Chapter 2 - The Girl Who Disappeared
Gabriel’s armored SUV moved through downtown Boston while Camille sat opposite him with her arms folded.
Marco occupied the front passenger seat.
Camille stared at Gabriel.
“Start talking.”
Gabriel remained silent.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That intimidating silence thing.”
Marco glanced backward.
Gabriel said, “Marco.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
Camille almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she touched her pendant.
“My father died in a car accident.”
“No,” Gabriel said.
The single word erased her humor.
“My grandmother showed me the newspaper.”
“The accident happened after his death.”
Camille stared at him.
“You’re saying my entire childhood was a lie?”
“I’m saying Eleanor protected you.”
“From whom?”
“That’s what we never discovered.”
Gabriel looked out the window.
“Thomas Carter worked as a security systems engineer. He designed access networks for banks, private estates, hotels—and people my father did business with.”
“Your father was mafia.”
Gabriel met her gaze.
“Yes.”
“And you are?”
“Yes.”
Camille blinked.
“That was surprisingly straightforward.”
“You already knew.”
“I suspected.”
“Why?”
“You have six men following us.”
“Eight.”
She stared.
“Of course.”
Gabriel continued.
“Thomas discovered someone was using his systems to track families, finances, schedules. He came to my father for help.”
“And you?”
“I was seventeen. I wasn’t supposed to know anything.”
“But you did.”
“I followed my father.”
Gabriel’s voice lowered.
“I found you hiding under a staircase.”
A fragment moved through Camille’s memory.
Rain.
A boy’s hand.
Silver flashing beneath dim light.
She pressed fingers to her temple.
“You told me not to cry.”
Gabriel went still.
Camille looked at him.
“You were wearing a gray hoodie.”
“Yes.”
“You had blood on your sleeve.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“Not mine.”
She closed her eyes.
More fragments.
A frightened twelve-year-old girl breaking a pendant apart.
Giving half to a teenage boy.
“If I lose you, you have to find me.”
Camille opened her eyes.
“You promised.”
“Yes.”
“Did you look?”
“For fifteen years.”
Silence filled the vehicle.
Camille stared at him.
“Why didn’t you find me?”
“Eleanor changed your surname temporarily, moved between three states, and erased almost every digital trail.”
“She was protecting me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she let me become Camille Carter again?”
Gabriel answered immediately.
“Because she thought the danger was gone.”
Marco’s phone buzzed.
He looked down.
“Boss.”
Gabriel saw his expression.
“What?”
“We traced tonight’s credentials.”
Camille leaned forward.
“And?”
Marco hesitated.
“They originated from Moretti property.”
Gabriel’s eyes hardened.
“Which property?”
“Your mother’s house.”
Twenty minutes later, they entered Teresa Moretti’s mansion.
Gabriel’s mother was waiting in the foyer.
Sixty-three, elegant, silver-blond hair, black dress, pearls.
She looked shaken.
“Gabriel.”
He approached.
“What happened?”
“Someone broke in.”
Camille glanced toward the front door.
A locksmith was kneeling beside the lock.
A plus-size woman in a burgundy work shirt, black gloves and tool belt examined the mechanism.
She looked up.
“No one broke in.”
Everyone turned.
Teresa frowned.
“What?”
The locksmith stood.
“The lock wasn’t forced.”
Gabriel approached.
“Explain.”
She pointed toward the mechanism.
“No scratches around the cylinder. No deformation. No damaged pins.”
Marco asked, “So?”
“So whoever entered had a key.”
Teresa went pale.
Gabriel noticed.
“Mother?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
The locksmith packed her tools.
“Your lock is expensive. Someone opened it exactly the way it was designed to be opened.”
Camille studied Teresa.
“Who has keys?”
Teresa answered too quickly.
“Only Gabriel and me.”
Gabriel’s expression changed.
“That’s not true.”
Teresa looked at him.
Gabriel stepped closer.
“Father had one.”
Teresa whispered, “Your father is dead.”
“So is Camille’s father, apparently, and his credentials were used tonight.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Camille noticed something on a side table.
A photograph.
She walked toward it.
Three men stood together outside a Boston restaurant fifteen years earlier.
One was Gabriel’s father.
One was Thomas Carter.
The third man had been scratched out with black ink.
Camille picked it up.
“Who is this?”
Teresa looked at the photograph.
Fear appeared in her eyes.
Gabriel saw it.
“Mother.”
Teresa sat down.
“His name was Daniel Voss.”
Marco stiffened.
Camille asked, “Who?”
Gabriel answered.
“My father’s security adviser.”
Teresa whispered, “And Thomas Carter’s business partner.”
Camille turned.
“What happened to him?”
Teresa looked directly at her.
“He disappeared the same night your father died.”
A phone began ringing.
Not Gabriel’s.
Not Marco’s.
Everyone looked around.
The sound came from inside the wall beside the staircase.
Marco drew closer.
The locksmith frowned.
“That wall was opened recently.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“You’re sure?”
“Fresh plaster.”
Marco removed a decorative panel.
Behind it sat a small black phone.
Still ringing.
Gabriel answered on speaker.
A distorted voice filled the foyer.
“Hello, Camille.”
Her face went white.
Gabriel moved beside her.
May you like
The voice continued.
“You finally came home.”
