.
“Why?”
Owen turned another page.
The final entry was different.
One payment.
Three thousand dollars.
Next to it, Patrick had written:
FIRST MONTH. AGREEMENT MADE.
Nora stared at the amount.
Three thousand.
The same amount she paid every month.
Declan’s face became frighteningly calm.
“Who is your lender?”
Nora said nothing.
Declan pushed the paper toward her.
“Patrick didn’t meet your sister by accident.”
Her hands trembled.
“He arranged my loan?”
“Maybe.”
“Then he helped trap me.”
“Maybe not.”
Declan pointed to the last line.
Below it, almost hidden by a fold, Patrick had added six words.
SHE MUST NEVER PAY HIM AGAIN.
Nora looked up.
“Then why have I been paying for four years?”
Owen answered from behind her.
“Because Patrick was murdered three days after he wrote that.”
Nora’s stomach dropped.
Declan closed the folder.
“Tell me the lender’s name.”
This time Nora answered.
“Gavin Rourke.”
For the first time since she had met him, Declan Walsh looked genuinely shocked.
May you like
Then he said something worse.
“Gavin Rourke works for me.”
