Chapter 5 - The Door That Would Not OpenThe first thing Wren noticed was not the sound.
It was Phantom.
The gray tabby had been asleep at the foot of her bed when his head suddenly lifted.
His ears turned toward the hallway.
Then he jumped down.
Wren opened her eyes.
For several seconds, she remained completely still.
The old Wren would have dismissed it.
She would have told herself she was imagining things.
She would have explained away the tightening in her stomach because explaining danger away had once been easier than admitting it existed.
The woman she had become did something different.
She listened.
A faint sound came from downstairs.
Wood settling.
Or a footstep.
She reached for the lamp.
Then stopped.
Silas’s voice from earlier returned to her.
Don’t stand in front of the window.
Wren left the lamp off.
She slipped out of bed and pulled on a sweater over her pajamas.
Phantom moved to the bedroom door but did not cross into the hall.
His tail puffed slightly.
“Stay,” Wren whispered.
The cat ignored her, because he was a cat.
But he remained.
Wren opened the door.
The hallway was dark except for the small amber light above the staircase.
Room Five was opposite hers.
Its door stood open.
Her heart jumped.
“Silas?”
No answer.
She took one step.
A hand closed around her forearm.
Wren reacted without thinking.
She twisted, drove her elbow backward, and nearly screamed.
Silas caught her wrist before the second strike.
“It’s me.”
She froze.
His face was inches from hers.
“Don’t ever do that.”
“I’m sorry.”
His hand immediately released her.
The fact that he apologized mattered.
The fact that he released her faster mattered more.
Wren stepped back.
“What’s happening?”
“Someone’s downstairs.”
“How do you know?”
“I installed a temporary sensor on the rear door.”
She stared at him.
“When?”
“Before dinner.”
“You brought door sensors?”
“I travel with useful things.”
“Normal people bring phone chargers.”
“I brought one of those too.”
Under different circumstances, she might have laughed.
Then something clicked downstairs.
Silas’s expression changed.
The softness disappeared.
Wren had seen many versions of him over the past two days.
The tired man.
The quietly amused man.
The man eating soup.
This was different.
Every line in his body became still.
Not tense.
Still.
Predatory.
“Go into your room,” he said.
“No.”
“Wren.”
“Where’s Astrid?”
“Her room is on the opposite side of the house.”
“Exactly.”
Silas looked at her.
“I can protect Astrid.”
“You’re one person.”
“So is whoever came inside.”
“You don’t know that.”
A pause.
“No.”
That was enough.
Wren walked toward Astrid’s room.
Silas caught her shoulder, then seemed to remember himself and moved his hand away before making contact.
“Please.”
The word stopped her.
Silas Wentworth was not a man who said please.
“Stay upstairs.”
Wren stared at him.
“You came here because you thought this place was safe.”
“Yes.”
“And now someone has broken into it.”
“Yes.”
“So stop treating me like furniture you can move out of the way.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is not about disrespecting you.”
“Then what is it?”
“Fear.”
The answer silenced her.
Silas’s eyes were dark.
“I am afraid that someone came here because of me, and I am afraid you will be hurt because I miscalculated. You want honesty? There it is.”
Wren’s anger drained.
He looked furious.
Not at her.
At himself.
“Fine,” she whispered. “But Astrid comes upstairs with me.”
Silas nodded.
They moved silently.
Wren woke Astrid.
The older woman opened the door wearing flannel pajamas patterned with tiny red birds.
“What?”
“Someone’s in the house.”
Astrid blinked once.
Then she reached behind her door and produced a wooden baseball bat.
Silas stared at it.
Astrid stared back.
“My husband bought it in 1987.”
“Stay upstairs.”
“Absolutely not.”
Silas looked at Wren.
Wren almost smiled.
“Welcome to my life.”
Another noise came from below.
This time unmistakable.
A drawer opening.
Silas moved first.
He descended the stairs without sound.
Wren and Astrid remained at the landing.
At least for nine seconds.
Then Astrid whispered, “I’m not letting a stranger steal my silverware.”
“Astrid.”
“That was my mother’s.”
“Astrid.”
The older woman moved toward the stairs.
Wren grabbed her sleeve.
Downstairs, a shadow crossed the dining room.
Silas stepped from the hallway.
“Stop.”
The stranger moved.
Fast.
There was a blur of black clothing and a sharp impact as Silas drove the man into the wall.
A framed photograph fell and shattered.
Astrid gasped.
The intruder swung something metallic.
Silas blocked the strike.
The two men crashed into a table.
Wren could not see clearly.
She saw Silas’s shoulder.
A flash of steel.
Blood.
“Silas!”
The intruder turned at the sound of her voice.
That was his mistake.
Silas seized his wrist and slammed it against the edge of the table.
A knife fell.
The man drove a knee into Silas’s ribs and tore free.
He ran toward the rear door.
Silas reached for the gun beneath his sweater.
Wren saw it.
She also saw the window behind the fleeing man.
Astrid’s house.
The road beyond.
Silas did not fire.
The intruder disappeared into the snow.
Silas reached the doorway seconds later.
He stopped outside.
Snow covered the garden.
A vehicle engine roared somewhere beyond the trees.
Then silence.
Wren ran downstairs.
Silas turned.
“Stay back.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
His right sleeve was dark.
Blood ran across his fingers.
“That is objectively not nothing.”
Astrid appeared beside Wren carrying the bat.
“Kitchen.”
Silas looked at her.
“What?”
“You’re dripping on my floor.”
Ten minutes later, the most powerful man Wren had ever known sat shirtless at Astrid’s kitchen table while the seventy-two-year-old woman poured whiskey over a cut on his upper arm.
Silas did not flinch.
Astrid looked disappointed.
“It usually makes people swear.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Show-off.”
Wren stood beside them holding gauze.
The wound was shallow but long, starting near his shoulder and cutting diagonally toward his bicep.
There were other scars.
Many.
A pale line beneath his ribs.
Two small circles near his abdomen.
Something that looked like an old surgical incision along his side.
Wren tried not to stare.
She failed.
Silas noticed.
“Occupational hazards.”
“What occupation?”
He met her eyes.
“Hospitality.”
Astrid snorted.
Wren pressed gauze against his arm.
Silas’s muscles tensed.
“Does that hurt?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
She adjusted the pressure.
“Who was he?”
“I didn’t recognize him.”
“Was he trying to kill you?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“If he wanted to kill me, he would have entered through the upstairs window while I was sleeping. He went to the office behind reception first.”
Astrid stopped wrapping the bandage.
“My office?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
Silas looked toward the hallway.
“Information.”
“What information?”
“I don’t know.”
Astrid finished the bandage and tied it tightly.
“Then you’re going to find out.”
Silas almost smiled.
“Yes.”
Astrid stood.
“And then you’re going to get whatever nonsense this is out of my house.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re paying for the picture frame.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She walked away.
Wren watched her disappear.
“She likes you.”
“I’m terrified of her.”
“You should be.”
Silas reached for his shirt.
Wren noticed his hand shake.
Barely.
But it did.
“Stop.”
He looked at her.
“You’re shaking.”
“I lost blood.”
“Not enough.”
Silas went still.
Wren pulled out the chair opposite him.
“Sit.”
“I am sitting.”
“You know what I mean.”
She sat down.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Silas looked toward the rear door.
“I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“Coming here.”
Wren sighed.
“We’ve discussed this.”
“He knew where to find me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He entered the only location I’ve visited outside my normal routine in over a year.”
“Maybe he followed you.”
“Possibly.”
“Then leaving now doesn’t solve anything. They know where this place is.”
His jaw tightened.
Wren saw the conclusion form before he said it.
“You and Astrid need to leave.”
“No.”
“This is not negotiable.”
The words were sharp.
Silas heard himself.
Wren’s face changed.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“I’m sorry.”
She said nothing.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.”
“It’s not negotiable” had been one of Garrett’s favorite sentences.
Silas knew enough to understand what he had done.
His voice lowered.
“I am asking you to consider leaving temporarily because I cannot guarantee your safety here. The choice is yours.”
Wren exhaled slowly.
“Better.”
Silas nodded.
“Where?”
“I have properties.”
“I’m not going to one of your secret mafia bunkers.”
“They’re surprisingly comfortable.”
She stared.
“That was a joke.”
“I know. I’m processing the fact that you made one.”
Silas leaned back.
“New York would be safest.”
“Your hotel?”
“Yes.”
“The place where your cousin was killed and someone is framing you for murder?”
“When you phrase it like that, it sounds less appealing.”
“Because it is less appealing.”
“Security there is extensive.”
“So extensive I once entered your private suite through a broken maintenance panel.”
“I fixed that.”
“Congratulations.”
Silas almost smiled again.
Then his phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
Something in his face changed.
“What?”
He did not answer immediately.
“Silas?”
“My head of security.”
“Good news?”
“No.”
He placed the phone on the table.
“Someone broke into my office in New York tonight.”
Wren’s stomach dropped.
“At the same time?”
“Within twenty minutes.”
“Then the man here wasn’t trying to get something from you.”
Silas looked at her.
“No.”
“He was trying to keep you busy.”
Silas became completely still.
Wren saw it.
The realization.
“Someone wanted you here.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silas picked up his phone.
He made a call.
A man answered immediately.
“Boss?”
“Lock the hotel down. No one in or out of forty-seven until I arrive. Pull every access log from the past seven days. Separate internal security from building security. No communication between teams.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Marcus?”
A pause.
“Yeah?”
“Find out who knew where I was.”
Silas ended the call.
Wren watched him.
“You think someone close to you betrayed you.”
“I know they did.”
“How?”
“No one else knew I was coming here.”
Wren’s skin turned cold.
“Except whoever keeps track of you.”
Silas nodded.
“And that list is very short.”
“How short?”
“Five people.”
Outside, snow continued falling.
Inside, Astrid swept broken glass from the dining room floor as though attempted murder were merely an inconvenience.
Wren looked at Silas.
“You’re going back.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“You’re injured.”
“It’s a cut.”
“You haven’t slept.”
“I’ll sleep later.”
“You said everyone deserves a place where they can breathe.”
Silas looked at her.
“That applies to you too.”
Something in him fractured for half a second.
Then it disappeared.
“I don’t have that luxury.”
“You did tonight.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Wren reached across the table.
She stopped before touching his hand.
“May I?”
Silas looked at her fingers.
Then at her face.
“Yes.”
She placed her hand over his.
His skin was cold.
“You came here.”
Wren’s voice was quiet.
“That means some part of you knew you needed somewhere to stop.”
Silas looked down at their hands.
“I don’t know how.”
“Neither did I.”
Silence.
Then Wren said, “But you taught me.”
The words settled between them.
Silas looked at her with an expression she could not name.
Finally, he turned his hand beneath hers.
Not gripping.
Just palm to palm.
“I need to go back.”
“I know.”
“You should stay here.”
“You just said it wasn’t safe.”
“It will be after I send people.”
Wren shook her head.
“I’m coming with you.”
Silas’s hand withdrew.
“No.”
“That sounded dangerously close to not negotiable.”
“Wren.”
“You told me whoever did this wanted you here. That means I’m already involved.”
“No.”
“A man broke into my home.”
“This isn’t your home.”
Wren’s expression changed.
Silas realized the mistake instantly.
“It is,” he corrected. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“This is the first place that felt like mine after Garrett.”
Silas said nothing.
“And someone came through the door tonight because of you.”
“Yes.”
“So I want to know why.”
Silas studied her.
“You would be safer here.”
“Maybe. But I spent years letting someone else define safety for me.”
Her gaze did not waver.
“I don’t do that anymore.”
Something like pride moved across Silas’s face.
Quiet.
Painful.
“Pack a bag.”
Wren blinked.
“That easy?”
“No.”
He stood.
“It is possibly the most irresponsible decision I’ve made in years.”
“Comforting.”
“You have twenty minutes.”
Wren rose.
“Thirty.”
“Twenty-five.”
She almost smiled.
“Deal.”
Upstairs, Phantom watched her pack from the bed.
Wren placed two sweaters into a small suitcase.
Jeans.
Toiletries.
Her journal.
Then she stopped.
Inside the front cover was the letter Silas had sent a year earlier.
The break room on the 12th floor has been officially closed for renovation.
She touched the paper.
A strange feeling moved through her.
Not destiny.
She did not believe in destiny anymore.
Destiny sounded too much like inevitability, and Wren had learned that life was made of choices.
Small choices.
Terrifying choices.
Doors you opened.
Doors you closed.
Doors you once believed you could never walk through.
She tucked the letter back inside.
Then she carried her suitcase downstairs.
At 1:38 in the morning, a black SUV arrived.
Two men stepped out.
One was tall and broad, with a shaved head and a scar through his left eyebrow.
He saw Wren.
His expression changed.
“Her?”
Silas looked at him.
The man immediately shut his mouth.
Wren raised an eyebrow.
“I’m Wren.”
The man nodded.
“Marcus.”
“You’re head of security?”
“Yes.”
“You look disappointed.”
Marcus glanced at Silas.
“I’ve heard about you.”
Wren looked at Silas.
Silas looked at Marcus.
Marcus seemed to realize he had committed some kind of professional suicide.
“He talks about me?”
“No.”
Wren smiled.
“That was extremely convincing.”
Silas opened the rear door.
“Get in.”
She did.
Astrid stood on the porch holding Phantom.
The cat looked deeply offended.
“You call me,” Astrid said.
“I will.”
“And bring him back alive.”
Wren glanced at Silas.
Astrid added, “He owes me a picture frame.”
The SUV pulled away.
Wren watched her home disappear behind falling snow.
She should have been afraid.
She was.
But beneath the fear was something else.
A feeling she had not experienced in years.
She was moving toward something because she chose to.
Not because she was being dragged.
Not because she was trapped.
Because she had decided.
Beside her, Silas leaned against the window and closed his eyes.
Within five minutes, he was asleep.
Marcus glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
Wren did too.
“He does that often?”
“Never.”
Marcus’s answer was quiet.
Wren looked at Silas.
Even asleep, his hand rested near the gun beneath his coat.
She remembered his words.
It made me care whether I came home.
She turned toward the dark highway.
May you like
For reasons she could not yet explain, Wren found herself thinking that perhaps the question was no longer whether Silas Wentworth would come home.
Perhaps the question was whether he knew where home was.
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