Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS NEVER DYINGThe knocking came three times.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not the impatient pounding of someone demanding entry.
The controlled rhythm of someone who knew I was inside.
I stood in the kitchen holding a carving knife.
It was ridiculous.
My ankle was still in a walking boot.
My hands were shaking.
And if Adrian's enemies had found me, a kitchen knife wasn't going to make much difference.
"Claire?"
A man's voice.
Familiar.
"Claire, it's Marcus."
I nearly dropped the knife.
"Marcus?"
"Please open the door."
I moved to the window.
Marcus Hale stood beneath the porch light, his hands visible at his sides.
He was alone.
Or appeared to be.
"How did you find me?"
"Your attorney called."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because someone tried to access your medical records this afternoon."
I unlocked the door but kept the chain in place.
Marcus looked exhausted.
There was a fresh cut beneath his left eye.
"What happened to your face?"
"Nothing important."
"That's never a reassuring answer."
His mouth twitched.
Then he became serious.
"May I come inside?"
"No."
He nodded as if he'd expected that.
"Fair enough."
I studied him.
"Did Adrian send you?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
Marcus looked toward the road.
"Because I think the people who kidnapped you are trying to finish something."
My fingers tightened around the door.
"What something?"
"I don't know yet."
"That's not enough."
"I know."
He reached into his jacket slowly and removed a sealed envelope.
"I brought this."
Inside was a photograph.
A security camera image from the afternoon of the kidnapping.
Lily Monroe stood beside a black SUV.
She was speaking to a man wearing a gray baseball cap.
The timestamp was 1:42 p.m.
My SUV had been forced off the road at approximately 2:15.
I looked closer.
The man's face was partially obscured.
But I recognized the tattoo on his wrist.
A small black serpent.
I had seen it while tied to that chair.
One of the kidnappers had the same tattoo.
I looked at Marcus.
"Where did you get this?"
"An independent camera outside the parking garage. The footage wasn't connected to our security system."
"Does Adrian know?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
"Because Lily has access to the security reports."
I stared at him.
"You think she's involved."
"I think we need evidence before anyone else knows what we found."
I opened the door.
"Come in."
At the Moretti headquarters in Chicago, Adrian was beginning to understand how much of his life had been arranged around Claire without his noticing.
His assistant had scheduled a charity dinner.
Claire had always attended.
His tailor had called about a suit fitting.
Claire had always chosen the fabric.
His mother had asked whether Claire would be coming for Sunday lunch.
Adrian had no answer.
Then Lily appeared in his office carrying two coffees.
"You're working too hard."
He didn't look up.
"Put it down."
She placed the cup beside his laptop.
"You can't keep blaming yourself."
Adrian raised his eyes.
"Who said I was blaming myself?"
Lily hesitated.
"I just meant—"
"What did you mean?"
She drew a careful breath.
"Claire knows how much pressure you're under. She'll come back when she calms down."
Adrian stared at her.
"That's what you think?"
"I've known her for years."
"Then you should know she doesn't make threats she won't carry out."
Lily's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Adrian noticed.
"Adrian, you saved my life."
"Did I?"
She blinked.
"What?"
"Your asthma attack."
Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
"What about it?"
"Did the hospital give you a new inhaler?"
"Of course."
"Which hospital?"
"Why are you asking me that?"
Adrian leaned back.
"Because I realized I never asked."
Lily smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Mercy North."
"Who treated you?"
"I don't remember his name."
"Her name?"
Lily paused.
"I was unconscious, Adrian."
He said nothing.
She set down the cup.
"I don't understand why you're interrogating me."
"I'm asking questions."
"Because Claire left?"
His expression hardened.
"Don't use her name to avoid answering."
Lily's smile disappeared.
For one brief moment, he saw something he had never noticed before.
Not fear.
Calculation.
In Michigan, Marcus and I spread photographs across the kitchen table.
The parking garage.
The SUV.
The man with the serpent tattoo.
And another photograph.
Lily entering a downtown Chicago hotel two days before the kidnapping.
Beside her was a man I recognized immediately.
"That's Daniel Cross."
Marcus nodded.
Daniel had worked as Adrian's logistics director for eight years.
He managed armored vehicles, safe houses, and emergency response routes.
He also knew exactly where Adrian's teams would be deployed during a crisis.
"Cross disappeared the morning after the kidnapping," Marcus said.
"Adrian told me he was on assignment."
"He wasn't."
"Where is he?"
"We don't know."
I looked at the photographs again.
"Then why would Lily need Adrian to rescue her?"
Marcus hesitated.
"That's the question."
I stared at the image of Lily standing beside Daniel.
Something began to take shape.
Not the whole truth.
Just enough to make me sick.
"What if the kidnapping wasn't about ransom?"
Marcus looked at me.
"What if it was a test?"
"A test of what?"
I remembered Adrian's face on the laptop.
The countdown.
Lily gasping.
My own voice telling him my ankle was hurt.
And the way the kidnappers had moved me only after Adrian chose Lily.
I whispered, "A test of who Adrian would sacrifice."
Marcus didn't answer.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Excuse me."
He stepped outside.
Through the window, I watched him answer.
I couldn't hear the conversation.
But I saw him go still.
Then he turned toward me.
He opened the door.
"Claire."
"What?"
"Daniel Cross was found."
"Alive?"
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
My stomach dropped.
"Marcus?"
"He's dead."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Where?"
"An abandoned warehouse outside Chicago."
He looked down at his phone again.
"And there's something else."
"What?"
Marcus swallowed.
"They found a photograph in his pocket."
"Of who?"
He turned the screen toward me.
It was an old photograph.
My father.
Standing beside Adrian's father.
Taken the year before the ambush.
May you like
Across the bottom, someone had written four words in black ink.
BENNETT WAS THE TARGET.
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