Chapter 6 - The safe house had once been a monastery.
Nora learned that because the entrance still contained the outline of a cross that had been chiseled from the limestone above the door.
Everything else about the building had been altered.
Steel shutters covered the narrow windows.
Security cameras occupied the corners where religious statues probably once stood.
The former chapel contained computer monitors, weapons cases, medical equipment, and 6 exhausted men speaking into encrypted radios.
It smelled of dust, disinfectant, old stone, and blood.
Vincent collapsed 4 minutes after arriving.
He would later insist he had sat down intentionally.
Nora watched him lose consciousness against the wall and knew the difference.
“Table,” she ordered.
Two men carried him toward a stainless-steel medical surface.
Bennett stared at her.
“You know what you’re doing?”
“No.”
He stopped.
Nora looked at him sharply.
“I know more than everyone else currently available, so unless you have a trauma surgeon hidden in the confessional, move.”
Bennett moved.
Nora cut Vincent’s tactical shirt from his body.
The fabric revealed bruising that already spread darkly across his right ribs and abdomen.
His shoulder had been punctured by a piece of metal from the SUV door.
Not deep enough to threaten an artery.
The head wound bled heavily but appeared superficial.
The rib injury concerned her most.
Nora pressed carefully along his side.
Vincent woke and seized her wrist.
His grip was immediate and vicious.
Bennett reached for his weapon.
“Don’t,” Nora said.
Vincent’s eyes opened.
For several seconds, he did not recognize the room.
Then he recognized Nora.
His fingers loosened.
“You cut my shirt.”
“You were unconscious.”
“It was made in Milan.”
“I’ll send the tailor an apology card.”
Bennett turned away again.
Nora suspected he was beginning to enjoy his employer’s temporary helplessness far too much.
Vincent attempted to sit.
Nora pressed one hand against his sternum.
“Don’t.”
“Nora.”
“If you threaten me, I’m going to use the largest needle I can find.”
His gaze lowered toward her hand.
She realized she was touching his bare chest.
The awareness came suddenly and irrationally.
Nora removed it.
Vincent noticed.
He always noticed everything.
She hated that.
“Breathe deeply,” she instructed.
He inhaled.
Pain tightened the corners of his eyes.
No bubbling.
No obvious pneumothorax.
Good.
Nora listened to both sides of his chest with a stethoscope.
Air movement remained present.
Probably cracked ribs rather than a punctured lung.
She cleaned the shoulder wound.
Vincent did not react when antiseptic entered it.
That bothered her more than screaming would have.
“You’ve done this before,” Nora said.
“Been stabbed?”
“Pretended pain doesn’t exist.”
Vincent looked toward the ceiling.
“It exists whether I acknowledge it or not.”
“That’s an unhealthy philosophy.”
“It has kept me alive.”
“So has mine.”
“And your philosophy includes smoking behind restaurants while hallucinating blood?”
Nora stopped.
The gauze in her hand became still.
She looked down at him.
“How do you know about that?”
Vincent’s expression did not change.
“I told you. I know everything about you.”
“You said your men found me 3 days before you came into the diner.”
“They did.”
“Then how do you know I smoked only when I smelled copper?”
Silence.
Bennett looked toward the door.
Vincent’s eyes remained on Nora.
She understood before he answered.
“You watched me before that.”
“Nora—”
“How long?”
“It is not relevant.”
“How long?”
Vincent’s jaw hardened.
She pressed the gauze against his wound harder than medically necessary.
He finally said, “Three years.”
Nora stepped backward.
The room became strangely quiet.
“You had me watched for 3 years.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I needed to know whether Antonov had located you.”
“Three years.”
“You were safe during the first 2.”
Nora laughed once.
There was nothing humorous inside it.
“You knew where I lived. You knew where I worked. You knew I was behind on rent.”
Vincent did not answer.
“You knew I got fired because of you.”
“I knew.”
“You knew I was eating canned soup 4 nights a week because it was cheaper.”
His expression changed slightly.
Nora saw it.
That made her angrier.
“You could have helped.”
“You would have refused.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You wanted no connection to me.”
“And you respected that by having men follow me?”
“I respected it by remaining absent.”
Nora stared at him.
Her skin felt hot despite the cold stone walls.
“For five years I believed you forgot I existed.”
“I did not.”
The words came too quickly.
Too simply.
Nora stopped.
Something entered the silence.
Vincent looked away first.
That frightened her more than his threats.
Bennett cleared his throat.
“We have a larger problem.”
Vincent’s expression immediately closed.
The vulnerable fraction disappeared.
“What?”
Bennett placed a tablet beside him.
“The lower gate cameras were disabled 11 minutes before the attack.”
“Remote intrusion?”
“No.”
Bennett swallowed.
“Local override.”
Vincent became motionless.
“Who had authorization?”
“You. Arthur. Me. Dominic. Elena.”
Nora looked between them.
“Who are Dominic and Elena?”
Vincent ignored the question.
“Arthur was driving.”
“Yes.”
“You were at the convoy assembly.”
“Yes.”
“I was with Nora.”
Bennett nodded.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“That leaves Dominic and Elena.”
Nora finished bandaging his shoulder.
“Who are they?”
Bennett looked at Vincent.
Vincent said nothing.
Bennett answered carefully.
“Dominic Costa is his cousin. He manages financial operations and port security.”
“And Elena?”
Silence again.
Vincent’s eyes became colder.
“My sister.”
Nora stopped.
“You have a sister?”
“I have many relatives.”
“That was not my question.”
“It was the answer you received.”
Nora looked at Bennett.
He avoided her eyes.
Vincent pushed himself upright.
This time Nora allowed it.
“Elena was at the estate?”
“No,” Bennett said. “Her authorization token was used remotely from Manhattan.”
“Impossible. Local override requires physical proximity.”
“Then someone cloned it.”
Vincent took the tablet.
Data filled the screen.
Security logs.
Times.
Access credentials.
Vehicle routes.
Nora could not interpret most of it.
Vincent could.
His eyes moved quickly.
Then stopped.
“What?” Bennett asked.
Vincent turned the tablet toward him.
“The convoy modification.”
Bennett read.
Color left his face.
Nora leaned closer.
A routing change had been entered 27 minutes before departure.
Original evacuation route: North Road.
Final route: Highway 17 access.
The SUV had been attacked on Highway 17.
The authorization name beside the modification was clear.
V. Costa.
Nora looked at Vincent.
“Your account?”
“Yes.”
“Did you change it?”
“No.”
Bennett cursed.
Vincent’s face became completely blank.
Nora had learned that his lack of visible emotion usually meant something extremely dangerous was happening beneath it.
“If they duplicated my access,” he said, “they have penetrated internal systems far beyond the estate.”
Bennett nodded slowly.
“Banking?”
“Possibly.”
“Port schedules?”
“Yes.”
“Personnel files?”
“Yes.”
Nora felt cold.
“My information?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Yes.”
Everything she had learned about security during the previous days collapsed.
The estate had not been a fortress.
It had been a glass box.
Someone had watched.
Someone had opened the gate.
Someone had selected the road.
And someone had known Nora would be on the floor of Vincent’s SUV.
“We need to move again,” she said.
“No,” Vincent answered.
Nora stared at him.
“This place might be compromised.”
“It isn’t connected to Costa systems.”
“Then how did we reach it?”
“Memory.”
He removed the IV Nora had inserted.
She slapped his hand away.
“Leave that.”
“I need to stand.”
“You need fluids.”
“I need to find the traitor.”
“Your blood pressure is low.”
“So is my patience.”
Nora stepped between him and the edge of the table.
“Do you know what happens if you collapse in the middle of interrogating someone?”
“I become embarrassing.”
“You die.”
“That would also be embarrassing.”
She stared.
Vincent stared back.
Bennett rubbed one hand across his broken nose.
“You two understand that there are approximately 30 armed men outside, correct?”
Neither answered him.
Finally, Vincent leaned backward.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Forty.”
“Twenty-five.”
“Thirty.”
“Done.”
Nora adjusted the IV.
Only after doing so did she realize she had just negotiated bed rest with one of the most feared men in the city.
Vincent watched her.
The corner of his mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Nora sat on a crate across from him.
Adrenaline finally began to drain.
Her hands started shaking.
Vincent noticed.
“Give us the room,” he told Bennett.
Bennett hesitated.
Then left.
The door closed.
Nora looked at her hands.
One still contained dried blood around the fingernails.
The man she had shot returned to her memory.
Not his full face.
Only the opening in the reinforced glass.
Rain.
Darkness.
A flash from the pistol.
“Did I kill him?” she asked.
Vincent did not pretend not to understand.
“No.”
She looked up.
“He survived?”
“For approximately 6 minutes.”
Her stomach twisted.
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Nora stood abruptly and walked toward the stone wall.
She pressed both palms against it.
The surface was freezing.
“I shot someone.”
“Yes.”
“You told me to.”
“Yes.”
“Would you have let him take me?”
“No.”
“Would you have killed all of them?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Nora closed her eyes.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”
“Nothing yet.”
She turned.
Vincent sat beneath the harsh medical light, bare-chested except for bandages and bruises.
Without his suit, without the estate, without men silently opening doors around him, he looked almost human.
Almost.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your body survived something your mind has not processed.”
He looked at her shaking fingers.
“Tonight you will probably remember the recoil. Tomorrow you may remember the face. Next week you may smell gunpowder in places where there is none.”
Nora’s breath slowed.
He understood.
Of course he understood.
“How many people did you kill the first time?”
Vincent’s face became distant.
“One.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
Nora stared.
Vincent looked toward the shuttered windows.
“My father believed fear was educational.”
The statement was quiet.
Nora understood there was an entire history behind it.
She also understood he would not tell her more.
Not yet.
“You said I shouldn’t become like you.”
Vincent’s eyes returned to her.
“Yes.”
“What if surviving you requires it?”
Something dark moved through his expression.
“Then I have failed.”
Nora did not know what to do with that answer.
A knock interrupted them.
Bennett entered without waiting.
His face had changed.
No humor remained.
“We found something.”
Vincent pulled the IV from his arm before Nora could stop him.
This time she let him.
Bennett placed a printed photograph on the table.
It showed a man standing outside a restaurant.
Older.
Gray hair.
Heavy coat.
The image had been captured from surveillance footage.
Nora did not recognize him.
Vincent did.
His entire body became still.
“Where?”
“Three hours ago. Little Odessa.”
“Who is he?” Nora asked.
Vincent continued staring at the picture.
Bennett answered.
“Grigori Antonov.”
Nora felt her pulse inside her throat.
Bennett placed a second image beside it.
A woman had exited the restaurant 4 minutes later.
Elegant.
Dark hair.
Long coat.
The photograph showed only part of her face.
Vincent picked it up.
For the first time since Nora had known him, true shock appeared in his eyes.
Nora already knew the answer.
“Elena?” she asked.
Vincent did not speak.
He did not need to.
May you like
His sister had met the man trying to destroy him.
And whatever war Nora had accidentally entered five years earlier had just become a family war.
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