Chapter 3 - THE PRICE OF BEING SEENFay’s mother did not know where her daughter worked.
Not really.
Evelyn Miller believed Fay cleaned a private estate belonging to “an investment family.”
That description was technically true in the way calling a hurricane “weather” was technically true.
On Wednesday afternoon, Fay sat beside her mother’s hospital bed while pale autumn light spread across the oncology wing.
Evelyn looked at Fay’s jaw.
“Walk into a cabinet?”
Fay almost smiled.
“That obvious?”
“You’ve lied badly since kindergarten.”
“I slipped.”
“Into someone’s fingers?”
Fay froze.
Evelyn reached for her hand.
“Sweetheart.”
“It’s handled.”
“By who?”
Fay looked toward the window.
“My boss.”
Her mother’s eyebrows rose.
“The mysterious investment family?”
“Yes.”
“Should I be worried?”
Always.
“No.”
Evelyn studied her.
Then coughed into a tissue.
The sound was small.
It frightened Fay more than anything Vincent Cross had ever done.
A nurse entered carrying a clipboard.
“Ms. Miller? There’s an issue with the authorization for the next treatment cycle.”
Fay’s stomach tightened.
“What issue?”
“Insurance denied part of the infusion protocol again.”
“How much?”
The nurse hesitated.
“Approximately twenty-seven thousand dollars if the appeal fails.”
Fay felt the room shrink.
Evelyn squeezed her hand.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Fay smiled because daughters smiled when mothers were scared.
“Of course.”
Her phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
She ignored it.
It rang again.
Then a text arrived.
Nice hospital.
Fay’s blood went cold.
A second message.
Room 614 has a good view.
She stood so quickly the chair scraped.
“Fay?”
“I need the restroom.”
She stepped into the hallway and called the number.
No answer.
Another message appeared.
Tell your boss to restore what he took.
Fay stopped breathing.
Or your mother learns what kind of people really pay for her medicine.
Her hands began shaking.
She did not call Vincent.
That was the first mistake.
At the Cross estate, Vincent was in a conference room reviewing shipping manifests when Marcus entered without knocking.
Vincent looked up.
“That generally means something is wrong.”
“Donovan disappeared.”
Vincent set down his pen.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Surveillance?”
“His apartment building camera went dark for twenty-three minutes.”
“Vehicle?”
“Abandoned in SoDo.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Phone?”
“Burner only.”
“Known contacts?”
“We’re working them.”
Marcus placed another file on the table.
“One more thing.”
Vincent opened it.
Inside was Fay’s employment record.
Emergency contact.
Evelyn Miller.
Northwest Oncology Center.
Vincent’s expression changed.
“When did Donovan access this?”
“Eleven forty this morning.”
Vincent stood.
“Call Fay.”
Her phone vibrated while she stood in the hospital stairwell.
VINCENT CROSS.
Fay stared at the screen.
She almost answered.
Then another message from the unknown number appeared.
Do not involve Cross.
Below it:
We are watching.
Fay rejected Vincent’s call.
Her heart pounded.
She returned to her mother’s room with a smile she did not feel.
“Everything okay?” Evelyn asked.
“Perfect.”
Another lie.
This one tasted like blood.
At five that afternoon, Fay left the hospital through the parking garage.
She was halfway toward the bus stop when a black SUV pulled beside her.
Fay stopped.
The rear door opened.
Marcus Vale stepped out.
“Get in.”
She backed away.
“No.”
“Vincent sent me.”
“That doesn’t help.”
Marcus looked around.
“Someone accessed your employment file.”
Fay’s face betrayed her.
Marcus saw it immediately.
“You already know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Fay.”
“I said I don’t know.”
A second black car entered the garage.
Marcus’s hand moved toward his jacket.
The car continued past.
Fay’s breathing quickened.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Did Donovan contact you?”
“No.”
“Someone else?”
She said nothing.
“That’s yes.”
Fay turned away.
Marcus caught her wrist.
She flinched violently.
He released her at once.
“Sorry.”
The apology disarmed her.
Marcus pointed toward the SUV.
“You can hate us from inside an armored vehicle.”
Fay almost laughed.
Instead, she climbed in.
Vincent waited in the estate library.
He stood by the fireplace, jacket off, sleeves rolled back.
Fay entered.
His first words were not gentle.
“Why didn’t you answer?”
“Because I’m allowed not to.”
Marcus almost winced.
Vincent looked at her.
Then nodded once.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her.
He gestured toward a chair.
“Sit.”
She remained standing.
“I received messages.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“They threatened my mother.”
Now everything in Vincent became still.
Not calm.
Still.
“Phone.”
Fay handed it over.
He read the messages.
Marcus watched his face carefully.
Vincent returned the phone.
“What does Donovan want?”
“His money. His position.”
“He won’t get either.”
“Then he’ll hurt her.”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know Donovan.”
“Exactly.”
Fay stepped closer.
“You know what he does to people weaker than him.”
Vincent absorbed the accusation.
Because it was true.
And truth from Fay increasingly had an uncomfortable habit of cutting through him.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Her eyes filled.
“Fix what you started.”
Marcus looked toward Vincent.
Vincent did not react.
Fay continued.
“Restore whatever you took. Let him think he won. I don’t care.”
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“You think giving a predator what he wants teaches him to stop?”
“I think my mother is sick!”
The words exploded from her.
Silence.
Fay’s chest heaved.
“I cannot turn her into collateral damage in some mafia lesson about respect.”
Vincent looked away.
Something about the word collateral affected him.
He had used it before.
Often.
Routes.
Money.
Property.
Sometimes people.
He hated hearing it from her.
Vincent walked to his desk.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Move Mrs. Miller tonight.”
Fay stared.
“What?”
“Private clinic.”
“No.”
“Secure floor. Controlled access.”
“I said no.”
Vincent turned.
“Then give me another way to keep her safe.”
Fay’s mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Vincent’s voice softened slightly.
“I will not ask her to participate in anything illegal.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“She’ll ask why.”
“Tell her the truth.”
Fay laughed bitterly.
“That I’ve been cleaning blood out of Persian carpets for organized criminals because chemotherapy is expensive?”
Vincent’s face changed.
Marcus looked down.
Fay realized what she had said.
“It wasn’t literal.”
Vincent spoke quietly.
“It was.”
She swallowed.
Vincent crossed the room.
“Fay, I can’t undo where you work.”
“No.”
“But I can prevent Donovan from using your mother to control you.”
“And what do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that.”
His eyes met hers.
“That says more about the men you’ve known than it does about me.”
Fay flinched as if struck.
Vincent immediately regretted it.
“That was unfair.”
She stared.
Vincent Cross had apologized.
Marcus, again, looked fascinated.
Fay folded her arms.
“My mother moves tonight.”
Vincent nodded.
“Your people don’t scare her.”
“Agreed.”
“And you don’t pay her treatment.”
Vincent’s brows lifted.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t owe you that much.”
“You don’t.”
“I would feel like I did.”
Vincent understood.
“Fine.”
He paused.
“Then let me solve the insurance problem without paying it.”
“How?”
“You said experimental oncology?”
“Yes.”
“Which hospital?”
She told him.
Vincent looked at Marcus.
“Call Dr. Isaiah Monroe.”
Marcus nodded.
Fay frowned.
“Who’s that?”
“Chairman of a foundation that funds compassionate-use trials.”
“You just happen to know him?”
“He owes me.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“For what?”
Vincent almost smiled.
“You don’t want that answer.”
She hated that he was probably right.
By midnight, Evelyn Miller had been transferred to a private research clinic affiliated with the university.
She was told a security concern involving another patient had forced temporary relocation.
It was not entirely false.
Fay sat beside her.
Vincent remained downstairs.
He had refused to enter Evelyn’s room.
“She doesn’t need to meet me tonight,” he told Fay.
“Why?”
“Because sick people deserve one room in the world where they aren’t forced to worry about everyone else’s violence.”
Fay had no response.
At 1:10 a.m., she found him sitting alone in the clinic cafeteria.
No guards immediately visible.
Just Vincent.
Coffee untouched.
Tie loosened.
He looked more tired than powerful.
Fay sat opposite him.
“My mother’s sleeping.”
“Good.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
She studied him.
“You don’t like hospitals.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’ve checked the exit six times.”
Vincent glanced toward the door.
Fay almost smiled.
“My mother died in one.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She had pancreatic cancer.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-three.”
Fay looked at him.
Vincent continued before he could stop himself.
“My father ran meetings from her room.”
Something cold entered his expression.
“He thought leaving her bedside meant weakness.”
Fay understood more than she wanted to.
“You stayed?”
“Until she died.”
Silence settled between them.
Then Vincent’s phone vibrated.
Marcus.
Vincent answered.
“Yes.”
His face changed as he listened.
“How?”
Another pause.
“Send it.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” Fay asked.
Vincent looked at her.
“Donovan sent a video.”
Fay’s stomach turned.
Vincent’s phone buzzed.
A file appeared.
He opened it.
The video showed a dark room.
Donovan stood in front of the camera.
Behind him sat a man tied to a chair.
Fay recognized him.
Tom Alvarez.
A night security guard from the Cross estate.
Donovan smiled into the camera.
“Vincent.”
He stepped aside.
Tom’s face was bruised.
“You took my business.”
Donovan held up three fingers.
“So I’m taking three things from you.”
“One.”
He pointed at Tom.
“Your people.”
“Two.”
He smiled.
“Your docks.”
Then Donovan leaned toward the lens.
“And three…”
His grin widened.
“The little maid who made you forget what you are.”
Fay felt the blood drain from her face.
Donovan whispered:
“By Friday, I want everything back.”
The video ended.
Vincent remained perfectly still.
Fay looked at him.
“What happens Friday?”
His voice was quiet.
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t sound like nothing.”
Vincent stood.
“The mistake Donovan made is thinking this is about you.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
He looked toward the sleeping oncology ward.
“It’s about the fact that he believes hurting weaker people makes powerful men negotiate.”
Vincent picked up his coat.
“And if I let that become true, everyone connected to me becomes a bargaining chip.”
Fay stood too.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Tom.”
“And Donovan?”
Vincent’s expression became unreadable.
“Him too.”
He started away.
Fay said his name.
“Vincent.”
He stopped.
It was the first time she had called him anything except Mr. Cross.
Neither missed it.
“Bring Tom back alive.”
Vincent looked over his shoulder.
“I intend to.”
Fay swallowed.
“And come back alive too.”
Something moved across his face.
Surprise.
Then something warmer.
Dangerously warmer.
“I intend to do that too.”
He left.
Fay stood in the empty cafeteria.
Only then did she realize the frightening truth.
Donovan had been wrong about one thing.
May you like
Vincent Cross had not forgotten what he was.
Fay was beginning to forget.
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