Chapter 3 - THE SECRET INSIDE GRANDMA'S RING
“That's the same time they came for Evelyn.”
I stared at June Whitaker.
“What are you talking about? My grandmother died in her own bed.”
“I know how Evelyn died, sweetheart.”
“Then what happened at 2:14?”
June looked toward the church behind us.
“Someone broke into her house twenty-two years ago. They wanted something she refused to give them.”
I gripped the truck door.
Grandma Evelyn had always been careful about her past.
She kept old photographs in sealed envelopes. She never spoke about certain people in Chicago. Whenever I asked about the burn mark on her left hand, she changed the subject.
I'd assumed she was simply private.
Now I wasn't sure.
Jonah's phone rang.
This time, Declan's voice came through the speaker.
“June Whitaker?”
June went rigid.
“Hello, Declan.”
I looked from one to the other.
“You know him too?”
Declan hesitated.
“I know who she is.”
June's voice hardened.
“Then you also know what your father did.”
The silence that followed was terrible.
Finally, Declan said, “I know what I was told.”
“Those aren't the same thing.”
I was tired of riddles.
“Both of you, stop. I'm carrying a baby, I'm frightened, and people are apparently photographing me while I sleep. Somebody needs to tell me the truth.”
Declan answered first.
“I'm coming to Asheville.”
“No.”
“Amelia—”
“You can send your men. You can investigate. But you are not coming here expecting me to fall into your arms.”
“I don't expect that.”
“Good.”
His next words were quiet.
“I just need you alive long enough to hate me.”
I ended the call.
June drove us to an old farmhouse outside town.
It belonged to a retired schoolteacher she knew, a woman visiting her daughter in Tennessee.
Jonah checked the property before allowing us inside.
I hated how grateful I felt when he announced it was secure.
The farmhouse smelled of cedarwood and old books.
June made tea while Jonah stood near the windows.
I sat at the kitchen table and laid my grandmother's ring on the wood.
“Start talking.”
June lowered herself into the opposite chair.
“Your grandmother and I met in Chicago in 2003. I was married to a dockworker named Benjamin Whitaker.”
She swallowed.
“Ben worked at the Mercer shipping terminal.”
Something about the name sounded familiar.
“Voss owned that terminal,” I said.
“Half of it. The other half belonged to Patrick Calloway.”
Savannah's father.
June nodded when she saw my expression.
“Twenty-two years ago, there was a fire at Mercer. Eight men died.”
“Ben?”
“He was one of them.”
The room grew painfully quiet.
June folded her hands.
“Officials said the workers ignored an evacuation alarm. But Ben had called me earlier that evening. He told me the emergency exits had been chained.”
“Why?”
“He didn't know. He said expensive cargo had arrived without proper paperwork, and management didn't want inspectors getting inside.”
I looked toward Jonah.
He was listening carefully.
June continued.
“After the fire, your grandmother helped me collect statements from other workers. Evelyn was restoring artwork for several wealthy Chicago families, including the Voss family. She knew people who could help.”
“Did they?”
“Some tried.”
Her voice broke.
“One of them was Catherine Voss.”
Declan's mother.
He had once shown me a photograph of her standing beneath a willow tree.
She'd had his dark eyes.
“Catherine believed Patrick Calloway knew why the doors were locked,” June said. “She and Evelyn started collecting evidence.”
“What happened to it?”
“Some disappeared. Some was destroyed. Evelyn kept something important, but she never told me where.”
I looked at the ring.
June reached across the table.
“May I?”
I handed it over.
She turned it toward the window.
Three tiny stars were engraved on the inner band.
Beneath them was a number.
417\.
I'd seen it countless times.
I'd always thought it was a jeweler's mark.
“Evelyn wore this the night she came to my house,” June whispered. “She told me that if anyone ever tried to frighten her granddaughter, I should remember the three stars.”
My throat tightened.
“She knew someone might come after me?”
“She hoped they never would.”
“Then why did you let me rent your room without telling me?”
June looked ashamed.
“Because I recognized you the moment you stepped into my shop. You have Evelyn's eyes. And when I saw that ring, I knew she'd sent you to the one place she believed would be safe.”
I remembered finding June's address written on an old postcard tucked inside my grandmother's recipe book.
I'd thought it was coincidence.
It wasn't.
Grandma had left me a destination.
And June had been waiting.
I pushed back my chair.
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe I was hiding.”
“You were hiding. I just thought I could help.”
“Without asking me?”
June dropped her gaze.
I wanted to be angry.
I was angry.
But when I looked at her hands, I saw an older woman who had buried her husband and spent twenty-two years carrying a secret she couldn't forget.
For the first time, I understood that fear could make good people dishonest.
That didn't make the dishonesty hurt less.
By late afternoon, Jonah had received confirmation that the camera in my room had been concealed inside a smoke detector installed by a man posing as a safety inspector.
June remembered him.
“He said the building had failed a county inspection.”
“He wasn't from the county,” Jonah replied.
“Who was he?”
“An employee of a security contractor owned by Calloway Holdings.”
I rested a hand against my stomach.
Savannah's family had watched me sleep.
My phone, which Jonah had kept powered off, sat on the table.
I wanted to destroy it.
Instead, I asked him something.
“How did Declan find me?”
Jonah hesitated.
“Gavin Roarke located your assumed name through a surveillance photograph.”
“From where?”
“I don't know.”
But I could tell he knew more.
Before I could push him, headlights swept across the farmhouse windows.
Two vehicles approached.
Jonah moved toward the door, one hand inside his jacket.
“Stay here.”
A familiar black sedan stopped outside.
Declan stepped out.
He wasn't wearing a suit.
Dark jeans. Black sweater. No tie.
The man I had loved had lost weight.
There were shadows beneath his eyes, and his usually neat dark hair looked as though he'd been dragging his hands through it for days.
He saw me through the window.
And stopped walking.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then I opened the front door.
Declan looked at my stomach.
His face changed in a way I would remember forever.
Not shock this time.
Wonder.
And grief.
“Amelia,” he whispered.
I crossed my arms.
“Don't touch me.”
He stopped immediately.
“I won't.”
I searched his face.
“Did you know about the baby when you agreed to marry Savannah?”
“No.”
“Would it have changed your decision?”
He didn't answer fast enough.
My eyes burned.
“That tells me everything.”
“Amelia, the announcement wasn't what you think.”
“I heard you promise to marry her.”
“I know.”
“I heard you call me something to be resolved.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was trying to get you out of Chicago before Patrick used you against me.”
“You could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“You could have trusted me.”
“Yes.”
“Instead, you decided my life for me.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
It was the first time he'd admitted anything without defending himself.
And somehow, it hurt more.
Behind him, another man climbed from the sedan.
Gavin Roarke.
Declan's security chief.
The man who had searched half the country for me.
Gavin approached with a slim envelope.
“Boss, we need to talk.”
Declan didn't turn.
“Not now.”
Gavin looked directly at me.
“It's about how Savannah found her.”
My breath caught.
Gavin held out a surveillance photograph.
The same grocery store.
The same image of my pregnant belly.
May you like
“I didn't just find Amelia,” he said.
“I sent Savannah the photograph.”
