Chapter 3 - The Woman Vincent Couldn't Ignore
St. Catherine's looked peaceful from the outside.
That frightened Harper more than flashing police lights would have.
She jumped from the SUV before it fully stopped.
Vincent caught her arm.
“Wait.”
“My mother is inside.”
“And if someone is waiting for you, running through the front door helps them.”
Harper pulled free.
“You don't get to tell me to wait.”
“No. But I get to keep you alive.”
Two men approached from the entrance.
Vincent spoke quietly with them.
Harper caught only one sentence.
“Her mother is safe.”
Her knees almost gave out.
Vincent noticed.
His hand settled beneath her elbow.
She hated how comforting it felt.
They found Evelyn Lane asleep in room 214.
Harper stood beside the bed and watched her mother breathe.
A stroke 2 years earlier had stolen much of Evelyn's mobility but none of her personality.
Her eyes opened.
“Harper?”
“Hey, Mom.”
Evelyn noticed Vincent.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Well.”
Harper closed her eyes.
“Mom, don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Evelyn looked Vincent up and down.
“You're handsome.”
Vincent Rossi, feared across half the city, looked genuinely unprepared.
Harper nearly laughed.
“This is Vincent.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
Vincent said, “Definitely not.”
Harper glared.
Evelyn smiled.
“I like him.”
Twenty minutes later, Vincent arranged for private security without telling Evelyn why.
Harper confronted him in the hallway.
“I can't pay for this.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“We already covered the charity issue.”
“This isn't charity.”
“What is it?”
“Damage control.”
His answer silenced her.
Vincent explained that his brother Anthony had built a secret pipeline through several legitimate businesses, including the Brass Rail. Someone had been feeding information to a rival crew while stealing millions.
Simon was involved.
Vincent had visited Tuesday because he suspected the restaurant.
“And now I'm involved because I saw Simon hand something to a man?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic.”
“I'm sorry.”
Harper stared.
“What?”
Vincent's expression remained hard.
“I said I'm sorry.”
“I heard you. I just didn't know you knew those words.”
He almost smiled.
Then gunshots erupted downstairs.
Vincent moved before Harper processed the sound.
He shoved her behind the nurses' station.
“Stay down.”
Men shouted.
A window shattered.
Vincent drew a handgun and disappeared around the corner with his security team.
Harper crouched beside the desk, heart hammering.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Long, horrible silence.
Vincent returned.
Blood covered his white shirt.
Harper stopped breathing.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Whose blood is that?”
“Not mine.”
She decided she did not want clarification.
They moved Evelyn that night to a private rehabilitation facility outside the city.
Harper rode beside her mother.
Vincent followed.
By sunrise, Harper had lost her apartment, her job, and any illusion that she could return to her ordinary life.
Vincent offered her a guest room at his estate.
She refused.
He offered a hotel.
She refused that too.
Finally he said, “Where exactly do you intend to sleep?”
“My car.”
“No.”
“You don't control me.”
“No, but your brake pads are nearly gone.”
Harper stared.
“How do you know that?”
“I had someone check the car.”
“You had someone inspect my car?”
“It was parked outside a compromised location.”
“You're insane.”
“So I've been told.”
Eventually Harper accepted the guest room.
Temporarily.
Vincent's home surprised her.
She expected gold fixtures and marble lions.
Instead, the old stone house was quiet, restrained, almost lonely.
That evening she found Vincent in the kitchen making coffee.
“You have staff,” she said.
“I can operate a coffee machine.”
“I'm impressed.”
He handed her a cup.
Exactly 2 sugars.
Harper frowned.
“How did you know?”
“You drink it that way at work.”
“You noticed?”
Vincent looked at her.
“I notice everything.”
The words landed differently than they should have.
Harper looked away.
She spotted an old photograph on the counter.
A smiling dark-haired woman stood beside 2 teenage boys.
Vincent and Anthony.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She looks happy.”
“She was.”
“What happened?”
Vincent went quiet.
“She died when I was 22.”
Harper regretted asking.
“I'm sorry.”
“She spent her life trying to keep Anthony and me away from our father's world.”
“And it didn't work.”
“No.”
Vincent looked at the photograph.
“I failed her.”
Harper studied him.
For the first time, she saw something beneath the tailored suits and reputation.
Regret.
The next morning, Vincent's men brought news.
Simon had disappeared.
So had the restaurant's financial records.
But before leaving, Simon had emptied Harper's employee locker.
Including her old order pads.
Harper frowned.
“Why would anyone want those?”
Vincent asked the same question.
She thought about Tuesday.
About Simon meeting Gray Suit.
About what she had been doing while walking past them.
Writing orders.
Then Harper remembered something.
The stranger had spoken while Simon handed him the envelope.
Three words.
She had absentmindedly written them on her pad because she was trying to remember table 7's drink order.
Dock 19. Thursday.
Harper's eyes widened.
Vincent saw it.
“What?”
May you like
She looked at him.
“I know what they're looking for.”
