Chapter 1
The clock had passed midnight when Declan Hayes entered his office intending to dismiss his secretary for sleeping at her desk.
Then he noticed a crumpled hospital envelope protruding from her purse.
One look at the documents inside stopped his world.
Rain fell in sheets over Boston, washing blood from the cobblestones without removing the stain of the night’s work from Declan’s mind.
At 34, he controlled the Hayes Syndicate, a ruthless organization that held the Eastern Seaboard’s shipping ports through violence, money, and absolute discipline. His name was enough to make politicians lose their composure and rival leaders leave the city.
Declan operated through calculation and brutal efficiency. Weakness was dangerous, and he did not tolerate it inside himself or the people closest to him.
At 1:15 a.m., he used his keycard to enter the penthouse offices of Hayes Global Logistics, the legitimate corporate front for his criminal empire.
The executive floor was supposed to be empty.
Security remained stationed in the lobby, while the upper suite served as Declan’s private territory. No one entered without permission.
When the mahogany doors opened, a faint flickering light appeared near the reception desk.
Declan’s hand moved instinctively toward the SIG Sauer concealed at his waist.
He advanced silently through the dark corridor.
When he turned the corner, his grip loosened.
Irritation replaced suspicion.
Sarah Mitchell, his executive secretary, was asleep at her glass desk.
Her head rested against a stack of unfiled shipping manifests. The glow from her computer illuminated her face with a pale, unnatural light.
Declan’s jaw tightened.
Sarah had worked for him for 3 years.
She was normally precise, intuitive, and tireless. She knew how to filter his calls, adjust the financial records sufficiently to withstand a superficial audit, and look away from the violence supporting the business.
During the previous month, however, her performance had deteriorated.
She arrived late.
Her clothing hung loosely from her body.
Her normally healthy complexion had become pale and bruised.
Now she was sleeping during working hours.
It was unacceptable.
Declan approached with deliberate heaviness in his steps, expecting the sound of his boots to wake her.
Sarah did not move.
Her breathing was shallow and uneven.
He stopped beside the desk.
He prepared to strike the glass with his palm and demand her resignation.
Before his hand descended, something inside her open leather tote caught his attention.
A thick, crumpled envelope protruded from the bag.
The crimson logo of Massachusetts General Hospital appeared across the front.
CONFIDENTIAL PATIENT MEDICAL RECORDS had been printed beneath it in black lettering.
Declan did not normally investigate the private lives of his staff without cause, but paranoia was essential to survival. A medical condition created vulnerability, and vulnerability inside his immediate circle could threaten the entire organization.
He removed the envelope carefully.
Sarah shifted in her sleep and released a quiet sound of pain, but her eyes remained closed.
Declan opened the flap and withdrew 3 sheets of heavy paper.
The 1st was an ultrasound image.
His breath stopped.
Inside the grainy black-and-white scan was the unmistakable form of a fetus.
Declan turned to the 2nd page.
It was a diagnostic summary signed by Dr. Jonathan Weaver, chief of obstetrics.
Patient: Sarah Mitchell.
Gestational age: 16 weeks.
Status: high-risk pregnancy.
Declan’s mind returned violently to exactly 4 months earlier.
Miami.
A cartel negotiation had become a bloodbath. Declan and Sarah were trapped inside a safe house for 3 days while a hurricane moved across the city.
Fear, adrenaline, and isolation destroyed the professional boundaries they had maintained for years.
For 1 night, the cold, unreachable head of the Hayes Syndicate and his fiercely loyal secretary surrendered to the tension that had always existed between them.
When they returned to Boston, neither mentioned it.
They silently agreed to bury what had happened.
Sixteen weeks.
The child was his.
A possessive instinct rose through Declan with overwhelming force.
Sarah was carrying the heir to the Hayes empire.
He was going to become a father.
Then the questions followed.
Why had she concealed it?
Why had she said nothing?
Declan looked at the 3rd page, expecting blood-test results or instructions concerning prenatal medication.
The document was a toxicology report.
Abnormalities detected.
Elevated thallium levels and trace arsenic in the patient’s bloodstream.
Symptoms consistent with chronic, low-dose heavy-metal poisoning.
Immediate intervention required to prevent fatal neural-tube defects in the fetus and multi-organ failure in the mother.
Patient advised to contact law enforcement.
Declan read it again.
Poison.
Someone was slowly and methodically murdering Sarah and his unborn child.
He looked down at her.
This time, he saw everything.
Her cheeks had become hollow.
Purple shadows surrounded her eyes.
Her body trembled despite the warmth inside the office.
Sarah had not become careless.
She was dying.
A consuming rage settled over Declan.
The paper collapsed inside his fist.
Whoever had done this would not simply die.
Declan would make that person beg for a death he had no intention of granting.
“Sarah.”
His voice was dangerously quiet.
She jerked awake.
Her eyes opened wide, frightened and disoriented. She moved backward in the chair and placed both hands protectively over her abdomen.
When she recognized Declan, the remaining color left her face.
Then she saw the crumpled documents in his hand.
“Declan.”
Her voice broke.
“Mr. Hayes, I—”
“Sixteen weeks.”
His voice contained no emotion, which Sarah understood was when he was most dangerous.
Declan walked around the desk and stood over her.
“You are 16 weeks pregnant with my child.”
He held up the report.
“And your bloodstream contains poison.”
Tears immediately moved down Sarah’s face, cutting through the pale makeup she had used to conceal her illness.
“Please.”
Her voice became a whisper.
“Please do not be angry.”
Declan dropped the papers onto the desk.
Before Sarah could recoil, he framed her face carefully with both hands.
His thumbs removed the tears from her cheeks.
The tenderness of the touch was startling from a man responsible for so much bloodshed.
“I am not angry with you.”
His eyes burned with controlled violence.
“But I am prepared to burn this city.”
Declan’s grip remained gentle.
“Who did this?”
Sarah shook her head and cried harder.
“I did not understand at first.”
She struggled to speak.
“I thought it was severe morning sickness. I was vomiting every day, and my hair began thinning.”
Sarah looked down.
“I went to Dr. Weaver last week because I thought I was losing the baby.”
Her voice trembled.
“When he gave me the toxicology results, I panicked.”
“Why did you not come to me immediately?”
Declan’s thumbs moved over the sharpness of her cheekbones.
He could feel how much weight she had lost.
“Because of the way it was happening.”
Sarah’s voice rose inside the empty executive suite.
“Think about it, Declan.”
She pulled away enough to look at him directly.
“I live in a secured building. I do not eat inside restaurants.”
Sarah continued.
“The only things I consume regularly are the coffee from the private break room and the water at my desk.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed.
The break room was located on the executive floor.
Only his most trusted people were permitted to enter.
“You believe it is someone inside my organization.”
“It is more than a belief.”
Sarah opened a desk drawer and removed a heavy silver thermos.
“Dr. Weaver tested the residue from this bottle last Tuesday.”
She handed it to Declan.
“It contained thallium.”
Her hands shook.
“It is tasteless and odorless. The old families used it because victims appeared to become ill naturally.”
Declan accepted the thermos as though it were an explosive.
“I could not tell you.”
Sarah’s voice broke again.
“Whoever is doing this is someone you trust. Someone with unrestricted access to this floor.”
She looked toward the dark corridor.
“If I told you and you reacted, that person would know I had discovered the poisoning.”
Sarah swallowed.
“They would find a faster way to kill me.”
She pointed toward the hallway cameras.
“That is why I have slept at my desk for the previous 4 nights.”
Her voice lowered.
May you like
“The cameras are the only reason no one has approached me while I was alone.”
Sarah covered her stomach again.
