Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Should Have Been Dead
Vincent Moretti had faced rival crime families, federal investigations, and men who wanted him buried.
But nothing had prepared him for the possibility that the doctor who'd spent the final months treating his father was actually his missing sister.
We were sitting in the inn's dining room when Marco placed Amelia Carter's photograph on the table.
She was beautiful.
Dark hair fell to her shoulders.
Her gray eyes looked straight into the camera.
She wore a white medical coat and a small, professional smile.
Vincent stared at her.
I watched his hands.
They were trembling.
"Do you know her?" I asked.
He nodded slowly.
"She treated my father for six months."
"Did you meet her?"
"Several times."
His voice sounded distant.
"She was kind to him."
I swallowed.
"What happened?"
Vincent looked away.
"My father had a heart condition. She was part of the specialist team managing his care."
He paused.
"She called me the night he died."
I felt a terrible ache in my chest.
"Did she know who he was?"
"Of course."
"Did she know she might be his daughter?"
Vincent shook his head.
"I don't know."
Marco cleared his throat.
"There's something else."
Vincent looked up.
"What?"
"Dr. Carter resigned from the hospital six weeks after your father's death."
"Where is she now?"
"She works at a small medical clinic outside Philadelphia."
Vincent stood.
"We're going."
I stood too.
He looked at me.
"No."
I folded my arms.
"We already discussed this."
"Daisy, this is not a sightseeing trip."
"I know."
"This could be dangerous."
"I know."
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Because you look exactly like Grandpa when I told him I was going to learn to drive his tractor."
Vincent stared at me.
"Did he let you?"
"Eventually."
"What happened?"
"I drove through the vegetable garden."
Marco made a choking sound.
Vincent closed his eyes.
"Wonderful."
Grandma entered carrying a plate of biscuits.
"Take the girl."
Vincent turned.
"Ruth—"
"She's going anyway. At least this way she'll have someone sensible beside her."
I smiled triumphantly.
Vincent looked at me.
"Are you always like this?"
"Pretty much."
He sighed.
"Pack a bag."
Three hours later, I was sitting in the back of Vincent Moretti's private jet wearing jeans, a pink sweater, and a pair of borrowed sunglasses.
I'd never flown privately before.
I'd barely flown commercially.
The cabin had leather seats, polished wood, and a dining table that probably cost more than my pickup truck.
I looked at the flight attendant.
"Do you have peanuts?"
She blinked.
"Of course, miss."
"Great."
Vincent watched me with amusement.
"You can order an actual meal."
"I don't trust airplanes that offer steak."
"Why?"
"Because cows don't belong at thirty thousand feet."
He laughed.
Not a polite chuckle.
A real laugh.
It surprised both of us.
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're looking at me."
"You laugh differently than I expected."
His expression changed.
"How did you expect me to laugh?"
"I don't know. Evil billionaire laugh, maybe."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Like this?"
He gave an exaggerated, sinister chuckle.
I burst out laughing.
Marco, sitting across the cabin, looked horrified.
"Boss."
Vincent smiled.
"Relax, Marco."
I covered my mouth.
"Please tell me you don't actually laugh like that when you're threatening people."
"Only on special occasions."
For a few minutes, the heaviness of the past two days lifted.
Then I noticed the photograph on the table beside him.
Amelia.
Vincent had been studying it repeatedly.
I lowered my voice.
"Are you scared?"
He looked at me.
"Of what?"
"That she won't believe you."
His expression became serious.
"Yes."
I nodded.
"That makes sense."
He studied me.
"What would you do?"
"If I found out someone I'd loved and lost was alive?"
He nodded.
I thought about Grandpa.
"I'd probably cry. Then I'd hug them so hard they'd complain."
Vincent looked down.
"My father died believing he'd failed her."
I reached across the table and took his hand.
"He didn't know the truth."
"That doesn't make it easier."
"No."
I squeezed his fingers.
"But you can still bring her home."
He looked at our hands.
Then at me.
For one quiet moment, something passed between us.
Something warm.
Something frightening.
Then Marco's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
"Boss."
Vincent released my hand.
"What?"
"We have a problem."
The clinic where Amelia worked had been evacuated.
A fire alarm had gone off an hour earlier.
And Amelia Carter was missing.
Vincent stood.
"Missing how?"
"Her car is still there. Her phone was found in the parking lot."
My stomach dropped.
"Did someone take her?"
Marco hesitated.
"We don't know."
Vincent turned toward the cockpit.
"Tell the pilot we're landing as soon as possible."
By the time we reached Pennsylvania, the sun was setting.
Vincent's security team had already secured the area around the clinic.
Police cars stood near the entrance.
The building itself was undamaged.
The fire alarm had been false.
Inside, a frightened receptionist explained that Amelia had received a phone call shortly before leaving through the rear exit.
"What did she say?" Vincent asked.
The receptionist swallowed.
"She asked whether someone named Daisy Bennett was safe."
My blood ran cold.
Vincent turned toward me.
"What?"
I shook my head.
"I've never met her."
The receptionist continued.
"Dr. Carter looked terrified. She said she had to leave immediately."
"Did she say where?"
"No."
I stepped closer.
"Did she leave anything?"
The woman hesitated.
Then nodded.
"She gave me an envelope."
Vincent's posture changed.
"Where is it?"
The receptionist reached beneath the desk.
She handed him a white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
DAISY BENNETT.
I stared.
"How does she know me?"
Vincent opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Amelia standing beside an older man outside a country house.
The older man had silver hair and a scar across his chin.
Charles Whitcomb.
On the back, Amelia had written a message.
IF THEY FIND OUT WHO I AM, THEY'LL KILL ME.
My stomach turned.
Vincent looked at the receptionist.
"When did she give you this?"
"An hour before she disappeared."
He examined the photograph.
Then another slip of paper fell from the envelope.
It contained a phone number and three words.
TRUST THE GIRL.
Vincent stared at the message.
I whispered, "She knows."
He looked at me.
"She knows what happened to her."
Before he could answer, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I hesitated.
Then answered.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice whispered.
"Daisy?"
My heart stopped.
"Yes?"
"Don't say my name."
I looked at Vincent.
He immediately moved closer.
The woman continued.
"I know what your grandfather did for me."
My breath caught.
"Amelia?"
A sharp inhale.
"Listen carefully. The man you're traveling with cannot be trusted."
I looked at Vincent.
He was watching my face.
"What are you talking about?"
The woman's voice trembled.
"Vincent Moretti's father didn't spend twenty-six years looking for me."
I felt sick.
"What?"
"He knew where I was."
A pause.
Then she whispered something that made my entire body turn cold.
May you like
"He's the reason I disappeared."
The call ended.
