Chapter 3 - THE HOSTAGE THEY NEVER TOOK
Emma’s first instinct was to run.
Dominic caught her arm before she reached the passage.
“My father.”
“I know.”
“I have to go.”
“No.”
She jerked free.
“You don't get to tell me no.”
“Whoever left that picture expects you to leave.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
“My father had a stroke. He can't defend himself.”
Dominic’s expression softened by a fraction.
“That is exactly why you're not going alone.”
He turned toward Rachel.
“Stay with Lily.”
Rachel started to argue.
“Dominic—”
“Not tonight.”
She stopped.
Emma could hear how much damage existed inside those two words.
Dominic looked at Elena.
“Can you get them somewhere secure?”
Elena nodded toward another passage.
“There is a tunnel leading to the old carriage house.”
Of course there was.
The Moretti mansion seemed to have more hidden corridors than ordinary rooms.
Dominic glanced at unconscious Caleb.
“Take him too.”
Elena frowned.
“You trust him?”
“No.”
“Then why bring him?”
“Because if Rachel is right, someone wanted him unconscious instead of dead.”
Dominic looked toward the fallen dart.
“I want to know why.”
Within six minutes, Dominic and Emma were inside a black SUV heading toward Lakeview Care Residence.
Two Moretti vehicles followed behind.
Emma called the facility three times.
No answer.
On the fourth attempt, a nurse picked up.
“Lakeview.”
Emma almost cried from relief.
“This is Emma Reed. My father is Thomas Reed, room 214. Is he there?”
A pause.
“Ms. Reed?”
“Yes.”
“Your father was transferred.”
Emma froze.
“What?”
“About forty minutes ago.”
“Transferred where?”
“I don't know.”
Her voice rose.
“How can you not know?”
Dominic glanced at her.
The nurse sounded flustered.
“A physician arrived with emergency transfer paperwork. He said your father showed signs of another cerebral event.”
“What physician?”
“Dr. Keller.”
Emma closed her eyes.
“My father doesn't have a Dr. Keller.”
Dominic held out his hand for the phone.
Emma gave it to him.
“This is Dominic Moretti. Tell me exactly what vehicle removed Thomas Reed.”
The nurse hesitated.
Dominic’s voice lowered.
“Now.”
“A private ambulance.”
“Company?”
“Northfield Medical Transport.”
Dominic ended the call.
Emma looked at him.
“You know it?”
“No.”
His driver did.
“There is no Northfield Medical Transport in Chicago.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
Dominic immediately called one of his men.
“Trace city traffic cameras between Lakeview and every route east. Look for a white private ambulance.”
He ended the call.
Emma stared out at the wet streets.
“This happened because of me.”
“No.”
“I found the lipstick.”
“They investigated you before that.”
She looked at him.
He was right.
Vanessa had already known about her father.
Emma pressed her fingers against the ring she wore on a chain around her neck.
Her father’s wedding band.
Dominic noticed.
Again.
“This started before Sunday dinner.”
Emma frowned.
“What?”
“Vanessa knew about your father before you found the glass.”
“So?”
“So whoever chose you was interested in you before tonight.”
“Chose me?”
Dominic turned.
“Why did you apply to work at my house?”
Emma blinked.
“Because the agency called me.”
“What agency?”
“Hawthorne Domestic Placement.”
His expression changed.
“You didn't contact them?”
“No. I had posted my résumé online months earlier. They called and said there was an opening.”
Dominic took out his phone.
“Caleb handled household screening.”
Emma understood.
“You think he hired me?”
“I think someone made certain your application reached us.”
“But why?”
Dominic looked at the photograph of Claire outside her father’s facility.
“I don't know yet.”
His phone rang.
One of his men.
“Boss, we found the ambulance.”
“Where?”
“Lower Wacker. Abandoned.”
“And Reed?”
“No sign of him.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Dominic asked, “Blood?”
“No.”
“Signs of struggle?”
“No.”
“What was inside?”
A hesitation.
“One wheelchair.”
Twenty minutes later, Dominic and Emma reached the abandoned ambulance.
The rear doors stood open.
Emma saw her father’s familiar blue blanket on the floor.
She climbed inside.
“Dad?”
Nothing.
Dominic examined the vehicle.
No medical equipment except empty cases.
No syringes.
No oxygen.
He crouched beside the wheelchair.
Something was taped beneath the seat.
A phone.
Cheap.
Prepaid.
The screen lit the moment Dominic touched it.
A video began playing.
Thomas Reed sat in a chair.
Alive.
Confused but apparently unharmed.
Someone off camera said:
“Mr. Reed, tell your daughter what you remember about Hartford.”
Emma went still.
Her father frowned.
“Hartford?”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked tired.
“I drove a woman there once.”
Emma stared at the screen.
The voice asked, “What woman?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
Emma felt Dominic look at her.
The video continued.
Thomas’s speech was slow from the stroke.
“She was scared.”
“What was her name?”
“I wasn't supposed to ask.”
“Did she tell you?”
Thomas nodded.
“Rachel.”
Emma whispered, “No.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
On the screen, Thomas continued.
“She said if anyone came looking, I should say I drove her sister.”
The unseen interviewer asked:
“Where did you take Rachel Moretti?”
Thomas stared directly at the camera.
“To a church.”
“What church?”
“St. Matthew's.”
“Then what?”
“She got into another car.”
“Whose?”
Thomas struggled.
Then whispered:
“His mother's.”
The video stopped.
Emma slowly turned toward Dominic.
“Your mother?”
He said nothing.
The phone rang.
Dominic answered on speaker.
A distorted voice spoke.
“You have something we need.”
Dominic’s tone was calm.
“What?”
“The recording Rachel made the night she disappeared.”
Emma glanced at him.
RACHEL — FINAL NIGHT.
The tape in the underground chamber.
Dominic said, “You have Thomas Reed.”
“Yes.”
“Proof he's alive now.”
A camera image appeared on the phone.
Live.
Thomas sat in a room beside a clock showing 1:14 a.m.
Emma leaned closer.
“Dad.”
The voice said:
“Bring Rachel’s recording to Union Station. Locker 308. Alone.”
Dominic smiled without warmth.
“You're not very good at this.”
Silence.
“You just showed me a clock.”
The caller disconnected.
Emma frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Dominic zoomed into the image.
The clock behind Thomas was old.
Large.
Decorative.
Below it was a brass plaque.
Emma read the letters.
C.H.M.
Dominic called one of his men.
“Find every closed hospital, clinic, and medical building in Chicago with initials C.H.M.”
Emma looked at him.
“You think they'll move him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why—”
“Because people who stage hostage videos make mistakes when they're in a hurry.”
His phone rang again.
A different number.
This time Rachel’s voice came through.
“Dominic.”
“What happened?”
“Elena disappeared.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“I went to check Caleb. When I came back, your mother was gone.”
“Lily?”
“With me.”
“Is the carriage house secure?”
“Yes.”
Dominic asked, “Caleb?”
“Awake.”
A male voice suddenly came through the phone.
Caleb.
“Boss.”
Dominic’s tone turned flat.
“Talk.”
“I know who built that surveillance room.”
Rachel snapped, “You said you didn't.”
“I didn't know it was still active.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“Who?”
Caleb answered.
“Your father.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
His father, Antonio Moretti, had been dead for seventeen years.
Caleb continued.
“But he didn't build it to spy on you.”
“Then why?”
“To spy on Vanessa.”
Emma stared.
Dominic whispered, “My sister was fifteen.”
“No.”
Caleb’s voice lowered.
“Vanessa Moretti isn't your sister.”
Silence filled the ambulance.
Dominic looked as though someone had struck him.
Caleb continued.
“She's your father's daughter.”
Dominic frowned.
“That makes her my sister.”
“No.”
Another pause.
“She isn't Elena’s child.”
Dominic stared at the phone.
May you like
Caleb finished:
“She's Rachel’s.”
