Chapter 2 - The Name That Made a Killer Kneel
Vincent released my wrist.
But he didn't move away from Lucy.
His attention was fixed on Grimm, whose enormous head rested against my daughter's knees.
"Nobody moves," Vincent ordered.
The guards obeyed.
I didn't.
I dropped beside Lucy and pulled her against me.
"Are you hurt? Did he touch you with his teeth? Baby, look at Mommy."
"I'm okay."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, then looked over my shoulder.
"Mommy, he's lonely."
I almost cried.
A dog that had sent grown men to the hospital was apparently lonely.
Vincent crouched several feet away.
"Lucy, sweetheart, can you tell me what you said to him?"
She looked confused.
"That he's scared."
"Before that."
"Nothing."
Grimm lifted his head.
His eyes moved toward Vincent, then returned to Lucy.
Something about the dog's behavior disturbed me more than his aggression ever had.
He wasn't merely tolerating her.
He was protecting her.
"Sir," I said, "I'm taking my daughter home."
Vincent nodded.
"Of course."
I stood.
Lucy reached toward Grimm again.
"Bye, big boy."
The dog immediately got up.
One guard stumbled backward.
Grimm followed Lucy three steps, then stopped when Vincent raised his hand.
"Grimm. Stay."
For the first time in three years, the dog obeyed a command without growling.
Vincent watched me collect Lucy's backpack.
"Claire, wait."
"I'll come back tomorrow and clean whatever I missed."
"That's not what I want to discuss."
"I don't care."
His expression tightened.
Then Lucy did something that changed everything.
She turned toward Grimm and whispered a name.
"Sammy."
The dog froze.
His ears lifted.
A low sound escaped his throat, but it wasn't a growl.
It sounded almost like a sob.
Vincent went completely white.
The coffee cup in his hand slipped and shattered against the floor.
"Where did you hear that name?" he asked.
Lucy blinked.
"From Daddy."
My blood turned cold.
I hadn't heard that name in six years.
Sammy had been the name my husband, Daniel, used for Grimm.
But Daniel was supposed to be dead.
I grabbed Lucy's hand.
"We're leaving."
Vincent stepped between us and the hallway.
Not aggressively.
Desperately.
"Claire, please. I need you to tell me who your daughter's father is."
"You know who he is."
"I need to hear you say it."
I stared at him.
"Daniel Carter."
The name seemed to drain the air from the room.
Behind Vincent, his security chief, Marcus Reed, slowly lowered his eyes.
Vincent looked toward the dog.
"That's impossible."
"What's impossible?"
"Daniel Carter died six years ago."
"Yes. That's what they told me."
He turned back.
"Who told you?"
I swallowed.
"Your people."
Vincent didn't answer.
Instead, he approached Grimm and knelt beside him.
The dog pressed his scarred head against Vincent's shoulder.
For a moment, the feared crime boss looked like a man standing beside a grave.
"Daniel wasn't just a driver," Vincent said quietly. "He was my closest friend. He saved my life twice. He trained Grimm from the time he was a puppy."
I couldn't breathe.
"Then why did nobody tell me?"
"Because someone wanted you to believe he was dead."
Before I could respond, the office doors opened.
A tall man in an expensive charcoal suit entered without knocking.
Nolan Hale.
Vincent's younger brother.
His eyes moved from Lucy to Grimm, then settled on me.
His smile disappeared.
"Well," he said softly. "That's an interesting development."
Vincent stood.
"Get out."
Nolan ignored him.
He stared at Lucy for several seconds.
Then he said something that made my knees weaken.
"That little girl has Daniel's eyes."
And Grimm began to growl.
Not at me.
May you like
Not at Lucy.
At Nolan.
