Chapter 2 - The Wife He Never Really Knew
“March fourteenth.”
Gabriel held Norah's letter.
Luca said nothing.
“What happened?”
“Gabriel—”
“Don't.”
Gabriel stood.
“My children disappeared before I ever saw their faces. My wife left a message telling me to ask you about March fourteenth.”
He stepped closer.
“So I'm asking.”
Luca closed the bedroom door.
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know who's listening.”
That changed everything.
They went downstairs to Gabriel's study.
Luca removed a scanner from a cabinet.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking something.”
The scanner chirped beneath Gabriel's desk.
Luca crouched.
He removed a tiny black device.
Gabriel stared.
“A microphone?”
“Yes.”
“In my house?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel's anger disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
“March fourteenth.”
Luca placed the device on the desk.
“That was the first day I found one.”
“Here?”
“In Norah's car.”
Gabriel stared.
“Someone was following her?”
“Tracking and listening.”
“Who?”
“I didn't know.”
“You didn't tell me?”
“Norah asked me not to.”
That answer hurt more than Gabriel expected.
“She trusted you?”
“She tried trusting you first.”
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
“Careful.”
“No.”
Luca met his eyes.
“You've had careful people around you for too long.”
Silence.
“She tried talking to you in March,” Luca continued. “Then April. Then May.”
Gabriel remembered.
Questions at dinner.
Why had security changed?
Who was following her?
Why did certain men suddenly appear near the estate?
Gabriel had dismissed every question.
Don't worry about business.
“She eventually stopped asking you,” Luca said.
“And asked you.”
“Yes.”
“Who planted the tracker?”
“The request came through our security network.”
Gabriel waited.
“Using your authorization.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“Someone used my credentials?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I never proved it.”
Gabriel paced.
Norah's disappearance suddenly looked different.
Perhaps she wasn't running only from him.
Perhaps she was running from someone around him.
Gabriel's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Stop looking for her.”
“Who is this?”
“Your wife is safe.”
“My children?”
“Safe.”
“Put Norah on.”
“No.”
Gabriel signaled Luca to trace the call.
“If you keep closing roads and airports,” the woman continued, “you will force Norah into the danger she escaped.”
“Who are you?”
“You still think this is about what you want.”
A pause.
“That is why she left.”
The call ended.
“Trace?”
“Internet relay,” Luca said.
Gabriel went upstairs again.
This time he searched Norah's belongings differently.
A small notebook contained dates.
March 14.
April 2.
April 19.
May 7.
License plates.
Times.
Initials.
Then an ultrasound image fell from between the pages.
Two tiny shapes.
Norah had written beneath them:
Baby A — boy.
Baby B — girl.
Below that:
Please let them have a different life.
Gabriel sat down.
His phone rang.
Luca.
“We found the SUV.”
“Where?”
“Evanston.”
Gabriel stood.
“Norah?”
“No.”
“The children?”
“No.”
A pause.
“There's blood in the back seat.”
Gabriel was already moving.
The SUV had been abandoned beneath an elevated rail line.
A cream newborn blanket lay inside.
Gabriel recognized it.
His daughter's.
“Camera across the street,” Luca said.
They watched the footage.
At 3:41 a.m., Norah emerged.
Another woman helped her.
Older.
Gray coat.
Norah carried one infant.
The woman carried the other.
A minivan arrived.
Before entering, Norah looked directly toward the security camera.
Then she touched two fingers to her lips.
Gabriel recognized the gesture.
She did it whenever she was trying not to cry.
“Who is the woman?”
They enhanced the image.
A silver brooch was pinned to her coat.
Gabriel had seen it before.
At his wedding.
He searched old photographs.
There she was.
“Evelyn Mercer,” Luca said.
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
Luca hesitated.
“She used to work with witness relocation.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“And Norah?”
“Norah Costa didn't exist before she met you.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
“What?”
“We've been trying to determine her real identity.”
Gabriel looked at his wedding photograph.
“Who did I marry?”
Across Chicago, Norah sat in the rear of a moving minivan.
Her newborn son slept against her.
Her daughter rested beside her.
Evelyn drove.
“He'll identify me,” Evelyn said.
“I know.”
“Then he'll start asking questions.”
“He should have asked them three years ago.”
Norah removed an old photograph from her bag.
Gabriel stood outside a courthouse.
Beside him was another man.
That man's face had been circled.
On the back:
Gabriel Costa ordered my father's death.
Norah stared at it.
Evelyn looked through the mirror.
“Does Gabriel know why you really married him?”
“No.”
“And when he finds out?”
Norah looked down at her babies.
May you like
“He'll finally understand why I was never afraid of him.”
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