Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE RED UMBRELLA
Harper had imagined many ways she might die.
A traffic accident. A freak kitchen fire. Perhaps choking on a bagel while watching a documentary about people who had died in freak kitchen fires.
She had never imagined being shot at before breakfast.
Roman covered her with his body while security personnel flooded the hallway.
“Stay down,” he ordered.
“I'm familiar with the concept.”
“Harper.”
“I'm down.”
He looked at her for half a second, apparently deciding whether sarcasm was a symptom of shock.
Then he drew a handgun from beneath his coat.
Harper's eyes widened.
“You brought a gun into my apartment building?”
“Would you prefer I brought flowers?”
“Honestly, at this point, flowers would be less alarming.”
A second shot struck the wall above them.
Roman's expression changed completely.
The irritation vanished. The humor disappeared. What remained was a man who had survived dangerous situations by making decisions faster than other people could understand them.
He spoke into an earpiece.
“Secure the building. No one enters or exits without clearance. Find the shooter.”
Then he pulled Harper toward the stairwell.
They descended three flights before emerging through a rear entrance into a narrow service alley.
A black SUV waited with its engine running.
Harper refused to get inside.
Roman turned toward her.
“This is not the moment to argue.”
“Then tell me the truth quickly.”
“Your mother worked for my father.”
Harper felt as though the ground had tilted.
“My mother was a nurse.”
“She was also a financial investigator.”
“That doesn't even make sense.”
“Your mother discovered that my father was using legitimate shipping companies to move money for people who wanted their names kept off the books. She gathered evidence. Before she could hand it over, someone tried to kill her.”
Harper shook her head.
“My mother died in a highway accident.”
“That's what the official report says.”
“You're telling me my entire childhood was a lie?”
“I'm telling you that someone wanted you to believe she was dead.”
Harper searched his face for evidence of manipulation.
She found something worse.
Guilt.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
Roman looked away.
“Eleven years ago, I was twenty-four. My father ordered me to recover a missing ledger. I found your mother first.”
“And?”
“She gave me a choice. Help her escape, or deliver her to my father.”
“What did you choose?”
“I helped her.”
Harper stared at him.
“Then why did she die?”
“Because I made the mistake of trusting someone who told me she was safe.”
A sharp voice interrupted them.
“Mr. Vale!”
One of Roman's men hurried into the alley.
“Vehicle approaching from the north. We need to move.”
Roman opened the SUV door.
This time, Harper got inside.
They drove through Queens in a formation that made every traffic light seem like a suggestion. Harper sat beside Roman, clutching the photograph, while her phone vibrated with unanswered calls.
Her landlord.
Her neighbor.
An unknown number.
Then a text appeared from a number she had not seen since college.
Harper, it's Daniel. Please don't trust Roman. Your mother didn't die because of his father. She died because of him.
Daniel Mercer.
Her former boyfriend.
The man who had vanished from her life six years earlier after promising to call her the next morning.
Harper read the message twice.
Roman noticed.
“Who sent that?”
“No one.”
“Harper.”
She turned the phone toward him.
For the first time since she'd known him, Roman looked genuinely startled.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“I don't know. Apparently, he's been alive this whole time.”
Roman took out his own phone and made a call.
“Find Daniel Mercer.”
Harper snatched the photograph back.
“Don't you dare.”
His gaze sharpened.
“He may be involved.”
“Or he may know something you don't want me to hear.”
Roman said nothing.
The SUV turned into an underground garage beneath a private building in Manhattan. Two security officers escorted them upstairs to a penthouse with reinforced doors and windows overlooking the East River.
Harper stood in the living room, still wearing her Northwestern sweatshirt.
Roman removed his coat.
“There's food in the kitchen. You should eat.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“You haven't eaten since yesterday.”
She stared at him.
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything about the people around me.”
“That sounds less romantic than you think.”
His mouth tightened.
“I wasn't trying to be romantic.”
“Good. Because you kidnapped me before breakfast.”
“I brought you somewhere safe.”
“Without asking.”
“Someone fired a bullet through your apartment window.”
“And whose fault is that?”
He had no answer.
Harper walked to the window and stared at the river.
“Tell me about Boston.”
Roman remained silent for so long that she turned around.
Finally, he said, “Your mother found a ledger showing that my father had arranged the deaths of three people who threatened his business. One of those people was my older brother, Adrian.”
“You had a brother?”
“He died when I was twenty-one.”
“How?”
“Car explosion.”
Harper swallowed.
“And you think my mother had evidence?”
“I know she did. I saw part of it.”
“Where is the rest?”
Roman looked at her.
“That's the problem. The evidence disappeared the night she vanished.”
Harper's phone rang again.
This time, the caller ID showed Daniel's name.
She answered immediately.
“Daniel?”
A man's ragged breathing filled the line.
“Harper, listen to me. You have to leave that apartment.”
“I'm not there anymore.”
“Good. Is Roman with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you need to get away from him before he discovers what your mother left you.”
Harper froze.
“What did she leave me?”
A crash sounded at the other end.
Daniel cursed.
“Harper, look inside the blue—”
The line went dead.
“Daniel?”
Nothing.
Harper stared at the screen.
Roman stepped closer.
“What did he say?”
She looked at him, suddenly certain that the next answer would change everything.
“He said my mother left me something.”
Roman's face drained of color.
“No,” he whispered.
“What?”
May you like
He reached for his phone.
“Because I watched your mother bury it.”
