Chapter 5 - What Damien Was Willing to Lose
At 7:12 the following morning, Damien Cross left North House alone.
At least, that was what Claire's surveillance would see.
He drove a black sedan north with the transfer documents resting on the passenger seat.
No weapons.
No visible security.
No tracking device.
Claire had demanded all three.
Damien obeyed.
Mostly.
What Claire didn't know was that Roman had spent the previous night studying an old emergency transmitter signal originating from southern Maine.
The signal came in bursts every nine minutes.
Too weak for precision.
Strong enough for direction.
Whitfield.
Damien had almost laughed when Roman told him.
Patrick Cross, even dead, was still planning three moves ahead.
At 8:03, coordinates arrived.
Damien followed them to a private estate near the coast.
Iron gates opened.
He drove in.
Two men searched him.
They confiscated his phone.
The transfer documents were taken.
Damien entered the house.
Claire waited in a glass conservatory overlooking the Atlantic.
Erin sat beside her.
Damien stopped when he saw her.
She looked pale.
There was a small bruise along her cheek.
His gaze fixed on it.
Erin immediately shook her head.
Don't.
He understood.
Claire smiled.
“You came.”
“You knew I would.”
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Still stubborn.”
“Still wasting my time.”
Claire placed a hand on Erin's shoulder.
Damien's body tightened.
“Remove your hand.”
Claire laughed.
“There he is.”
Erin looked at Damien.
Something passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Trust.
Claire opened the transfer documents.
“Everything?”
“Everything you requested.”
“And passwords?”
“After Erin walks out.”
Claire's smile faded.
“No.”
“That wasn't negotiable.”
“You seem confused about who has leverage.”
Damien looked toward Erin.
“You poisoned a pregnant woman for months and still couldn't kill her.”
Claire's expression sharpened.
“Be careful.”
“You kidnapped her from my house.”
“Yes.”
“You brought me here.”
“Yes.”
“And you think you're winning.”
“I am.”
Damien smiled faintly.
Claire's confidence shifted.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Patrick used to make the same mistake.”
Her face hardened.
“Don't speak about him.”
“He thought possessing something meant controlling it.”
Claire stood.
“You know nothing about your father.”
“I know he never trusted you.”
The room went silent.
Claire's eyes changed.
Damien continued.
“He lied about my DNA.”
Whitfield, standing near the wall, lowered his gaze.
Claire stared at Damien.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you came.”
Damien looked at Erin.
“Of course I came.”
Claire seemed almost fascinated.
“You would surrender everything for her?”
“Yes.”
Erin's eyes filled.
Damien didn't look away.
Claire slowly smiled.
“That makes you weaker than Patrick ever was.”
“No.”
Damien's voice was quiet.
“It makes me something he never learned how to be.”
“What?”
“Human.”
For the first time, Claire looked uncertain.
Damien turned toward Erin.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“Baby?”
“Still here.”
His jaw flexed.
“Good.”
Claire slammed the documents onto the table.
“Enough.”
She gestured toward a laptop.
“Transfer control.”
Damien approached.
“Erin leaves first.”
“No.”
“Then nothing moves.”
Claire drew a pistol.
Erin stiffened.
Damien didn't.
“You think I won't shoot her?”
“I think you need the baby alive.”
Claire aimed at Erin's shoulder.
“She can survive injury.”
Damien's expression became terrifyingly calm.
“You should reconsider.”
“Why?”
A distant explosion answered.
The windows shook.
Claire spun toward the sound.
The estate lost power.
Lights died.
Security alarms screamed.
Roman.
Damien moved.
He overturned the table and pulled Erin behind it as gunfire erupted in the hallway.
Claire fired.
Glass shattered.
Whitfield dropped to the floor.
Erin covered her head.
Damien grabbed the wrist of Claire's nearest guard when the man rushed forward, drove him against the wall, disarmed him, then fired into the ceiling above the second guard.
“Drop it!”
The guard hesitated.
Roman's men entered behind him.
He surrendered.
Claire ran.
Damien started after her.
Erin grabbed his sleeve.
“Damien.”
He stopped.
That single word was enough.
He looked at her.
She was shaking.
He chose her.
Claire disappeared into the hallway.
Roman pursued.
Damien crouched beside Erin.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
He touched the bruise on her cheek with almost unbearable gentleness.
“Who did this?”
“Claire.”
His eyes darkened.
“Damien.”
“I know.”
“Don't.”
“I know.”
She breathed.
Then her expression changed.
Pain.
Her hand went to her abdomen.
Damien froze.
“What?”
“Cramp.”
Whitfield rushed over.
“How strong?”
Erin inhaled sharply.
“Strong.”
Damien's face drained of color.
“What's happening?”
Whitfield checked her pulse.
“Could be stress. Could be contractions.”
“At sixteen weeks?”
Whitfield didn't answer.
Damien lifted Erin.
“We're going.”
Roman returned.
“Claire escaped through a service tunnel.”
Damien didn't even turn.
“Let her.”
Roman stared.
Three days ago Damien would have sent every man he had after Claire.
Now he carried Erin toward the door without looking back.
That was the moment Roman understood Damien had changed.
At the hospital, Erin was rushed into a private treatment room.
Damien waited outside.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Forty.
He paced until Roman finally told him he was making everyone nervous.
“I don't care.”
“No surprise.”
Noah arrived.
“What happened?”
“Claire escaped.”
“And Erin?”
Damien didn't answer.
Noah saw it.
He sat beside him.
For years, the brothers had lived like distant planets.
Same family.
Different worlds.
Finally Noah said, “You know, I hated you.”
Damien looked over.
“I noticed.”
“When Dad died, you got everything.”
“I didn't ask for it.”
“I know that now.”
Damien stared at the floor.
Noah continued.
“I spent eight years thinking I was the son he didn't want.”
“You were twenty-one.”
“I was stupid.”
“You still are.”
Noah laughed once.
Then grew serious.
“Whatever happens, that child is lucky.”
Damien's expression tightened.
“Don't say whatever happens.”
Noah nodded.
“Right.”
An hour later Whitfield emerged.
Damien stood instantly.
“Well?”
“The bleeding stopped.”
Damien's knees nearly weakened.
“And the baby?”
Whitfield smiled.
“Heartbeat is strong.”
Damien closed his eyes.
Noah exhaled loudly.
“She needs complete rest.”
“She'll have it.”
Whitfield looked toward the room.
“She asked for you.”
Damien entered.
Erin lay beneath white blankets.
She looked exhausted.
But alive.
He sat beside her.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Erin said, “You really were going to give her everything.”
“Yes.”
“Atlantic Harbor?”
“Yes.”
“Your properties?”
“Yes.”
“Accounts?”
“Yes.”
“You're insane.”
“Probably.”
“Damien.”
He took her hand.
“I thought I had one important thing in my life.”
She looked at him.
“My empire.”
His thumb moved slowly across her knuckles.
“Then I walked into my office to fire you and discovered I had two.”
Her eyes filled.
“You didn't even know the baby.”
“I already love the baby.”
The confession shook both of them.
Damien looked down.
“I don't know how to do this.”
“What?”
“Any of it.”
“Being a father?”
“Yes.”
“Being with me?”
His eyes lifted.
“If you'll let me.”
Erin couldn't speak.
He continued.
“I won't ask you to promise anything while you're frightened and sick.”
“Good.”
“But I'm not disappearing.”
“I know.”
“And you're not disappearing.”
She almost smiled.
“Bossy.”
“Yes.”
A knock interrupted them.
Roman entered.
“We found Claire.”
Damien's expression changed.
“Where?”
Roman held up a tablet.
“She didn't leave Maine.”
“Why not?”
“She went somewhere else.”
A photograph appeared.
An old cemetery.
Patrick Cross's mausoleum.
Erin frowned.
“What is she doing there?”
Roman zoomed in.
Claire was standing before Patrick's crypt with a shovel.
“She thinks something is buried with him.”
Damien stared.
Then Whitfield, standing in the doorway, whispered.
“Oh God.”
Everyone turned.
“What?” Damien asked.
Whitfield's face had gone white.
“Patrick told me there was one final document.”
“What document?”
“The original confession.”
“Claire's?”
Whitfield nodded.
“Proof she ordered the bombing that killed him.”
Damien looked at Roman.
Roman was already moving.
But Whitfield caught Damien's arm.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“If Claire finds that confession, she can destroy the only evidence connecting her to Patrick's murder.”
Damien's face hardened.
Erin squeezed his hand.
“Go.”
He looked at her.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You stay with Roman.”
Roman coughed.
“Actually, I thought I was going—”
Damien stared.
Roman sighed.
“Staying.”
Erin smiled weakly.
Damien leaned closer.
For a moment he seemed uncertain.
Then Erin pulled him down and kissed his cheek.
“Come back.”
Something changed in his eyes.
“I will.”
Damien left.
An hour later he reached the cemetery.
Patrick Cross's mausoleum stood open.
Fresh dirt covered the floor.
Claire was gone.
Inside the crypt, one coffin had been disturbed.
And written across the stone wall in red paint were five words:
YOU STILL DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING.
Beneath them sat a small metal box.
Damien opened it.
Inside was not Claire's confession.
It was a birth certificate.
His.
The mother's name was correct.
The father's name was not Patrick Cross.
Damien stared.
For the second time in three days, his entire identity shifted beneath his feet.
Because according to the document, his biological father was a man Damien knew very well.
A man who was still alive.
May you like
Dr. Alan Whitfield.
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