Chapter 2 - THE MAN ON THE FLOOR WAS WEARING ADRIAN’S SECURITY BADGE
“Where are my sons?”
Adrian’s voice cut through the foyer.
A paramedic looked up from the broken glass.
“Second-floor family room.”
“Are they hurt?”
“The children appear physically unharmed.”
Appear.
Adrian hated that word.
He took the stairs two at a time.
Marco Bell, his operations chief, followed.
“Adrian.”
“Not now.”
“Claire was cut.”
Adrian stopped halfway up.
“How bad?”
“Arm.”
“Anything else?”
“She refused transport until the boys were evaluated.”
Of course she had.
He reached the second floor.
The playroom looked as though a storm had entered through the walls.
Books lay across the carpet.
A lamp was broken.
One chair had overturned.
A dark streak of blood ran from the center of the room toward the sofa.
Adrian’s stomach tightened.
Then Ethan saw him.
“Dad!”
The eight-year-old ran.
Adrian dropped to one knee and caught him.
Noah came immediately afterward.
Both boys buried themselves against him.
For several seconds Adrian could not speak.
Four years disappeared.
Another room.
Another emergency.
Another call telling him to hurry.
Another eight minutes.
He pressed one hand against the back of Noah’s head.
“You’re okay.”
Ethan was shaking.
“Claire got hurt.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t let him take me.”
“I saw.”
Ethan pulled back.
“You saw?”
“The cameras.”
That made the boy glance toward the black dome mounted near the ceiling.
Something in Ethan’s expression changed.
Fear.
Not from tonight.
Older.
Adrian noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Ethan.”
The boy looked down.
Claire’s voice came from across the room.
“Not tonight.”
Adrian turned.
She sat on the edge of the cream sofa while a paramedic wrapped her left forearm.
Her white blouse had been cut open at the sleeve.
Blood stained the fabric.
Her dark skirt was torn at one knee.
A bruise had already begun forming along her shoulder.
Yet what Adrian noticed first was her face.
Calm.
Too calm.
Someone who had just confronted an armed intruder should have adrenaline shaking through her.
Claire was watching everyone else.
Door.
Window.
Paramedic’s hands.
Ethan.
Noah.
Then Adrian.
“You need a hospital.”
“I need five stitches.”
“You don’t know that.”
“The paramedic does.”
The paramedic cleared his throat.
“She’s probably right.”
Adrian glared.
The man suddenly found medical tape fascinating.
Claire almost smiled.
Then Adrian remembered the footage.
The wrist lock.
The hip turn.
The way she had moved inside the knife instead of away from it.
“You lied on your application.”
Claire’s smile vanished.
Marco looked between them.
“Adrian.”
“No.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Early childhood education.”
“Yes.”
“Six years.”
“Yes.”
“You failed to mention you can disarm a grown man.”
“I didn’t disarm him.”
“You put him on the floor.”
“He was off balance.”
“He had eighty pounds on you.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“Probably sixty.”
Under different circumstances Adrian might have laughed.
He didn’t.
“Who trained you?”
Her eyes changed.
Small.
There.
“A number of people.”
“Names.”
“No.”
He stared.
She stared back.
No employee spoke to Adrian Mercer like that.
Perhaps that was why he had hired her.
The placement recruiter had talked about Claire as if her body were an inconvenience.
Adrian had looked at her references instead.
Every family described the same thing.
Children trusted her.
And Adrian’s sons had not trusted anyone since their mother died.
“Claire.”
“I just stopped three men from taking your children.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m currently bleeding on your sofa.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps we can postpone the résumé interrogation until tomorrow.”
Marco looked toward the ceiling.
Hiding a smile.
Adrian almost told him to leave.
Then one of the security officers entered.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We identified the man she dropped.”
“Who?”
“Not yet.”
“That is not identification.”
The officer swallowed.
“We found something.”
He held out a black rectangular card.
Mercer Security.
Adrian took it.
The photograph had been scratched away.
Name field burned.
But the embedded silver stripe was intact.
Internal access credential.
Marco cursed.
Claire went completely still.
Adrian looked at her.
“You recognize it.”
“No.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“My face says whoever came into this house did not guess where the playroom was.”
Good.
Adrian looked at the officer.
“Where was my security team?”
The man looked uncomfortable.
“Perimeter response.”
“Why?”
“Alarm at the south gate.”
“Real?”
“No.”
“How long were they diverted?”
The officer hesitated.
Adrian already knew.
“Say it.”
“Eight minutes.”
The room disappeared.
Four years earlier, Adrian had been eight minutes from home when his wife died.
Serena Mercer.
Thirty-four.
Shot inside the rear conservatory while Ethan, then four, hid inside a linen closet and Noah, two, slept upstairs.
Security had been diverted by an alarm at the south gate.
Eight minutes.
Investigators blamed a rival crew.
The attacker was never found.
Adrian had killed three business alliances looking for answers.
Ruined men.
Burned half his old organization down.
But he had never found the person who actually pulled the trigger.
Tonight—
Same gate.
Same diversion.
Same duration.
His voice became almost inaudible.
“Who authorized the perimeter response?”
The officer checked tablet.
Then looked frightened.
“Mr. Mercer—”
“Who?”
“Chief Sloan.”
Marco’s head turned sharply.
Adrian didn’t move.
Victor Sloan had run Adrian’s security for eleven years.
He had been best man at Adrian’s wedding.
He had carried Serena’s coffin.
And he had personally designed the security changes after her murder.
“Where is Victor?”
Nobody answered.
Adrian took out his phone.
No response.
Again.
Nothing.
Claire watched him carefully.
Then she said:
“The man on the floor said something.”
Everyone turned.
“What?”
Adrian stepped toward her.
“When?”
“After the others ran.”
“What did he say?”
Claire looked at Ethan.
Then Noah.
“Not in front of them.”
Adrian’s first instinct was to insist.
Then he stopped.
Claire noticed.
“Marco.”
Marco immediately understood.
“I’ll stay with the boys.”
“No,” Ethan said.
Everyone looked at him.
“I want Claire.”
Claire’s expression softened.
Adrian felt something complicated.
His son had asked for another adult.
That should have been good.
It still hurt.
Claire stood despite the paramedic’s protest.
“I’m not leaving.”
She sat closer to the boys.
“Your dad can talk right there.”
Adrian moved ten feet away.
Enough.
“What did he say?”
Claire lowered her voice.
“He looked at me and said, ‘You were supposed to be gone before Mercer got home.’”
Adrian frowned.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“So they knew who you were.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
He watched her.
“You keep saying that like you mean it.”
“I do.”
Then Ethan spoke from behind them.
“He knew her name.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
The boy’s face had gone pale.
“The man with the knife.”
“What did he say?”
Ethan looked at Claire.
She nodded once.
Safe.
The boy whispered:
“He said, ‘Bennett should have learned the first time.’”
Claire stopped breathing.
Adrian saw it.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“Claire.”
She closed her eyes.
“No.”
“Who is Bennett?”
“My last name.”
“You know what he meant.”
She said nothing.
“Claire.”
Her voice came quietly.
“My husband.”
Adrian froze.
“You’re married?”
“Widowed.”
Nothing in her placement file said widowed.
Actually—
Maybe it did.
He had skimmed personal status.
Not important.
Now it was.
“When did he die?”
Claire looked directly at him.
“Four years ago.”
The room became very still.
“What was his name?”
“Evan Bennett.”
Marco’s face changed before Adrian’s did.
Adrian saw.
“You know that name.”
Marco looked at Claire.
Then Adrian.
“Evan Bennett worked for Mercer Security.”
Silence.
Adrian’s pulse slowed.
Dangerously.
“What?”
Marco continued.
“Junior systems engineer.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
Adrian looked at Claire.
She had gone pale.
“When did he die?”
Marco did not answer.
Claire did.
“Forty-eight hours after your wife.”
Adrian felt the floor tilt.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“Where?”
“Queensboro approach.”
“Police report?”
“Single vehicle.”
“Alcohol?”
“None.”
“Cause?”
“Brake failure.”
Adrian stared.
Another death.
Two days after Serena.
One of his security engineers.
Never brought to his attention because a twenty-nine-year-old technician was too small to reach his desk.
Claire’s voice broke.
“Three hours before Evan died, he told me he had found something inside Mercer Security logs.”
Adrian could barely hear himself.
“What?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why?”
“He said if I didn’t know, I couldn’t be forced to explain.”
“What did he leave you?”
Claire looked at him.
“A key.”
“To what?”
“I never found out.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“Where is it?”
She hesitated.
“My apartment.”
Adrian’s old instincts returned instantly.
“We’re going.”
“No.”
He stared.
“No?”
“You are not taking my sons’ nanny into the city at midnight after someone just tried to kill her.”
She pointed toward Ethan and Noah.
“They need tonight to become the night they survived.”
“Not the night every adult disappeared again.”
Adrian looked at his children.
Ethan’s tiny fingers were locked around Claire’s uninjured hand.
Noah had fallen against her hip.
She was right.
He hated that she was right.
“Tomorrow.”
Claire nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
Then a security officer entered again.
This time he looked worse.
“Sir.”
“What now?”
“We checked the captured intruder’s phone.”
“And?”
“One outgoing message before entry.”
Adrian waited.
The officer swallowed.
“It went to Chief Sloan.”
No one spoke.
Then:
“The message says, ‘Bennett woman confirmed. Kids together. Same eight-minute window.’”
Adrian looked at Claire.
Four years ago, his wife had died.
Claire’s husband had died forty-eight hours later.
Tonight someone had tried to take his sons while specifically expecting Claire to be there.
This was not history repeating itself.
May you like
History had never ended.
And Claire Bennett had somehow walked into the middle of it three weeks ago without knowing that the man who murdered Adrian’s wife might also have murdered her husband.
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