Chapter 3 - Someone Inside the House
Jonah did not tell Riley about the phone call.
That decision lasted eleven hours.
At 7:12 the next morning, she discovered two additional guards outside the bedroom.
At 7:14 she found another stationed near the kitchen.
At 7:20 she cornered Frank beside the elevator.
“Why does this place suddenly look like the president is visiting?”
Frank looked toward Jonah.
Jonah continued eating oatmeal.
Riley followed the look.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
She marched toward him.
Jonah swallowed.
“Good morning.”
“Don’t good-morning me.”
“You’re becoming predictable.”
“Why are there extra guards?”
“Security adjustment.”
“For what?”
“Operational reasons.”
Riley stared.
“Those are billionaire words for none of your business.”
“Accurate.”
She crossed her arms.
“Does this have anything to do with my father?”
Jonah said nothing.
Riley’s expression hardened.
“You found something.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Riley.”
“Every time powerful men tell women to sit down before delivering bad news, nothing good happens.”
Frank quietly left the room.
Coward, Jonah thought.
Riley pointed toward the doorway.
“Frank knows.”
“He works for me.”
“So do I.”
“Not in the same capacity.”
“Then what capacity am I?”
The question came out sharper than expected.
Jonah looked at her.
Caregiver.
Employee.
Problem.
Friend.
Something else he refused to name.
He settled on the safest answer.
“You’re someone I’m responsible for protecting.”
Riley went still.
“I didn’t ask you to protect me.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Jonah wheeled away from the table.
“Come with me.”
He took her to the office.
Closed the door.
Then placed the Warehouse 14 documents before her.
Riley read silently.
Her face lost color.
When she reached her father’s initials, she sat down.
“TQ inspected seal. Refused authorization.”
Her fingers touched the paper.
“That’s him.”
“Yes.”
“What was inside the container?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who owned it?”
“Ashford Logistics.”
She looked up.
“Caleb Ashford?”
“You know the name?”
“Everyone in Baltimore knows the name.”
Caleb Ashford was sixty-three, silver-haired, charming, and publicly respectable.
He donated to hospitals.
Sponsored museums.
Appeared at charity galas.
He had also spent thirty years working alongside the Mercer family.
Jonah showed her Victor’s handwritten note.
Riley stared at it.
Quinn knows too much. Handle it before morning.
Her eyes filled.
She stood abruptly.
Jonah expected anger.
Instead she walked toward the window.
“My mother was right.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She spent fifteen years saying that fire wasn’t an accident.”
“Riley—”
“Everyone told her grief made her paranoid.”
She pressed her hand against her mouth.
“I told her that.”
Jonah felt something twist inside him.
“She was scared all the time. Checked locks three times. Changed our phone number. Wouldn’t let me take jobs near the harbor.”
Riley turned.
“And I told her she needed therapy.”
“You were a kid.”
“I was twenty when I said it the worst time.”
“She was your mother. She would have understood.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Jonah’s voice softened.
“But I know guilt makes terrible evidence.”
She looked at him.
For once, he had no sarcastic shield.
No command.
No impatience.
Only understanding.
Riley wiped her eyes angrily.
“Who called?”
Jonah’s expression changed.
“What?”
“You didn’t increase security because of papers.”
He should have known she would see it.
He told her.
Every word.
When he finished, Riley stared.
“If you care about Riley Quinn, stop.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what they said?”
“Yes.”
She paced.
“Great.”
“This is not amusing.”
“I joke when terrified.”
“I noticed.”
She stopped.
“Do you care about Riley Quinn?”
Jonah’s eyes met hers.
The question hung between them.
She had meant it sarcastically.
Mostly.
Jonah answered carefully.
“Yes.”
Riley stopped breathing.
He continued before the silence became dangerous.
“You are under my protection.”
Her expression closed slightly.
“Right.”
Jonah hated himself for noticing.
The next week became a strange combination of routine and investigation.
Riley continued caring for Jonah.
They continued fighting about exercises.
He continued complaining about breakfast.
She continued leaving granola bar wrappers in impossible places.
But beneath normal life, tension gathered.
Frank traced the anonymous call to a disposable phone.
Security footage showed nothing unusual.
Ashford continued attending board meetings as if twelve-year-old warehouse fires were irrelevant.
Then someone entered Riley’s apartment.
She discovered it when she returned one evening with two Mercer guards.
The door was unlocked.
Nothing obvious had been stolen.
But every drawer had been opened.
Her mattress had been lifted.
The closet emptied.
Old boxes from her mother’s house were scattered across the floor.
Riley stood in the doorway.
One guard called Frank.
The other searched the rooms.
Riley slowly walked toward an overturned cardboard box.
Childhood photographs covered the carpet.
Her father smiling beside a fishing boat.
Her mother holding a birthday cake.
Riley at ten with missing front teeth.
She knelt.
One thing was missing.
A small metal cashbox.
She called Jonah.
He answered on the first ring.
“Are you safe?”
Not hello.
Not what happened.
Are you safe?
Riley swallowed.
“Yes.”
“What was taken?”
“A box.”
“What was inside?”
“Old papers. My father’s union records. My birth certificate. Some photographs.”
“Anything from Warehouse 14?”
“I don’t know.”
Jonah’s voice became sharp.
“Do not stay there.”
“I need clothes.”
“Buy clothes.”
“With what?”
“Riley.”
“Fine.”
“You’re staying at the estate.”
“No.”
“That was not a request.”
Her temper flared.
“You don’t own me.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“But someone searched your home because of something connected to my family.”
“That doesn’t mean I move into your mansion.”
“It means you do if you enjoy remaining alive.”
Silence.
Jonah regretted the wording.
Riley’s voice became quiet.
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
Again, no hesitation.
That frightened her more than anything.
Jonah Mercer did not admit fear.
She returned to the estate that night.
A guest suite was prepared across the hall from Jonah’s bedroom.
Riley entered carrying one overnight bag.
Jonah waited outside.
“You own a house with forty rooms and somehow chose the one directly across from yours?”
“Security.”
“Of course.”
“Frank selected it.”
Frank, standing ten feet away, looked suddenly fascinated by the ceiling.
Riley narrowed her eyes.
“Sure.”
Living inside the estate changed things.
She saw Jonah at night when he could not sleep.
He saw her in the mornings before coffee made her civilized.
She discovered he watched old black-and-white movies.
He discovered she ate peanut butter directly from the jar.
She learned his nightmares were silent.
He learned she talked in her sleep.
One night at two in the morning, Riley heard a crash.
She ran across the hallway.
Jonah was on the floor beside his bed.
The transfer board lay nearby.
He had tried moving himself without assistance.
“Don’t.”
His voice was furious.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m helpless.”
Riley crouched beside him.
“I’m looking at you like you fell.”
“I can get up.”
“No, you can’t.”
His face hardened.
She immediately regretted the bluntness.
But instead of softening it with pity, she added, “Not alone. That’s different.”
He looked away.
“I was trying.”
“I know.”
“I should be able to.”
“Maybe someday you will.”
“And if I don’t?”
Riley sat on the floor beside him.
“Then you’ll still be Jonah.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You don’t know what that means.”
“I know you think walking made you powerful.”
“It helped.”
“Your legs didn’t build an empire.”
“My decisions did.”
“Exactly.”
His eyes shifted toward her.
She continued.
“You’re allowed to hate this. You’re allowed to be angry. But stop acting like needing help erases everything you were.”
Something in his face broke.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Riley reached for the lift remote.
“Ready?”
He nodded.
After she helped him back into bed, Jonah said quietly, “Stay.”
Riley froze.
He looked almost embarrassed.
“Until I fall asleep.”
She sat in the chair beside him.
Neither spoke.
Twenty minutes later, his breathing deepened.
Riley looked at him.
The intimidating Jonah Mercer disappeared when he slept.
He looked younger.
Tired.
Human.
She reached to turn off the lamp.
A knock came at the door.
Frank entered holding an envelope.
“Sorry.”
Jonah woke immediately.
“What?”
“This was left at the gate.”
No return address.
Inside was an old photograph.
Warehouse 14.
The picture had been taken the night of the fire.
Three men stood near a cargo container.
One was Thomas Quinn.
One was Caleb Ashford.
The third man made Jonah’s blood turn cold.
It was Jonah himself.
Twenty-four years old.
Standing beside Riley’s father less than three hours before Thomas Quinn died.
Riley looked at Jonah.
“What were you doing there?”
Jonah stared at the photograph.
“I don’t remember.”
On the back, someone had written five words.
May you like
Ask Jonah what he forgot.
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