Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Nobody spoke for almost ten seconds after Leo ended the call.
Then Gabriel stood.
“Where?”
“An abandoned storage building near the river.”
“When?”
“Maybe twenty minutes ago. Patrol found the body after a report of a suspicious vehicle.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“You stay here.”
I folded my arms.
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
“I know Rosa.”
“That’s exactly why you stay.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I need answers.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You think this is a game?”
“No.”
“Then stop behaving like it.”
I stepped closer.
“You walked into my diner half dead. You ate food I cooked. You said Rosa’s name. Then you told me she taught the same recipe to your mother. Now she’s dead.”
I pointed toward the door.
“I’m coming.”
Leo looked from me to Gabriel.
To my surprise, he almost smiled.
Gabriel did not.
“Get in the SUV.”
The storage building stood near the river, surrounded by warehouses that had been abandoned for years.
Police lights flashed against the wet pavement.
Gabriel’s men blocked the entrance before he got out.
I followed.
The smell hit me first.
Wet concrete.
Oil.
Rust.
And something metallic.
Blood.
Rosa lay beneath a torn plastic sheet.
She was smaller than I remembered.
Older.
Her gray hair was damp.
Her face was bruised.
A wound marked the side of her head.
I stopped breathing.
“That’s her.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
“That’s Rosa.”
He crouched beside the body.
Unlike the stories people told about him, Gabriel did not look cold.
He looked shattered.
He reached toward Rosa’s coat.
His fingers stopped inches away.
Then he withdrew his hand.
“Don’t touch anything.”
A detective approached.
Gabriel stared at him.
“You called me?”
The detective nodded uneasily.
“We found her about twenty minutes ago. Wallet was missing. No phone. No identification.”
“Cause of death?”
“Blunt force trauma.”
Gabriel’s eyes shifted.
“Anything else?”
The detective hesitated.
“We found a piece of paper in her hand.”
He handed it over.
Gabriel opened it.
His expression changed.
I stepped closer.
“What does it say?”
He handed it to me.
Three words.
LITTLE BIRD KNOWS.
My blood ran cold.
That nickname belonged to Rosa.
Nobody outside my childhood knew it.
Nobody except my mother.
And now Gabriel.
“How would whoever killed her know?”
Gabriel stared at me.
“I don’t know.”
That was the first lie he told me.
I could see it.
Not because I knew him.
Because I was studying to be a nurse, and people often revealed fear through tiny physical changes before they admitted what they were feeling.
Gabriel’s breathing changed.
His pupils tightened.
He knew more than he was saying.
We left the building at 3:07 a.m.
Inside the SUV, rain slid across the windows.
Gabriel sat opposite me.
Leo drove.
Nobody spoke.
Finally I asked, “Who was Rosa to your family?”
Gabriel looked out the window.
“She worked for my mother.”
“As a housekeeper?”
“Nanny.”
“For you?”
“No.”
“My mother.”
He paused.
“She was my mother’s closest friend.”
“Then why did she disappear?”
Gabriel’s expression darkened.
“Because she knew something.”
“What?”
“My father was murdered.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
The same year Rosa disappeared.
“Who killed him?”
“We never found out.”
“Did Rosa know?”
“I believe she did.”
“Believe?”
“She vanished before she could tell us.”
I swallowed.
“What happened to your mother?”
Gabriel looked down.
“She died three months after my father.”
My chest tightened.
“How?”
“Heart failure.”
Something about his answer made me suspicious.
But I didn’t push.
Not yet.
We arrived at a narrow brick townhouse in Beacon Hill.
I expected a mansion.
Instead it was a fortress disguised as a home.
Men stood outside.
Security cameras covered every corner.
Gabriel opened the door.
“Come in.”
I stepped inside.
The house was beautiful.
Expensive.
Cold.
No family photographs.
No flowers.
No signs that anyone actually lived there.
Gabriel led me to the kitchen.
I stopped.
There was something on the counter.
An old wooden spoon.
My heart skipped.
I walked toward it.
The wood was scratched and worn.
Rosa’s spoon.
Or one exactly like it.
Gabriel noticed my reaction.
“You’ve seen that before?”
“Yes.”
“My mother kept it.”
I touched the handle.
A tiny carved bird decorated the wood.
Little bird.
I pulled my hand away.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Gabriel stared at me.
“I agree.”
He walked upstairs.
I remained in the kitchen.
Leo stayed near the doorway.
After a minute, he said, “You should understand something.”
“What?”
“Gabriel hasn’t eaten in eight days.”
“I know.”
“He refused everything.”
“I know.”
“He trusted you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“He doesn’t trust me.”
Leo shook his head.
“Trusting you enough to eat is more than he has given anyone since Paulie was poisoned.”
I looked toward the staircase.
“What happened to Paulie?”
Leo’s face hardened.
“Paulie was family.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“No.”
“Do you know who poisoned him?”
“We think so.”
“Who?”
Leo hesitated.
Then Gabriel’s voice came from upstairs.
“Leo.”
The enforcer straightened.
“Yes.”
“Bring her.”
We entered a study.
Gabriel stood beside an old desk.
On it were photographs.
I looked closer.
A younger Gabriel.
Maybe seventeen.
His mother Evelyn.
His father Richard.
And Rosa.
My breath caught.
In one picture, Rosa stood beside Evelyn.
A little boy stood in front of them.
Gabriel.
But there was another child.
A little girl.
I pointed.
“Who is she?”
Gabriel stared at the photograph.
“My sister.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“How?”
“House fire.”
“When?”
“The same night my father was murdered.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Something felt wrong.
The girl had dark hair.
A small birthmark near her left eyebrow.
I suddenly remembered something.
A woman.
A photograph.
In my mother’s bedroom.
I had seen it once when I was eleven.
A little girl beside Rosa.
I had thought it was me.
But it wasn’t.
I looked at Gabriel.
“I’ve seen her.”
He went still.
“Where?”
“My mother had a photograph.”
“Of my sister?”
“I think so.”
Gabriel moved toward me.
“What happened to that photograph?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“I was eleven. My mother caught me holding it and took it away.”
“What else?”
“She cried.”
Gabriel stared at me.
“My mother never cried.”
I felt a knot forming in my stomach.
“Maybe Rosa didn’t disappear.”
Gabriel’s voice was barely audible.
“What?”
“Maybe she was hiding.”
He looked at me.
“From whom?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know.”
The room went silent.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
Her voice was strange.
“Norah…”
“What’s wrong?”
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“No.”
She sounded terrified.
“Where are you really?”
I glanced at Gabriel.
“With a friend.”
“Listen carefully.”
My mother whispered.
“If you have seen Gabriel Hayes, you need to leave immediately.”
I froze.
“How do you know his name?”
Silence.
Then my mother said the sentence that changed everything.
“Because I was there the night his father died.”
The call ended.
I slowly lowered my phone.
Gabriel was watching me.
“What did she say?”
I stared at him.
“My mother knows exactly what happened twenty years ago.”
His expression hardened.
“Call her back.”
“I tried.”
“No answer.”
Gabriel walked to the desk.
He opened a locked drawer.
Inside was an old newspaper clipping.
The headline read:
HAYES FAMILY TRAGEDY CLAIMS THREE LIVES.
His father.
His mother.
His sister.
I pointed at the article.
“Three?”
Gabriel nodded.
“My family always believed three people died that night.”
“Your sister’s body was found?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Then how do you know she died?”
Gabriel’s face became hollow.
“We never found her.”
I stared at the photograph.
The little girl.
The birthmark.
And suddenly I remembered something my mother used to say whenever she thought I was asleep.
“Some people survive by becoming someone else.”
I whispered, “Gabriel…”
He looked at me.
“I think your sister might still be alive.”
May you like
The room went completely silent.
Then every alarm in the house began screaming.
