Chapter 2 - THE NAME HE WHISPERED
Dario Kane stared at my daughter.
Not at Dr. Whitmore.
Not at the nurses adjusting his IV.
Not at Marco Bell standing rigid against the wall like somebody had driven a steel rod through his spine.
At Lucia.
His lips moved.
Nothing came out the first time.
Dr. Whitmore leaned closer.
“Dario? Can you hear me?”
Dario blinked.
His gray eyes struggled to focus.
Then his mouth moved again.
“Sofia.”
Marco went completely still.
I felt it before I understood it.
The name meant something.
Something painful.
Lucia slipped her hand into mine.
“Mama, who’s Sofia?”
“I don’t know.”
Dario heard her voice.
His eyes sharpened for half a second.
“Sofia…”
“No,” Dr. Whitmore said gently. “You’re at St. Adrian’s Hospital. My name is Peter Whitmore. You’ve been unconscious for twenty-two days.”
Dario stared at him.
His breathing changed.
“Twenty…”
“Don’t force yourself.”
He ignored him.
“What happened?”
Dr. Whitmore looked toward Marco.
Marco stepped forward.
“You were attacked beneath headquarters.”
Dario’s brow tightened.
A flash of pain crossed his face.
“Garage.”
“Yes.”
“Two men.”
Marco’s expression changed.
“You remember?”
Dario shut his eyes.
“Pieces.”
The neurologist immediately began asking questions.
Name.
Year.
City.
President.
Dario got his name right.
The city right.
The year wrong by one.
He became visibly angry at himself.
Dr. Whitmore seemed pleased.
“Confusion is expected.”
Dario tried to lift his head.
Pain stopped him.
“Who did this?”
“We’ll discuss that after imaging.”
“No.”
His voice was weak.
But the room changed when he used it.
Even half-conscious, Dario Kane sounded like a man who expected people to listen.
“Now.”
Dr. Whitmore did not look impressed.
“You survived a severe traumatic brain injury. You have swelling that has only recently begun improving. So right now, I outrank you.”
For the first time, I saw something almost like amusement pass across Dario’s face.
Then his eyes moved back toward Lucia.
“Girl.”
Lucia hid behind me.
I stepped in front of her.
“That’s enough.”
Marco looked at me.
Dr. Whitmore looked at me.
Even one of the nurses paused.
I suddenly remembered who I was speaking to.
Then I remembered that my daughter mattered more.
Dario studied me.
“What’s her name?”
I hesitated.
“Lucia.”
His face changed.
Not dramatically.
A tiny tightening around his eyes.
“Lucia.”
“Yes.”
“Who taught her that song?”
“My husband.”
The words still came automatically even though Mateo had been dead for almost three years.
Dario’s stare sharpened.
“What husband?”
“That has nothing to do with your medical condition.”
“Elena.”
I froze.
I had never told him my first name.
Marco answered the question on my face.
“Your badge.”
I looked down.
ELENA REYES.
Of course.
Dario breathed slowly.
“Your husband’s name.”
Something about his tone made my stomach tighten.
“Mateo Reyes.”
The monitor accelerated.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Dr. Whitmore frowned.
“Dario?”
But Dario was staring at me now.
Fully.
The confusion was still there.
So was pain.
But behind it was recognition.
“Mateo Reyes?”
“Yes.”
“Worked at Harbor Nine?”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
My husband had worked at Kane Maritime.
For eight months.
He had been a maintenance supervisor at one of their older warehouses before transferring to a city inspection job.
I had never told anyone at the hospital.
“How do you know that?”
Dario tried to sit.
The nurse stopped him.
“Sir.”
“Mateo Reyes,” he repeated.
“Dario, lie back.”
He didn’t.
Marco stepped closer.
“Boss.”
Dario looked at him.
“Get them out.”
My heartbeat stumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Everyone except Elena.”
“No.”
I tightened my grip on Lucia.
“My daughter stays with me.”
Dario looked at Lucia.
Something softened.
“Then both stay.”
Dr. Whitmore objected immediately.
“Absolutely not. You’ve been awake for four minutes.”
“Five.”
“Congratulations. You’re still not running the hospital.”
The neurologist ordered new scans.
The nurses began preparing to move him.
As they rolled the bed toward the door, Dario reached for my wrist.
Marco moved instinctively.
I almost pulled away.
Dario’s grip was weak.
His eyes were not.
“Your husband didn’t die the way they told you.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
Then the bed moved.
“Wait.”
Nobody stopped.
“Dario!”
Marco stepped between me and the hallway.
“Mrs. Reyes.”
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
His face hardened.
“I’m not.”
“You work for him.”
“Yes.”
“My husband worked for Kane Maritime.”
“I know.”
“You knew Mateo?”
Marco hesitated.
That was answer enough.
I stepped closer.
“What happened to my husband?”
Before he could respond, Lucia tugged my sleeve.
“Mama.”
“Not now, baby.”
“The scary man is crying.”
I looked through the doorway.
Dario’s bed had stopped near the elevator while a nurse adjusted something.
He was staring toward us.
One tear moved slowly from the corner of his eye into his hair.
Marco followed my gaze.
His expression changed.
“Jesus.”
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
“Who is Sofia?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Someone he lost.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m authorized to give.”
I laughed once.
“Authorized?”
“You don’t understand the situation.”
“No. I clean this floor for fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents an hour. My daughter waits in the staff lounge after school because childcare costs more than I can afford. And now a man the entire city is afraid of wakes from a coma, says my dead husband’s name, and tells me the official story about his death was a lie.”
I pointed toward the elevator.
“So somebody is going to explain.”
Marco studied me.
Then Lucia spoke.
“Please?”
He looked down.
Lucia had a strange effect on frightening men.
Marco exhaled.
“Sofia Kane was Dario’s younger sister.”
“How old?”
“When she died?”
I nodded.
“Seventeen.”
“How?”
“Car explosion.”
My anger cooled.
“When?”
“Nineteen years ago.”
Lucia squeezed my hand.
“That’s why he got sad?”
Marco looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Did she sing?”
Marco blinked.
“Sometimes.”
That explained the name.
Or part of it.
I glanced toward the elevator.
“Why would my husband’s name affect him like that?”
Marco didn’t answer.
Instead he said, “Go home tonight.”
“What?”
“Take Lucia home.”
“I’m scheduled until eleven.”
“Not anymore.”
“You don’t employ me.”
“No.”
He reached into his jacket.
I braced myself.
He removed a business card.
“Call me if anything feels wrong.”
I didn’t take it.
“What exactly should feel wrong?”
“Anything.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Mrs. Reyes.”
His voice dropped.
“If Dario remembers Mateo Reyes, somebody else may realize that he remembers him.”
A chill moved down my back.
“Why would that matter?”
Marco looked at Lucia.
Then back at me.
“Because whoever put Dario Kane in a coma believed they had erased the last person who knew what happened at Harbor Nine.”
My mouth went dry.
“My husband died three years ago.”
“I know.”
“In a warehouse fire.”
Marco’s face told me something before his mouth did.
“That fire was at Harbor Nine.”
I knew.
What I didn’t know was why his voice made it sound like a confession.
That night, Lucia and I left through the employee entrance.
Rain had become a thin cold drizzle.
She skipped beside me beneath my umbrella, humming.
I stopped her.
“Not tonight, sweetheart.”
“Why?”
“I have a headache.”
She nodded seriously.
We reached my twelve-year-old Honda.
There was a white envelope beneath the windshield wiper.
No stamp.
No name.
I looked around.
Parking garage.
Concrete pillars.
Security camera thirty feet away.
Nobody nearby.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Mateo.
My husband.
Alive.
Standing beside a cargo container at Harbor Nine.
The picture had been taken only two days before he died.
Beside him stood Dario Kane.
On the back someone had written:
MATEO SHOULD HAVE KEPT QUIET.
Then underneath:
SO SHOULD HIS WIFE.
I turned the photograph over.
Lucia looked up at me.
“What is it?”
I folded the picture quickly.
“Nothing.”
A car engine started somewhere behind us.
I looked toward the sound.
Black SUV.
Headlights off.
The vehicle began moving.
Slowly.
Toward us.
I grabbed Lucia.
“Get in.”
“Mama?”
“Now.”
I locked the doors.
My hands shook so badly I dropped the keys.
The SUV stopped three spaces away.
Two doors opened.
Men stepped out.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Elena.”
Dario Kane’s voice.
Weak.
But unmistakable.
“Do not get out of your car.”
I stared through the windshield.
“How do you know where I am?”
“Because Marco just found out somebody disabled the camera overlooking your parking section.”
The two men started walking toward us.
My breathing stopped.
Dario spoke again.
“Lock the doors.”
“They’re already locked.”
“Good.”
The men were ten yards away.
Then another vehicle screamed around the corner.
Marco’s black sedan.
He stopped sideways between us.
Four Kane security officers emerged.
The two strangers turned and ran.
Marco’s men chased them.
Lucia began crying.
I pulled her into my arms.
Dario was still on the phone.
“Elena.”
“Yes.”
His voice softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For Mateo.”
My eyes closed.
“Tell me what happened.”
Silence.
May you like
Then Dario said five words that destroyed the last three years of my life.
“Your husband was murdered for me.”
