Chapter 4 - Someone in My Bed
Luke never made it to my office that night.
At 12:43 a.m., he called again.
"Change of plan."
"What happened?"
"I'm being followed."
I straightened.
"Where?"
"Lower Wacker."
"How many?"
"Black sedan. Two men, maybe three."
"Come to the estate."
"No."
"Luke."
"If this is internal, I don't bring them toward you."
I hated when he made sense.
"Where's the file?"
"Safe."
"Define safe."
"I'll explain tomorrow."
"If you're alive."
He laughed once.
"Nice vote of confidence."
Then his tone changed.
"Danny, don't trust anyone tonight."
The line disconnected.
I immediately called security.
Then stopped.
Don't trust anyone.
If Northlake was connected to someone inside the family, I couldn't assume the guards were clean.
I locked my bedroom doors myself.
Checked the windows.
Moved the weapon beneath my pillow where I could reach it.
Old habits returned instantly.
For two years I'd been angry because people treated me like I was fragile.
Now I remembered another truth.
A man in a wheelchair had vulnerabilities even fear couldn't erase.
I stayed awake for hours.
Nothing happened.
Eventually exhaustion won.
When I opened my eyes again, the room was dark.
Rain tapped against the windows.
The clock read 3:26 a.m.
Something was wrong.
At first, I didn't understand what.
Then I felt warmth.
Someone was beside me.
My entire body went still.
Every instinct I'd spent years developing returned at once.
Don't move.
Listen.
Breathe slowly.
There was another person's breathing.
Soft.
Close.
My right hand slid beneath my pillow.
My fingers closed around the weapon.
I slowly turned my head.
A figure lay beside me beneath the edge of the duvet.
Brown hair.
Small frame.
I froze.
Emma.
She was fully dressed.
Her pale-yellow housekeeping uniform was wrinkled.
A cleaning cloth remained loosely caught in one hand.
Her head rested against the edge of my pillow.
She was asleep.
Not pretending.
Completely unconscious from exhaustion.
For several seconds I simply stared.
Then memory returned.
The pain.
Earlier that night, before Luke's first call, phantom pain had hit again.
Emma had brought medication.
Water.
She'd stayed after I fell asleep.
Apparently she had meant to sit on the edge of the bed.
At some point, exhaustion had made the decision for her.
I removed my hand from beneath the pillow.
"Emma."
Nothing.
"Emma."
She stirred.
Her eyes opened slowly.
For one confused second she looked directly at me.
Then she realized.
Her entire face changed.
"Oh my God."
She pushed herself upright.
"I'm sorry."
"Relax."
"I didn't—"
"I know."
"I was sitting right there."
She pointed toward the edge of the mattress.
"Obviously."
"I must've fallen asleep."
"So I've gathered."
Emma scrambled backward.
Her foot caught in the sheet.
I reached out automatically and caught her wrist.
"Careful."
She stopped.
Our faces were closer than either of us expected.
Rain whispered against the glass.
Her eyes dropped to my hand around her wrist.
I released her immediately.
"How long have you been awake?" I asked.
She looked down.
"Long enough."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"Emma."
She rubbed her face.
"I worked the diner. Then visited Mom. Then came here."
"You were supposed to go home early."
"I did."
"For how long?"
"Two hours."
"You slept two hours?"
"Almost."
Anger rose inside me.
Not at her.
At the situation.
"You can't keep doing this."
"I know."
"Then stop."
Her eyes flashed.
"Oh, great. I hadn't thought of that."
"Quit the diner."
"And pay my mother's facility with positive thinking?"
"I'll increase your salary."
"No."
"Emma."
"No."
"This isn't charity."
"You were paying me thirty dollars an hour yesterday."
"I can afford more."
"That doesn't mean my work is suddenly worth more."
"Fine. New position."
"What position?"
I had absolutely no idea.
I looked around.
"Personal assistant."
She stared.
"You already have three assistants."
"I'll fire one."
"Danny."
"Two."
She laughed despite herself.
I smiled.
The moment lingered.
Then Emma noticed something on the nightstand.
A folder.
Luke had left it there earlier in the week.
She reached for the water glass beside it.
The folder slipped.
Papers scattered across the floor.
"Sorry."
She bent to pick them up.
"Leave it."
But one page had landed face-up.
A photograph was clipped to it.
Emma stopped.
"What?"
She picked up the photograph.
Her expression changed.
I watched closely.
"What is it?"
She didn't answer.
"Emma."
She turned the photograph toward me.
It showed a street corner.
Two vehicles.
A man entering a building.
Surveillance footage from the weeks before the shooting.
"What about it?"
Emma's face had lost color.
"I know this place."
I took the photograph.
"It's an old warehouse."
"No."
She pointed to a storefront barely visible behind it.
"That."
A blue sign.
RIVERSIDE DINER.
I looked at her.
"The diner where you work?"
"Yes."
I studied the timestamp.
Six weeks before I was shot.
"Do you recognize the man?"
The image was grainy.
A figure in a coat walked toward the warehouse.
Emma leaned closer.
"No."
Then she stopped.
Her breathing changed.
"What?"
"Maybe."
"Who?"
She shook her head.
"I can't tell."
"You just reacted."
"Because..."
She took the photo again.
"There was a man who used to come into the diner."
"When?"
"A few years ago."
"Before the shooting?"
"Yes."
"What did he look like?"
"Older. Gray hair. Always sat in booth seven."
"Name?"
"I don't know."
"Emma."
"I didn't ask customers for background checks."
"What did he do?"
"Drank coffee. Read newspapers."
"That's it?"
"No."
She looked at the photograph.
"He met people."
"What people?"
"Men in suits."
My pulse changed.
"Did you ever hear anything?"
"Not really."
"Think."
Emma closed her eyes.
I waited.
"One night," she said slowly, "I was cleaning a table behind their booth."
"What did they say?"
"I don't remember exactly."
"Anything."
She opened her eyes.
"One man said something about a route."
Cold spread through my chest.
"What route?"
"I don't know."
"Try."
"Danny, this was years ago."
"Please."
She frowned.
Then something came back.
"'Route changes Thursday.'"
My heart stopped for half a beat.
Thursday.
I had been shot on a Thursday.
Emma continued.
"And the older man said..."
She hesitated.
"What?"
"He said, 'Make sure Moretti takes the river road.'"
Silence swallowed the room.
Emma stared at me.
"You?"
I took the photograph from her.
My hands had become very still.
"Possibly."
She looked frightened now.
Not of me.
For me.
"Danny..."
"Who was the older man?"
"I don't know."
"You'd recognize him?"
"Maybe."
I reached for my phone.
Emma caught my hand.
"Who are you calling?"
"Luke."
"You said he was being followed."
I stared at her.
I hadn't told her that.
She realized her mistake.
"I heard you earlier."
"From where?"
"The hallway."
"Emma."
"I was bringing clean towels."
I swore.
"You need to leave."
"What?"
"Now."
"No."
"This isn't an argument."
"If somebody inside your organization—"
"Exactly."
I transferred into my wheelchair.
"You're going home."
"Then what?"
"Then you're forgetting everything you saw."
"You know I can't."
"I'm telling you to."
"And I'm telling you that's impossible."
I looked at her.
She looked back.
Same stubborn expression from the first night.
Except now fear existed beneath it.
"Emma, whoever planned that shooting may still be close to me."
"So?"
"So now you've seen something they might care about."
"Nobody knows."
"If you overheard my call, someone else could have."
Her face changed.
I saw it.
She finally understood.
This wasn't one of our arguments.
It wasn't medication.
Or sleep.
Or therapy.
This was my world.
The one I'd tried keeping away from her.
I called Mrs. Alvarez.
No answer.
Security.
No answer.
My stomach tightened.
I looked toward the bedroom door.
The hallway beyond it was silent.
Too silent.
"Emma."
"Yeah?"
"Lock the bathroom door."
"What?"
"Go."
She hesitated.
"Danny—"
"Now."
Something moved outside.
A shadow under the door.
Then another.
My hand moved toward the weapon beneath my pillow.
The doorknob turned.
Locked.
A man's voice came through the door.
"Mr. Moretti?"
Security.
Maybe.
I didn't answer.
"Sir?"
Emma stared at me.
I whispered, "Bathroom."
She moved.
The handle turned again.
Then the man outside said something that made my blood turn cold.
"We need to talk about Northlake."
Emma stopped halfway across the room.
I looked at her.
Only Luke and I were supposed to know about Northlake.
And Luke was somewhere in Chicago being followed.
The person outside my bedroom knew.
Which meant the betrayal wasn't history anymore.
May you like
It was standing on the other side of my door.
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