Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Took His Watch
Elena chose a bakery with six tables, crooked framed pictures on the walls and a line that stretched almost to the door.
Mateo stopped outside.
“No.”
Elena turned.
“No what?”
“There are fifteen people waiting.”
“Congratulations. You can count.”
“We can go somewhere else.”
“We could.”
She opened the door.
“We’re not.”
Mateo followed.
The smell of cinnamon, butter and coffee surrounded him.
Elena joined the line.
Mateo stood beside her like a man waiting for someone to explain why civilization had stopped functioning.
“You hate lines,” she observed.
“I dislike inefficiency.”
“You hate lines.”
“I can have breakfast delivered anywhere in the city.”
“That’s why we’re staying.”
Mateo looked down at her.
She smiled sweetly.
Ten minutes later, they reached the counter.
Elena ordered a cinnamon roll.
Mateo ordered black coffee.
Elena immediately interrupted.
“He’ll have a cinnamon roll too.”
“No, I won’t.”
The cashier looked between them.
Elena whispered loudly, “He’s going through something.”
Mateo closed his eyes.
The cashier tried not to laugh.
“I’ll have coffee,” Mateo said.
“And a cinnamon roll,” Elena added.
Mateo paid.
Elena stared at the bill in his hand.
“I was going to buy breakfast.”
“You ordered mine without permission.”
“Yes, but I’m still annoyed you paid.”
“That appears to be a recurring condition.”
They sat near the window.
Elena pushed the cinnamon roll toward him.
Mateo inspected it.
“It isn’t dangerous.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You’re looking at it like it owes you money.”
He broke off a small piece.
Elena watched expectantly.
Mateo ate it.
“Well?”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
“That expression means you love it.”
“My expression hasn’t changed.”
“Exactly. You’re trying too hard.”
Mateo took another piece.
Elena smiled.
For the next hour, she talked.
Not incessantly.
Intelligently.
She told him about working on books people had spent years creating, only to discover that readers sometimes judged them in three seconds by a cover image.
She complained about clients who sent emails marked urgent at 2:00 a.m.
She spoke about her mother, who lived in Connecticut and believed every problem could be fixed with either soup or aggressive gardening.
She mentioned her father only once.
“My dad used to bring me here.”
Mateo’s hand paused around his coffee cup.
“What was his name?”
“Daniel.”
The world seemed to narrow.
Mateo looked at her carefully.
“Daniel Carter?”
Elena frowned.
“Yes.”
Every instinct inside him sharpened.
Daniel Carter.
Eight years earlier.
A rainy highway.
A missing file.
A burning car.
A dying man whose last words Mateo had never forgotten.
Take care of her.
Mateo stared at Elena.
Until that exact second, he had not known.
Adrienne had said Elena Carter.
There were thousands of Carters in New York.
He had never seen Daniel’s daughter as an adult.
The last photograph Mateo remembered had shown a nineteen-year-old girl at a college graduation, standing beside her father and laughing into the sun.
Elena snapped her fingers.
“Earth to Mateo.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“You disappeared.”
“No.”
“You definitely disappeared.”
Mateo’s phone vibrated.
He pulled it from his pocket.
ELENA.
That was the name on the screen.
Not because she had called.
Because she had apparently taken his phone from the table and changed the contact name associated with Adrienne’s number.
Mateo looked at her.
She tried not to laugh.
“How did you unlock it?”
“You unlocked it when you checked your messages.”
“And?”
“And I have eyes.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
He opened Adrienne’s message.
Everything all right?
Mateo typed one response.
Call me.
He stopped before sending it.
Today’s rules.
No business.
No interruptions.
But this was not business.
This was Daniel Carter’s daughter sitting across from him.
Elena leaned forward.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Leaving the room without moving.”
Mateo placed the phone facedown.
“What happened to your father?”
The playfulness disappeared from her face.
“Car accident.”
Mateo said nothing.
“Eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
She looked out the window.
“He worked constantly. I used to complain about it.”
The sentence landed harder than she could know.
“He always said he was building something for me. Security. A future. All the usual parent stuff you don’t appreciate until you can’t hear it anymore.”
Mateo remembered Daniel saying something similar.
If I don’t fix this, Elena pays for my mistakes.
“What kind of work did he do?”
“Financial compliance.”
Mateo knew that answer was incomplete.
Daniel Carter had spent his final years examining corporations connected to Victor Sanz, a businessman with international criminal ties and an appetite for buying corrupt officials.
Daniel had discovered something.
Something important enough to die over.
And now his daughter was sitting across from Mateo because Adrienne had randomly chosen her for a bet.
Except Mateo no longer believed in coincidences.
“Why did Adrienne choose you?”
Elena shrugged.
“We met at a charity publishing event six months ago.”
“Six months?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you seen her often?”
“A few times.”
Mateo’s jaw tightened.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing.”
“I said nothing.”
Elena studied him.
Then she leaned back.
“You know what your problem is?”
“I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“You think mystery makes you interesting.”
“And does it?”
“No.”
Mateo almost smiled again.
Elena stood.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Bookstore.”
“You’re taking me shopping?”
“No. I’m taking you somewhere quiet enough that maybe your shoulders will stop looking like they’re preparing for war.”
Mateo rose.
Outside, the gray sedan followed them.
At the bakery, a photograph had captured Mateo looking at Elena across the table.
Another caught Elena laughing.
A third showed Mateo’s phone.
The photographer zoomed in.
Then sent the images to an encrypted number.
Two words came back.
May you like
STAY CLOSE.
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