Chapter 3 - THE FIRST WARNING
Damen's mansion stood behind iron gates on the outskirts of Chicago.
Hannah had expected something dark.
Instead, the house was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Stone walls.
Tall windows.
A wide staircase.
Flowers arranged with almost obsessive precision.
It didn't look like the home of a criminal empire.
It looked like the home of someone trying desperately to convince himself he had built a normal life.
Hannah stepped inside.
Three guards watched her.
Nobody spoke.
Damen removed his coat.
“Guest room.”
“I can go home.”
“No.”
“I don't belong here.”
“Neither did Sophia.”
Hannah looked at him.
He stopped.
For a moment, the powerful man disappeared.
What remained was simply a brother who had lost someone.
“I'm sorry,” Hannah said.
Damen looked away.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Feel sorry for me.”
“Why?”
“Because people who pity me usually want something.”
Hannah folded her arms.
“I don't want anything from you.”
“That makes you unusual.”
Before she could answer, a woman entered.
She was elegant, blond, and perhaps fifty.
“Damen.”
“Margaret.”
The woman's eyes immediately moved toward Hannah.
“So this is her.”
Hannah frowned.
“Her?”
Margaret smiled.
“Nothing.”
Damen's expression hardened.
“Go home, Margaret.”
She ignored him.
“You look remarkably like Emily.”
Hannah froze.
“You knew my sister?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She worked for me.”
Damen stepped between them.
“That conversation is over.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Not yet.”
Then she turned toward Hannah.
“Your sister wasn't investigating Black Meridian because she wanted to expose them.”
Hannah's heart sank.
“Why was she investigating them?”
“Because she discovered they were using hospitals to hide financial transfers.”
“What kind of transfers?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
Margaret gave a humorless smile.
“Enough to buy politicians.”
Damen's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
He hung up.
“Marco?”
“Found something.”
They entered Damen's study.
Marco placed a file on the desk.
Inside were copies of old hospital records.
Emily's name appeared repeatedly.
So did another name.
Dr. Nathaniel Cross.
Hannah knew it.
“He was my sister's supervisor.”
Damen looked at her.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Marco placed another document on the desk.
“Dr. Cross left the country two days after Emily died.”
Hannah stared.
“Where did he go?”
“Switzerland.”
“Is he still there?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
Marco hesitated.
“Chicago.”
The room went silent.
Hannah looked at Damen.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Where is he?”
“Under protection.”
“Whose?”
Damen didn't answer.
Margaret did.
“Yours.”
Hannah stared at him.
“You're protecting the man who may have killed my sister?”
Damen's face hardened.
“I'm protecting a witness.”
“A witness to what?”
“A financial operation involving people inside my own organization.”
Hannah stepped back.
“You think someone in your family is involved.”
Damen's silence was answer enough.
Then the lights went out.
Every guard in the house moved at once.
Hannah heard a crash.
Glass shattered downstairs.
Damen grabbed her arm.
“Stay behind me.”
A red laser dot appeared briefly across the study wall.
Then vanished.
Gunfire erupted.
Damen pushed Hannah behind the desk.
Marco returned fire.
Seconds later, silence.
One of the guards shouted.
“They're gone.”
Damen looked at Hannah.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
Then she noticed blood.
Not hers.
Damen's.
A bullet had grazed his shoulder.
“You're bleeding.”
“It's nothing.”
“You're injured.”
“I've had worse.”
“Sit down.”
He looked at her.
Nobody spoke to Damen like that.
Yet Hannah was already opening the medical kit.
“Sit.”
He obeyed.
She cleaned the wound.
Damen watched her hands.
“You're not afraid of me.”
“I am.”
“You don't act like it.”
“I'm a nurse.”
“That explains the hands.”
“What?”
“You're shaking.”
Hannah looked down.
Her fingers were trembling.
She hadn't noticed.
Damen gently caught her wrist.
“Then stop.”
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
For one long second, neither moved.
Then Hannah whispered:
“Why did you save me?”
Damen's expression changed.
“Because someone should have saved Sophia.”
A knock interrupted them.
Marco entered.
“Boss.”
Damen looked over.
“What?”
“We found the shooter.”
“Who?”
Marco placed a phone on the desk.
A photograph appeared.
Hannah recognized him.
The man from Emily's photograph.
The man in the gray coat.
Her voice disappeared.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because that's my father.”
Damen looked at her.
May you like
Hannah's father had died eight years earlier.
Or so she'd believed.
