Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Wasn't Afraid
Evelyn had survived exactly nine days at the Blackwood estate before she locked Dominic outside.
It was raining.
Hard.
Dominic stood beneath the stone awning and knocked once.
Nothing.
He knocked again.
Evelyn appeared through the glass door holding a wooden spoon.
She stared at him.
Then at the lock.
Then back at him.
"Oh."
Dominic's hair was dripping.
"Evelyn."
"I can explain."
"Open the door."
"I thought everyone was inside."
"Open. The. Door."
"See, when you say it like that, I understand why people are scared of you."
She unlocked it.
Dominic stepped inside.
Water ran from his black shirt onto the floor.
Evelyn handed him a kitchen towel.
He looked at it.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Dry yourself."
"I have towels."
"Fantastic. Go meet them."
Samuel, standing ten feet away, abruptly turned his face toward the wall.
Dominic noticed.
"Something funny?"
"No."
"Then why are your shoulders shaking?"
"Allergies."
"To what?"
Samuel glanced at Evelyn.
"Apparently unemployment."
Evelyn snorted.
Dominic pointed toward the office.
"Both of you. Out of my sight."
"Gladly," Samuel said.
Evelyn followed him.
Dominic called after her.
"Not you."
She stopped.
Samuel whispered, "Good luck."
Evelyn turned around.
Dominic folded his arms.
"Do you know how many employees have locked me outside my own home?"
"One?"
"One."
"Congratulations to me."
"You aren't frightened of anything, are you?"
The humor left her face.
"Everybody's frightened of something."
"What frightens you?"
"People who think fear gives them ownership over somebody else."
Something in the answer made him look at her more carefully.
"Experience?"
"Enough."
She turned back toward the kitchen.
Dominic didn't ask.
That was one of the strange things about Evelyn.
She pushed him when everyone else retreated, but she never asked questions simply because she was curious.
If Dominic wanted silence, she gave him silence.
If he wanted coffee, she gave him coffee.
If he wanted to sit at the kitchen counter at midnight without explaining why he couldn't sleep, she found something to chop and pretended not to notice.
Two weeks after the rainstorm, Dominic entered the kitchen at 1:17 a.m.
Evelyn was peeling apples.
"You're awake."
"So are you."
"I work here."
"At one in the morning?"
"I couldn't sleep."
Dominic sat.
She glanced at him.
"Coffee?"
"Yes."
"No."
He stared.
"No?"
"You've had enough."
"You work for me."
"Unfortunately."
"Evelyn."
She poured warm milk into a mug.
He looked offended.
"What is that?"
"Something that won't keep you awake until sunrise."
"I'm not drinking warm milk."
"Then stare at it aggressively."
She set it in front of him.
Dominic looked down at the cup.
"What did Ruth tell you about Claire?"
The knife stopped.
Evelyn placed it carefully on the cutting board.
"That she was kind. That she loved rosemary. That she hated closed curtains."
"Anything else?"
"That you loved her."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"Past tense."
Evelyn waited.
"Police said she died?"
"They said she couldn't have survived."
"But they didn't find her."
"No."
"Then why did everybody stop looking?"
Dominic's eyes became cold.
"Because we searched for eighteen months."
"That's not what I asked."
His gaze snapped toward her.
She didn't retreat.
"Why did they stop looking?"
"Because there was nothing left to find."
"Maybe."
"There is no maybe."
Evelyn returned to the apple.
"Then why do you still wind her watch?"
Silence.
Dominic stood so suddenly the stool scraped backward.
"Stay out of my study."
Evelyn looked up.
"I've never been in your study."
"You've seen the watch."
"Ruth mentioned it once."
"Then forget she did."
He walked toward the door.
Evelyn's voice stopped him.
"Dominic."
He slowly turned.
She rarely used his first name.
"Seven years is a long time to punish yourself for surviving."
His expression closed.
"You don't know what happened."
"No."
"Then don't tell me how to live with it."
He left.
The next morning, Evelyn found a fresh bouquet of rosemary on the kitchen counter.
No note.
No explanation.
She smiled anyway.
Three days later, Dominic's closest captains gathered in the dining room.
Samuel Rourke.
Marcus Bell.
Victor Hale.
Victor had known Dominic for twenty-five years.
He'd stood beside him when the organization was little more than a handful of crews running illegal gambling operations through western North Carolina.
Now he supervised businesses worth hundreds of millions.
He was also the only captain who still spoke Claire's name.
Occasionally.
That afternoon, Victor noticed Dominic eating.
Actually eating.
He looked toward the plate.
"What is that?"
"Chicken."
"I can see that."
"Then why'd you ask?"
Samuel grinned.
Victor leaned back.
"Three months ago you lived on coffee."
Dominic put down his fork.
"Do we have business to discuss?"
"We do."
Victor slid a folder across the table.
"Atlanta wants a new route."
"No."
"They're offering thirty percent."
"No."
"Dominic—"
"I said no."
Victor's jaw moved.
Samuel watched him carefully.
Dominic opened the next report.
From the kitchen came a crash.
Then Evelyn shouted.
"Nobody panic!"
All three men looked toward the door.
Another crash.
Evelyn yelled, "That one sounded worse than it was!"
Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose.
Marcus muttered, "How is she still employed?"
Dominic answered without looking up.
"Nobody else can make the soup."
Samuel smiled.
Victor didn't.
He studied Dominic instead.
Then he said, "Claire used to make soup."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Dominic slowly lifted his eyes.
Victor raised both hands.
"Just saying."
"Don't."
Victor nodded.
"Understood."
But the damage was done.
That night Dominic unlocked Claire's room for the first time in six years.
Dust covered the furniture.
Her books remained beside the bed.
A shawl hung across the chair.
Dominic walked to the dresser.
A photograph of them at twenty-eight stood beside a dried sprig of rosemary.
Claire was laughing at the camera.
Dominic wasn't looking at the camera.
He was looking at her.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Then something caught his attention.
The bottom drawer wasn't completely closed.
Dominic frowned.
He opened it.
Inside were old receipts, letters, photographs.
And a small envelope he had never seen before.
On the front, in Claire's handwriting, were four words.
May you like
If something happens, look.
Dominic stopped breathing.
