Chapter 7 - THE NIGHT RAFE CHOSE DIFFERENTLY
Every instinct Rafe had told him to bring twenty men.
Every lesson Vittorio had taught him told him never to walk into a room another man had chosen.
Every ugly chapter of his adult life said the same thing.
Hit first.
Hit harder.
Leave nothing standing.
Then he remembered Kathleen's warning.
He'll make you choose revenge over family.
Mave stood in front of him while Nico loaded weapons into a black duffel.
“You're not going alone.”
Rafe zipped his jacket.
“Yes.”
“Interesting. You hated that plan when I tried it.”
“This is different.”
“Because you're the one being stupid?”
“Exactly.”
Despite the situation, Nico muttered, “She has you there.”
Rafe ignored him.
Mave stepped closer.
“If Vane has someone inside your organization, he expects you to bring your people.”
“I know.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Rafe looked at Nico.
“Nothing.”
Nico frowned.
“Excuse me?”
“You stay with Kathleen and Finn.”
“Rafe—”
“Lucia is my responsibility.”
“She is mine too.”
“That's why I need you here.”
Nico's expression hardened.
“You think I'm the leak?”
Rafe held his gaze.
“I think everyone is the leak until I know otherwise.”
The words hurt him to say.
Nico nodded once.
“Fair.”
Mave watched the exchange.
“You trust nobody?”
“I trust Lucia.”
“And?”
Rafe looked at her.
The answer came too quickly.
“You.”
Neither spoke.
Mave swallowed.
“That is a terrible survival instinct.”
“Probably.”
“Then let me come.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You're injured.”
“Again with the shoulder.”
“You almost pass out every time you stand too quickly.”
“Only sometimes.”
“Mave.”
She lowered her voice.
“Vane doesn't care about me.”
“He accessed Finn's records.”
“He cares about what I know. That makes me useful.”
“It makes you a target.”
“It also makes me someone he might talk in front of.”
Rafe stared at her.
“You're proposing I bring you into a hostage exchange.”
“Yes.”
“You're insane.”
“You're going to one.”
“That's different.”
“Because?”
Rafe had no answer that didn't sound ridiculous.
Mave picked up the brass key.
“You don't even know if this is what he wants.”
“He thinks it opens Box 317.”
“It does.”
Kathleen's voice came from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
She stood pale beneath a borrowed coat.
“You should be lying down,” Mave said.
“So should you. Apparently nobody in this family listens.”
Rafe looked at her.
“What is inside the box?”
“The original ledger Vittorio kept.”
“And?”
“A cassette tape.”
Rafe frowned.
“Of what?”
“Gabriel.”
“My brother?”
“Yes.”
“He was eleven.”
“He accidentally recorded Vane speaking to Vittorio.”
Rafe understood.
Gabriel had loved carrying an old portable tape recorder around the house, pretending to interview people.
The memory surfaced suddenly.
Gabriel laughing.
Asking Rafe what he wanted to be when he grew up.
Rafe had said a hockey player.
“You hid the tape in his bear?”
“For one night.”
Kathleen nodded.
“Then Sofia moved it to the box.”
“So the key only opens a container holding evidence Vane has spent twenty-two years trying to find.”
“Yes.”
Rafe looked at the message again.
“Then we don't take the real key.”
Mave understood.
“You have a copy made.”
“Already happening.”
Kathleen shook her head.
“Vane will test it.”
“Not immediately.”
“How do you know?”
“Because men like Vane don't survive forty years by keeping all their leverage in one room.”
Rafe checked the time.
The exchange was in forty minutes.
He turned toward Mave.
“You stay.”
She crossed her arms.
“No.”
Rafe almost argued.
Then he stopped.
Mave would follow him anyway.
And he would rather know where she was than discover halfway through that she had stolen a taxi.
“Fine.”
Nico stared at him.
“That's it?”
“I adapt.”
“You surrender.”
Rafe gave him a look.
Mave smiled faintly.
Twenty-eight minutes later, Rafe parked an old sedan three blocks from the abandoned Quincy shipyard named in Vane's message.
No convoy.
No visible guards.
Mave sat beside him in a dark coat, her injured arm hidden beneath it.
“You scared?” she asked.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Yes.”
That surprised her.
Rafe looked toward the warehouse.
“Fear isn't the problem.”
“What is?”
“What you do with it.”
Mave studied him.
“Who taught you that?”
“Vittorio.”
The name no longer felt simple.
“He was your father,” she said.
Rafe looked at her.
“Not biologically.”
“That's not what I said.”
Something moved in his expression.
Mave continued.
“He raised you. Protected you. Loved you.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know he let another man's child carry his name knowing it could get him killed.”
Rafe looked away.
“You're good at making things complicated.”
“They were complicated before I got here.”
He reached toward her face.
Stopped.
Then lowered his hand.
Mave noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That's usually my line.”
Rafe's mouth curved slightly.
“If we get out of this—”
“When.”
He looked at her.
“When we get out of this…”
“Yes?”
He shook his head.
“Later.”
Mave frowned.
“I hate mysterious people.”
“That's unfortunate.”
They entered through a loading bay.
The warehouse was enormous.
Rusting chains hung from ceiling cranes. Broken windows allowed moonlight across the concrete.
Lucia sat beneath a work light in the center.
Her wrists were tied.
Martin Keene stood behind her with a gun.
Two other armed men waited near support beams.
And beside Lucia stood a man in his early sixties wearing a charcoal suit.
Harlan Vane.
He looked disappointingly ordinary.
Silver hair.
Expensive shoes.
Calm smile.
Rafe had seen him hundreds of times at charity events and police functions.
Vane spread his hands.
“Rafael.”
Rafe hated hearing his full name from him.
“You look like your mother.”
“So I've been told.”
Vane noticed Mave.
His smile disappeared.
“I said alone.”
“She doesn't listen.”
Mave said, “I've been hearing that lately.”
Lucia almost smiled despite the blood on her lip.
Vane looked toward her.
“You raised your sister badly.”
“She's not mine to raise.”
“Ah.”
Vane's eyes returned to Rafe.
“Vittorio's influence.”
“You knew him.”
“Very well.”
“You killed him.”
Vane smiled again.
“Straight to it.”
“Lucia first.”
“The key first.”
Rafe removed the duplicate.
Held it up.
Vane motioned toward Martin.
Martin walked forward.
Rafe looked at him.
“Eight years.”
Martin avoided his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
Martin took the key.
Vane inspected it.
“Box 317.”
“You wanted it.”
“I've wanted it since you were fourteen.”
“I was thirteen.”
Vane studied him.
“You really don't remember me.”
“I remember a lot of corrupt cops.”
For the first time, anger flickered in Vane's face.
Mave saw it.
Good.
He could be provoked.
Vane tucked the key into his pocket.
“Untie Lucia.”
Martin hesitated.
Vane glanced at him.
“I gave an order.”
Martin started cutting Lucia's restraints.
Then one of the armed men shouted.
“Boss!”
A red light flashed on the far wall.
Vane's face changed.
“What is that?”
Rafe smiled.
“A fire alarm.”
Vane stared at him.
“You brought men.”
“No.”
Sprinklers erupted overhead.
Water poured from the ceiling.
Lights flickered.
Lucia slammed her head backward into Martin's nose.
He screamed.
Rafe moved.
He crossed the distance before Vane could draw his weapon.
Mave kicked the second gunman's knee as he turned.
Pain exploded through her shoulder, but she stayed upright.
Lucia dove behind a steel column.
A gun fired.
Concrete chipped beside Rafe's head.
Then darkness.
Complete darkness.
Rafe heard Mave shout.
He heard Lucia.
He heard footsteps.
Then Vane's voice somewhere near the loading bay.
“You think this changes anything?”
Emergency lamps blinked on.
Vane was gone.
Martin lay unconscious.
One gunman had fled.
The other was bleeding from the forehead where Mave had apparently introduced him to a pipe.
Rafe found Lucia.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
He pulled her into him.
She shook against his chest.
For the first time since childhood, Lucia whispered,
“Rafe, I was scared.”
“I know.”
Mave stood several feet away.
Her face had gone white from pain.
Rafe looked at her.
“How did the alarm start?”
She lifted her left hand.
A small lighter.
“You carry that?”
“I work around birthday candles.”
Rafe almost laughed.
Then Lucia pulled away.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Vane said something before you came.”
Rafe's expression changed.
“What?”
“He said the attack at Salt Line wasn't about the box.”
Mave looked at her.
“Then what was it about?”
“He wanted Mave close to you.”
Silence.
Rafe slowly turned.
“What?”
Lucia nodded.
“He said Moss was supposed to make sure she was working that section.”
Mave felt cold.
“My schedule changed that afternoon.”
Rafe remembered.
Five hours before the attack, Mave's loan had been denied.
She had taken an extra shift.
Had she?
“Who called you into work?” he asked.
“Moss.”
“Why?”
“He said someone was sick.”
Lucia continued.
“Vane said Mave wasn't supposed to get hurt. Just save me.”
Mave stared.
“That makes no sense.”
Rafe understood before she did.
He looked at her.
“He wanted me to notice you.”
“Why?”
A phone began ringing.
Not Rafe's.
Not Lucia's.
The unconscious gunman on the floor.
Mave stared at it.
Rafe picked it up.
Unknown caller.
He answered.
Vane's voice came through.
“You're finally asking the right question.”
Rafe's jaw clenched.
“What do you want with Mave?”
Vane laughed softly.
“I don't want her.”
“Then why put her in front of Lucia?”
“Because Sofia does.”
Rafe went still.
“What?”
“Your mother has spent three years hiding from me.”
Vane sounded almost amused.
“But she has spent eleven years watching Kathleen's daughter.”
Mave's face changed.
Vane continued.
“I needed Mave visible beside you. Needed Sofia frightened enough to come out.”
Rafe understood.
Mave had never been bait for him.
She was bait for Sofia.
“Where is my mother?”
Vane paused.
Then:
“She came out twenty minutes ago.”
Rafe stopped breathing.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing yet.”
A photograph arrived on the gunman's phone.
Rafe opened it.
Sofia Colazo sat inside the back of a vehicle.
Hands bound.
Eyes open.
Alive.
Vane whispered into the phone.
“You chose Lucia tonight.”
Rafe stared at his mother's face.
“Tomorrow, we'll see who you choose when I only let you save one.”
The line went dead.
And beneath Sofia's photograph appeared a timer.
11:59:48
Twelve hours.
May you like
Counting down.
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