Chapter 3 - THE MAN AT THE DOOR
Grant's first instinct was to reach for his badge.
His second was to look behind the stranger.
Three men stood in the hallway. All wore dark suits. All looked like they had been waiting for an excuse.
"Who the hell are you?"
Dante didn't answer.
His eyes moved past Grant, taking in the overturned bathroom mat, the broken phone on the floor, and the woman sitting against the bathtub.
Norah.
Her hair was tangled. One side of her face was swollen. She held her left arm against her body, and every breath looked like an effort.
For one second, Dante saw another bathroom.
Another woman.
Another night six years earlier.
Elena had called him once before she died. He had been in a meeting. He had silenced the phone.
By the time he called back, she was gone.
He had spent six years wondering what would have happened if he had answered.
This time, he had answered.
"Get away from her," Dante said.
Grant stepped forward.
"Police officer. This is a domestic situation. You need to leave."
Dante glanced at the badge.
"Grant Miller?"
Grant's face changed.
"How do you know my name?"
"I know enough."
"You can't just walk into my home."
Dante looked at the woman behind him.
"Is this your home, Norah?"
She tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Grant turned sharply.
"Don't answer him."
Dante's expression hardened.
"That wasn't your question to answer."
Grant reached toward his waistband.
Nico moved first.
In less than a second, Grant's arm was pinned behind him, his weapon removed, and his chest pressed against the wall.
"Hands where I can see them," Nico said.
"Get off me! I'm a police officer!"
Dante walked into the bathroom.
He lowered himself carefully in front of Norah, keeping enough distance not to frighten her.
"Norah?"
She looked at him.
"Who are you?"
"Dante."
"Did Tyler send you?"
"No."
Her eyes filled.
"Then how—"
"You sent a message to the wrong number."
She stared at him as if he had spoken another language.
"I was trying to reach my brother."
"I know."
"He's three hours away."
Dante glanced at her phone.
"He's not the one who received it."
A medic arrived with a medical bag.
Dante stepped aside.
"Check her ribs. She says she can't breathe."
Norah suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't let him come near me."
Dante looked down at her hand.
Then at Grant.
His voice became quiet.
"He won't."
The medical examination revealed two fractured ribs, extensive bruising, and injuries consistent with previous assaults.
The paramedic recommended immediate transport to Bellhaven Memorial Hospital.
Grant protested loudly.
"She's my girlfriend! I have the right to know where she's going!"
Dante stood beside the stretcher.
"You're going to have a very difficult night, Officer Miller."
"You think you can threaten me?"
"No."
Dante leaned closer.
"I'm telling you what's going to happen."
Grant swallowed.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with."
Dante straightened his jacket.
"Neither do you."
At the hospital, Norah refused to let the nurses close the examination-room door.
She kept looking toward the hallway.
Dante noticed.
He stood outside the room, speaking quietly with Nico.
"Find out everything about Miller. His department, supervisors, complaints, financial records. Everything."
"Understood."
"And find her brother."
Nico hesitated.
"Boss, why are we involving ourselves this deeply?"
Dante looked through the glass.
Norah was trying to drink water with shaking hands.
"Because someone told her nobody would come."
He paused.
"I want her to know that was a lie."
At 3:46 a.m., Norah finally fell asleep.
Dante sat in the chair outside her room, reading the preliminary report Nico had delivered.
Three domestic violence complaints.
All withdrawn.
Two emergency room visits.
Both explained as accidents.
One internal investigation.
Closed without disciplinary action.
Then Nico placed another document on the table.
"There's something else."
Dante looked up.
"Grant's been using his police credentials to access restricted addresses. Several women filed complaints against him. One disappeared last year."
Dante turned a page.
A photograph was attached.
A young woman with dark hair and a familiar smile.
His fingers stopped.
He knew her.
Not personally.
But he had seen that face before.
It was the same woman in a photograph found inside his dead sister's apartment six years earlier.
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And beneath the photograph was a handwritten note:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, ASK ABOUT GRANT MILLER.
