Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN ROMAN COULDN’T FIND
Roman Vale could find almost anyone.
That was what made the next seventy-two hours unbearable.
He found fugitives who had crossed borders.
He found businessmen hiding assets through six shell companies.
He once located a stolen shipment before the men who stole it had finished celebrating.
But Amelia vanished.
No credit-card transactions.
No airline reservation.
No hotel registration.
No traffic-camera hit that Miles could confirm.
By the third morning, Roman had converted the estate library into a command center.
Maps covered the walls.
Miles entered carrying coffee.
Roman ignored it.
“Anything?”
“No.”
“Check hospitals again.”
“We did.”
“Again.”
“Roman.”
“Again.”
Miles set the coffee down.
“You’re looking for her like she’s been kidnapped.”
Roman stared at him.
“She’s pregnant.”
“She left you.”
The room went silent.
Miles had known Roman since they were teenagers. That history was the only reason he could say the next sentence.
“Those are not the same thing.”
Roman looked back at the map.
“I need to know she’s safe.”
“You need to know where she is.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
Roman said nothing.
Miles leaned against the desk.
“Are you going to bring her home against her will?”
“No.”
“Then why are thirty-four people searching?”
Roman finally looked at him.
“Because I wake up every hour imagining her bleeding somewhere alone.”
Miles’ anger weakened.
Roman looked exhausted.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes. He had stopped shaving. The ruthless control that had built his reputation across Baltimore was fraying.
“Then fix the reason she left,” Miles said. “Not the fact that she managed to.”
Roman’s phone rang.
Vanessa.
He declined it.
She called again.
He declined it again.
On the third call, Miles raised an eyebrow.
Roman answered.
“What?”
Vanessa’s voice trembled.
“Someone broke into my apartment.”
Roman straightened.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
Roman went still.
“Then what did they leave?”
Silence.
“Vanessa.”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“You and Amelia.”
Roman’s grip tightened.
“Bring it to Miles.”
“Roman, I’m scared.”
“I’ll send security.”
“You’re not coming?”
Three weeks earlier, that question would have changed his plans.
This time, Roman looked at Amelia’s wedding ring lying beside the map.
“No.”
Vanessa went quiet.
“Because of her?”
“Because I should have learned the difference between protecting you and belonging to you years ago.”
He ended the call.
Miles stared.
“That sounded expensive.”
Roman didn’t smile.
“Get the photograph.”
Two hours later, it arrived.
It showed Roman and Amelia leaving a restaurant six months earlier.
A red circle had been drawn around Amelia’s stomach.
At the time, she had not been pregnant.
On the back were four words.
Promises always have a price.
Miles’ expression changed.
“This wasn’t random.”
“No.”
Roman studied the picture.
The kidnapping had supposedly been about money. But no ransom had ever been demanded.
Instead, the kidnappers had created a choice.
Vanessa or Amelia.
Roman suddenly understood.
“They knew.”
Miles frowned.
“Knew what?”
“That I would choose Vanessa.”
The words tasted poisonous.
Someone had understood Roman’s guilt over Anthony Marino so perfectly that they had designed an entire kidnapping around it.
And Roman had behaved exactly as predicted.
“Who knew about Anthony’s promise?” Miles asked.
“Very few people.”
They looked at each other.
That list included someone neither man wanted to name.
Vanessa.
Meanwhile, Amelia was living in a two-bedroom cottage near St. Michaels on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.
Evelyn Vale had owned it for twenty-seven years.
Roman didn’t know.
That was the point.
Evelyn had bought the property under her maiden name after leaving Roman’s father’s family behind.
At sixty-three, she was elegant, sharp-tongued, and one of the only people Roman genuinely feared disappointing.
“You’re staring at your phone again,” Evelyn said.
Amelia put it facedown.
Roman had left seventeen voicemails.
She had listened to none.
“You can miss him and still leave him,” Evelyn said.
“I know.”
“Good. Took me twelve years to learn that.”
Amelia looked across the small kitchen.
“Did you love Roman’s uncle?”
“Desperately.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because love became the excuse I used to tolerate everything else.”
Amelia absorbed that.
Evelyn poured tea.
“Roman loves you.”
“I know.”
“He also has the emotional intelligence of an armored truck.”
Amelia laughed unexpectedly.
It was the first real laugh since the kidnapping.
Evelyn smiled.
“There she is.”
The days slowly became quieter.
Amelia attended appointments under her maiden name.
The bleeding resolved.
The baby grew.
At twenty weeks, the ultrasound technician asked whether she wanted to know the sex.
Amelia stared at the screen.
“Yes.”
The technician smiled.
“You’re having a girl.”
Amelia cried in the parking lot.
Not because she was sad.
Because Roman should have been there.
She hated him for making her miss him.
That evening, she finally listened to one voicemail.
Roman’s voice filled the cottage bedroom.
“Amelia, it’s me.”
A pause.
“I know you know that.”
Another pause.
“I’m not going to tell you to come home.”
She sat very still.
“I just need you to know something. I’ve replayed that moment so many times I hear it when the room is silent.”
His breathing became uneven.
“I thought I was making the decision that gave both teams the best chance. That’s what I told myself.”
A long silence.
“But Miles was right.”
Amelia’s eyes filled.
“I didn’t choose Vanessa because she mattered more. I chose the promise because I was afraid of failing a dead man again.”
Roman swallowed audibly.
“And I failed my living wife instead.”
Amelia covered her mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
The message ended.
She almost called him.
Then someone knocked downstairs.
Evelyn answered.
A deliveryman stood outside holding flowers.
No card.
White roses.
Amelia frowned.
Roman always sent peonies.
Evelyn examined the arrangement.
Her face changed.
“What?”
Evelyn reached between the flowers.
She removed a photograph.
Amelia’s blood turned cold.
It had been taken that afternoon.
Outside her obstetrician’s office.
Someone had photographed her from across the street.
On the back, written in black ink, were five words.
Roman chose wrong. We didn’t.
Amelia looked toward the cottage window.
A dark SUV was parked across the road.
May you like
Its engine started.
And suddenly, disappearing from Roman no longer meant she had disappeared from everyone else.
