Chapter 6
Someone Had Followed Her Home
Noah lived six blocks away.
Chloe drove there with Officer Ruiz behind her.
Every red light felt like an insult.
She called him repeatedly.
No answer.
At the fifth light, she nearly ran it.
Ruiz flashed her lights once.
Chloe forced herself to stop.
When they reached Noah’s building, the front door stood open.
That was wrong.
The old brick walk-up had a heavy hydraulic door that always slammed shut hard enough to shake the mailboxes.
Tonight, it hung open three inches.
Chloe ran upstairs.
“Noah!”
His apartment door was unlocked.
She pushed inside.
The living room lamp was on.
A bowl of cereal sat on the coffee table.
The television showed a basketball game with the sound off.
Noah was not there.
Chloe’s knees almost gave out.
Then a hand touched her shoulder.
She spun.
Noah stood behind her.
Alive.
Angry.
Confused.
He signed fast.
What are police doing here?
Chloe grabbed him and hugged him so hard he stumbled.
He laughed silently and pushed her away.
Okay. Weird.
“Someone was outside.”
His smile disappeared.
Ruiz entered.
Noah signed.
Man. Black coat. Asked about Chloe.
“What exactly?” Ruiz asked.
Chloe interpreted.
Asked where she works. Asked when she gets home.
“Did he say why?”
Noah shook his head.
Then pointed toward the kitchen.
On the counter sat a white envelope.
No stamp.
No address.
Just Chloe’s name.
Ruiz put on gloves.
Inside was a photograph.
Chloe at age seventeen.
Noah at twelve.
Their mother between them.
It had been taken at a county fair in Indiana.
A photo that should not have existed anywhere but in an old box in Chloe’s closet.
On the back, someone had written:
YOU HAVE FAMILY TOO.
Chloe felt fury replace fear.
“Mercer.”
“Maybe,” Ruiz said.
“Who else?”
“Someone with access.”
“To my apartment?”
“To your life.”
Noah watched their faces.
Chloe translated.
His expression changed.
Then he signed:
Mom’s storage unit.
Chloe frowned.
“What?”
Photo was in storage.
Not your closet.
He was right.
After their mother died, most of her boxes had been moved to a storage facility in Cicero.
Chloe had not been there in three years.
Ruiz asked for the facility name.
Noah gave it.
Then he signed something else.
One box missing last month.
Chloe stared.
“You didn’t tell me.”
Thought you took it.
“What box?”
Noah swallowed.
Mom’s work.
Their mother, Kathleen Bennett, had been a nurse.
For thirty-two years.
Most recently at a private elder-care clinic.
Chloe’s stomach dropped.
“What clinic?”
Noah looked at her as if the answer should have been obvious.
Ward House Medical.
Chloe sat down.
She had heard the name before.
Not tonight.
Years ago.
Their mother had complained about it.
Late-night calls.
Patients being overmedicated.
Family members kept away.
Then Kathleen died in a single-car accident on Interstate 90 during a winter storm.
At the time, everyone called it tragic.
Random.
Final.
Now Chloe could barely breathe.
Ruiz noticed.
“Your mother worked for a Ward facility?”
Chloe nodded.
“She quit six weeks before she died.”
“Why?”
Chloe searched her memory.
“She said something wasn’t right.”
Noah signed.
She kept records.
“What records?”
He pointed toward the envelope.
Missing box.
Chloe looked at Ruiz.
The officer’s face had gone very still.
“Daniel Mercer worked for Ward Development,” Chloe said.
Ruiz nodded slowly.
“And according to Evelyn, money was leaving through companies connected to medicine.”
Chloe felt the room tilt.
This was no longer a stranger’s emergency.
Somewhere, years before Chloe ever carried broth into that dining room, her mother had touched the same secret.
Ruiz’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Chloe.
“They found Anna.”
Chloe stood.
“Where?”
“Not far.”
“Is she alive?”
Ruiz hesitated.
“She’s alive.”
May you like
Chloe exhaled.
“But she’s not conscious.”
