Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO NEVER DIED
The police found Mia's backpack near the garage entrance, but no trace of the woman who had taken her.
Within twenty minutes, every exit was covered. Within forty, the hospital's security system had been isolated from the outside network. A detective named Rachel Kim arrived with two officers and questioned everyone who had been near the pediatric floor.
I answered every question.
Then Detective Kim asked about Dante.
I hesitated.
“Dr. Callahan, I need to know whether your relationship with the patient could compromise this investigation.”
“He's my former partner.”
“Romantic partner?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was coming to the hospital tonight?”
“No.”
“Did he know you worked here?”
I thought of his warning. Someone might have known I would be on duty.
“I don't know.”
Detective Kim watched me carefully.
“If you remember anything, call me directly. Don't rely on hospital security. Someone accessed a restricted corridor using credentials that appear legitimate.”
“Someone inside the hospital?”
“Possibly.”
The implication turned my stomach.
After she left, I returned to Dante's room. He had been forced back into bed, and a nurse was adjusting his medication.
“You shouldn't be walking,” I told him.
“You shouldn't be investigating a kidnapping alone.”
“I'm not alone. The police are involved.”
“And I have people searching the city.”
“Your people are part of the problem until I know who took my daughter.”
He accepted the accusation without protest.
“I'll tell you what I know about Isabella.”
“Start with why you lied to me.”
He looked toward the door, making sure we were alone.
“Isabella was the daughter of a man who financed several of my family's legitimate businesses. Our families wanted us married. I refused. She didn't take it well.”
“You told me she was a family friend.”
“She was supposed to be irrelevant.”
“And the photograph?”
“Taken outside a warehouse owned by one of my companies. The night before I disappeared.”
“Why were you there?”
Dante pressed his lips together.
“Isabella told me she had evidence that someone in my organization was selling information to a rival group. She said the person knew about you.”
“You believed her?”
“I believed enough to investigate.”
“And that investigation led you to leave me?”
“It led me to a warehouse full of explosives, a dead driver, and a message telling me that if I stayed with you, you would be next.”
He paused.
“I thought disappearing would protect you.”
“You never even gave me a chance to decide whether I wanted that protection.”
“I know.”
“No, Dante. You know the words. You don't know what it felt like.”
He lowered his eyes.
I was about to leave when he said, “Isabella wasn't the only person who knew about you.”
I turned.
“Who else?”
“Vincent.”
My stomach tightened. “Your security chief?”
“He was the one who delivered the warning.”
“You trusted him?”
“With my life.”
“And now?”
Dante looked at the photograph again.
“Now I'm not sure he ever deserved that trust.”
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number had sent a video.
I opened it.
Mia sat on a wooden chair in a dim room, her hands free, her face pale but composed. A woman crouched in front of her, speaking gently.
“Mia, sweetheart, your mother loves you. I'm trying to help.”
Mia shook her head.
“My mom said not to go with strangers.”
The woman sighed.
“I know. But your father is a dangerous man.”
Mia's chin lifted.
“Then why does he look sad in the pictures?”
The woman went silent.
I covered my mouth.
Even frightened, my daughter was still herself—curious, stubborn, unwilling to accept an answer that didn't make sense.
The woman rose and turned toward the camera.
Isabella Rourke.
Alive.
“Claire,” she said, “if you want your daughter back, you and Dante will come to Pier Nine at midnight. No police. No security. Bring the truth about what happened six years ago.”
The video ended.
I played it again, looking for background details. A metal door. A rusted chain. The faint sound of foghorns.
Pier Nine.
Dante watched my face.
“She's alive,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
He looked wounded, but I didn't care.
I called Detective Kim and sent her the video. She told me not to go anywhere near the pier.
For the first time, I agreed.
Then I received another message.
It contained a photograph of Mia sleeping beneath a gray blanket.
The caption read:
IF YOU BRING THE POLICE, SHE DIES.
Dante read it over my shoulder.
“She's trying to make us choose,” he said.
“Between what?”
“Saving Mia and learning why I disappeared.”
He looked at me.
“But those things may be connected.”
At that moment, Vincent entered the room.
“Dante, the men are ready.”
Dante glanced at him.
“Ready for what?”
“To go to Pier Nine.”
Dante's expression hardened.
“I never told you where we were going.”
Vincent froze.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Then Vincent reached inside his jacket.
Dante lunged toward him, but his injured chest buckled. I grabbed the nearest metal tray and struck Vincent's wrist. A pistol hit the floor.
Security officers rushed in.
Vincent was restrained, cursing as they forced him against the wall.
Dante stared at the man who had protected him for fifteen years.
“You gave her the route,” he said quietly.
Vincent said nothing.
Detective Kim arrived minutes later and ordered him taken into custody.
As officers led Vincent away, he looked directly at me.
“You have no idea what he did to keep you alive.”
May you like
Then he smiled.
“Ask him who really paid for your daughter's birth.”
