Chapter 3 - THE MAN OUTSIDE HER WINDOW
Emma noticed the gray sedan because it passed her apartment twice.
By the third pass, she stopped pretending it was coincidence.
She stood behind the curtain of her second-floor apartment in Lincoln Square, one hand beneath her belly.
The sedan slowed.
Then continued.
Her phone rang.
Adrian.
She declined it.
It rang again.
Declined.
Again.
“Seriously?”
She answered.
“What?”
“Lock your door.”
Every nerve in her body tightened.
“How do you know I’m home?”
“We can fight about that later.”
“We’re fighting about it now.”
“Emma, please.”
She stopped.
Adrian almost never said please.
“What happened?”
“A vehicle followed your cab.”
She looked through the curtain.
“Gray sedan?”
Silence.
Then, “You can see it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I’m already downstairs.”
Emma pulled the curtain wider.
A black SUV stopped across the street.
Adrian emerged before Nathan could open his door.
Emma stared in disbelief.
Thirty seconds later, someone knocked.
She opened the door but kept the chain attached.
Adrian stood outside, wet from the rain.
“You had me followed.”
“I had someone make sure you arrived safely.”
“That is called following.”
“Yes.”
“You promised not to take control.”
“I promised to try.”
“That lasted forty minutes.”
“Thirty-eight.”
She glared.
“Bad time for accuracy?”
“Very.”
He looked past her.
“Can I come inside?”
Emma hesitated before releasing the chain.
Adrian entered and stopped.
The apartment was tiny.
Not unpleasant.
Tiny.
A secondhand couch. A narrow kitchen. Stacks of books. Baby clothes folded on a dining chair.
Then he saw the crib.
It was wedged into the corner of Emma’s bedroom because there was nowhere else for it.
His expression broke.
“You built that?”
“My coworker helped.”
He touched the inexpensive wooden rail.
“I should have built it.”
“You weren’t here.”
The sentence landed harder than anger.
Adrian nodded.
“I know.”
Emma folded her arms.
“Tell me about the car.”
Adrian explained only enough.
Carlo’s name changed everything.
Emma knew his uncle.
Carlo had always been courteous to her.
Too courteous.
He sent flowers on birthdays, kissed her cheek at Christmas and never once looked genuinely pleased that Adrian had married her.
“Why would he follow me?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You do.”
Adrian looked away.
Emma’s voice sharpened.
“No more protecting me with lies.”
He faced her.
Then told her about the trust.
About succession.
About Mercer.
About Carlo manipulating the divorce.
Emma listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she was terrifyingly calm.
“You knew someone threatened me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“And instead of telling your wife, you divorced her.”
“I thought removing you from my name would remove the target.”
“You thought?”
“I was wrong.”
“You made the biggest decision of our marriage without me.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe you didn’t love me.”
His voice became rough.
“I never stopped.”
Emma’s eyes filled before she could prevent it.
She turned away.
“Don’t.”
“It’s true.”
“Don’t say that now.”
“I loved you when I signed those papers.”
“That makes it worse.”
He had no defense.
She pressed a hand against the counter.
“You could have trusted me.”
“I was afraid.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“Adrian Moretti was afraid?”
“Of burying my wife?”
His voice cracked.
“Yes.”
The apartment became silent.
Emma looked at him.
He seemed suddenly older.
“I had photographs delivered to my office,” he said. “Pictures of you leaving our house. Going to the grocery store. Visiting your sister. One had a rifle scope drawn over your chest.”
Emma went cold.
“I thought if everyone believed I had discarded you, whoever wanted leverage would lose interest.”
“And did they?”
“For a while.”
She looked toward the window.
The gray sedan was gone.
Adrian followed her gaze.
“They know now.”
“About the baby?”
“Possibly.”
Fear moved through her.
Her daughter kicked.
Emma pressed both hands against her stomach.
Adrian stepped forward, then stopped himself.
That restraint mattered more than she wanted it to.
“What do we do?”
It was the first time she had said we.
Adrian noticed.
“We get you somewhere safe.”
“My apartment—”
“Is compromised.”
She started to object.
He raised his hands.
“You choose the location.”
That stopped her.
“No estate?”
“Not unless you choose it.”
“No armed men standing over me?”
“Outside whatever building you choose.”
“Adrian.”
“I’m negotiating.”
Despite everything, Emma almost smiled.
Nathan entered after knocking.
“We identified the driver.”
Adrian turned.
“Who?”
“Peter Vale.”
Emma frowned.
She knew that name.
Adrian did too.
Vale had been Carlo’s driver for fifteen years.
Nathan continued.
“He abandoned the sedan three blocks away.”
“Find him.”
Nathan nodded.
Then looked at Emma.
“There’s something else.”
He held out a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was an envelope.
Emma’s name was written across it.
Nathan had found it taped beneath the building’s mailbox.
Adrian opened it carefully.
A photograph fell out.
It showed Emma leaving the clinic.
Taken less than three hours earlier.
Across her stomach someone had drawn a red X.
Emma stopped breathing.
On the back were six handwritten words.
THE MORETTI LINE ENDS WITH ADRIAN.
Adrian stared at them.
Then he looked at Emma.
The rage she expected was not there.
Only fear.
He stepped closer.
“Emma, I need you to trust me tonight.”
She looked at the photograph.
Then at the crib.
Then down at the daughter moving beneath her dress.
“One night,” she whispered.
Adrian nodded.
“One night.”
But before they could leave, Emma’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Adrian standing inside her apartment.
Taken through the window.
Seconds ago.
Beneath it was a message.
YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE LET HIM FIND YOU.
May you like
Emma slowly raised her eyes toward the dark window.
Someone was still watching.
