Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF A SECOND CHANCE
Mary was halfway to the parking garage when Vincent's security chief blocked the elevator.
His name was Gabriel Torres.
At thirty-eight, Gabriel had served in the Marines before becoming responsible for keeping Chicago's most hunted man alive.
"Dr. Andrews, Mr. Martini wants to see you."
"Move."
"He's insisting."
"Someone has Jack Sullivan."
Gabriel's expression sharpened.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Then you're not going alone."
Mary stepped toward him.
"You don't understand."
"I understand someone just threatened a man you care about."
"He's the reason I'm alive."
Gabriel studied her face.
Then he pressed the elevator button.
"Come with me."
Vincent was standing beside his hospital bed when they entered.
Mary stopped dead.
"Are you insane?"
He wore black sweatpants and a loose shirt over his surgical dressings. His skin was gray with pain.
"Gabriel said Jack Sullivan is missing."
"You shouldn't be standing."
"Tell me what happened."
Mary showed him the message.
Vincent read it.
Then he called Gabriel closer.
"Find Jack. Quietly. No violence unless someone's life is in immediate danger."
Gabriel nodded.
Mary stared at Vincent.
"Since when do you give orders like that?"
"Since the woman who saved my life started looking at me like I'm everything she hates."
She looked away.
Vincent lowered himself carefully into a chair.
"Tell me about Jack."
Mary hesitated.
Then she told him everything.
The dumpster.
The burns.
The clinic.
The letters.
The photograph.
The false engagement.
Vincent listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he looked as though someone had opened his chest again.
"He raised you?"
"He helped me survive. There's a difference."
"Did he pay for medical school?"
"He helped with rent when I couldn't afford it. I worked. I earned scholarships."
Vincent nodded slowly.
"I owe him."
Mary shook her head.
"You don't get to buy your way into this."
"I wasn't offering money."
"Then what?"
Vincent looked at her.
"Whatever it takes to bring him home."
An hour later, Gabriel located Jack's apartment.
The door was broken.
Furniture overturned.
Blood marked the kitchen floor.
But Jack wasn't there.
On the wall above his desk, someone had painted a single word.
LIAR.
Mary stared at the photograph Gabriel sent.
Then she noticed something.
Jack's old military jacket was missing from its hook.
"He took it," she whispered.
Gabriel frowned.
"Who?"
"Jack. He never leaves without that jacket when he's scared."
Vincent watched her.
"Why?"
"Because there's a hidden pocket inside."
"What does he keep there?"
Mary's expression changed.
"I don't know."
That evening, Gabriel's team located a security-camera recording from a gas station two blocks away.
It showed Jack being forced into a dark SUV.
But just before the men pushed him inside, Jack dropped something beneath a newspaper box.
Gabriel recovered it twenty minutes later.
A small brass key.
Attached was a tag bearing the number 317.
Mary recognized the handwriting.
"That's Jack's."
Vincent examined the tag.
"Three-seventeen."
"Could be a locker."
"Or a storage unit."
Gabriel looked up from his phone.
"There's an old bus terminal near Fifth Street. It still has coin-operated lockers."
Mary's pulse quickened.
"That's where Jack found me."
Vincent rose.
Mary immediately pointed toward the bed.
"No."
"Mary—"
"You had a bullet removed from your chest less than twenty-four hours ago. You are not going anywhere."
Vincent stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Vincent."
"You used to talk to me exactly like that."
Mary's face tightened.
"That girl doesn't exist anymore."
His smile disappeared.
"I know."
Gabriel went to the terminal with two investigators while Mary remained at the hospital.
Locker 317 contained a waterproof envelope.
Inside were three photographs, a damaged cassette tape, and a handwritten letter.
The letter was addressed to Mary.
If you're reading this, the people who burned that warehouse have finally found me.
I should have told you the truth years ago.
Your father did not disappear because he owed money.
He disappeared because he discovered what Anthony Martini was moving through the warehouse.
And the fire wasn't meant to kill Vincent.
It was meant to kill you.
Mary read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
Vincent stood silently beside her.
At the bottom, Jack had written one final sentence.
Ask Vincent what happened to Daniel Andrews on October 14, ten years ago.
Vincent stared at the date.
His face went pale.
Mary looked up.
"What happened that day?"
Vincent didn't answer.
"Vincent."
May you like
His voice was barely audible.
"That was the day my father made me watch a man die."
