Chapter 2 - THE BLACKOUT
Emergency lights glowed beneath the kitchen cabinets.
Ryan raised the pistol toward the front door.
I remained inside the bathtub, holding the phone against my chest.
Vincent spoke softly through the line.
“The bathroom window opens onto a service ledge.”
“It’s twenty floors up.”
“You are not going outside. Unlock it.”
I used the edge of a metal soap tray to pry at the old latch. The window opened two inches before catching.
Ryan called toward the entrance.
“You break that door, she dies.”
Vincent answered from the hall.
“If you touch her again, you lose the only thing keeping you alive.”
Ryan laughed, but the sound cracked.
“What thing?”
“The ledger.”
Ryan stopped.
I did not know what ledger meant.
He looked toward the bathroom as though he suddenly suspected I had hidden something far more valuable than a phone call.
“You gave it to her?”
Vincent did not answer.
The front lock clicked.
Ryan fired once.
The shot tore through the door.
I ducked beneath the edge of the bathtub.
Glass broke in the hallway. Someone shouted. Heavy steps hit the floor outside.
Then the front door opened.
Not kicked.
Unlocked.
Ryan spun toward it.
A tall man entered wearing a dark coat and black gloves. Two others followed him. None carried visible police badges.
The man’s hair was silver at the temples. His face was calm enough to make Ryan’s gun look childish.
Vincent.
Ryan aimed at his chest.
Vincent looked at the weapon.
“You always did choose noise when you ran out of lies.”
Ryan’s hand trembled.
“You disappeared.”
“You sold the wrong building.”
The sentence meant nothing to me.
It meant everything to Ryan.
He stepped backward until his shoulder touched the bathroom door.
Vincent lifted one hand.
The two men behind him stopped.
“I came for Lena.”
“She’s my wife.”
“She is not your property.”
Ryan grabbed the broken door and pulled it open far enough to reach me. He caught the front of my dress and dragged me halfway from the bathtub.
Pain exploded through my arm.
Vincent’s face changed for the first time.
Only slightly.
But every person in the apartment felt it.
Ryan placed the gun beneath my jaw.
“Now you leave.”
Vincent looked into my eyes.
“Lena, can you stand?”
Ryan pressed the barrel harder.
“She can’t do anything.”
I used my right hand to seize the whiskey bottle resting on the bathroom counter.
Then I smashed it against Ryan’s knee.
He shouted and released me.
Vincent crossed the distance before the broken glass reached the floor.
He struck Ryan’s wrist once.
The gun fell.
One of the other men pulled me away while Vincent forced Ryan against the wall.
No wild fight.
No shouting.
Only fast, exact movement.
Ryan looked more humiliated than injured.
“You came for a waitress?”
Vincent leaned closer.
“No. I came for the witness you failed to kill.”
Everyone stopped.
I stared at him.
“What witness?”
Vincent turned toward me.
“Your name was not always Lena Carter.”
Ryan shouted, “Don’t tell her.”
Vincent picked up the black business card from the floor.
“This number belonged to your father.”
My father died when I was six.
At least, that was what my mother told me.
Vincent continued.
“He left evidence tied to Ryan’s family. They have been looking for it ever since.”
“I don’t have anything.”
Ryan laughed through the pain.
“She doesn’t remember.”
Vincent’s eyes stayed on me.
“Remember what?”
May you like
Ryan answered first.
“The night her father burned.”
