Chapter 6 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be DeadThe next morning, I woke to thirty-seven missed calls.
None were from Nico.
Most came from numbers I didn't recognize.
Two were from reporters.
One was from a woman claiming to be a producer for a popular true-crime podcast.
And three were from my mother.
I stared at the screen, then turned my phone facedown.
Maya stood beside the kitchen counter wearing pink scrubs.
"Please tell me you're not going to answer those."
"I'm considering throwing the whole phone into the Charles River."
"Tempting. But I think your lawyer might prefer you keep the evidence."
She poured coffee into my favorite chipped mug.
"Did you sleep?"
"Define sleep."
"Eyes closed. Brain temporarily stops torturing you."
"Then no."
She slid the mug toward me.
I wrapped both hands around it.
"Apparently the dead are walking around Boston, my ex-boyfriend is involved in a financial conspiracy, and I'm supposed to go on a date tonight."
Maya stared.
"Well, at least you have plans."
I laughed so hard that coffee nearly came out of my nose.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then I remembered Peter Harlan.
A man linked to the fire that killed Nico's fiancée and brother.
A man whose death had supposedly been established years earlier.
A man who had appeared outside Winter & Rye carrying a metal document case.
"What if all this is bigger than Nico realizes?" I whispered.
Maya sat opposite me.
"Then let the investigators handle it."
"But what if something happens to him?"
She studied me.
"Oh."
"What?"
"You're worried about him."
"Of course I'm worried. People are making threats."
"No, Clara."
Her voice softened.
"You're worried about him the way you used to worry about Julian."
I flinched.
"That isn't fair."
"I know. I'm not saying Nico's like Julian."
She leaned forward.
"I'm saying you have a habit of trying to save people before you've figured out whether they're good for you."
I stared at her.
She was right.
And I hated that she was right.
"I don't want to do that again."
"Then don't."
She squeezed my hand.
"Go on your date because you want to. Not because he's lonely. Not because he's dangerous. Not because you think loving him might heal whatever happened eleven years ago."
I looked down at my coffee.
"What if I already like him?"
Maya smiled.
"Then make sure you like yourself just as much."
At eleven, Evelyn called with an update on Peter Harlan.
His reported death wasn't quite what it seemed.
Eight years earlier, a private investigator hired by Nico had traced Harlan to a boating accident off the coast of South Carolina.
A vessel had been found abandoned.
A missing-person investigation followed.
The investigator's final report had listed Harlan as presumed deceased after the trail went cold.
But there had been no recovered body.
No confirmed identification.
And no reliable death certificate.
"He wasn't legally established as dead," Evelyn explained. "Someone made an assumption that now appears to have been wrong."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Why would he disappear?"
"That's one of the questions investigators need to answer."
"And Nico's investigator never found him?"
"Not after the boating incident."
I looked at the photograph Gabriel had sent me.
It showed a tall man in a brown coat standing beside Julian near the bakery's loading entrance.
His hair was gray now.
His face heavier.
But a comparison with an old image from the warehouse case showed the same distinctive scar near his ear.
Gabriel said the images had been passed to the relevant investigators.
I stared at the photograph.
"What does he want with Winter & Rye?"
Evelyn hesitated.
"Clara, we're seeing indications that the bakery may have been used as one of several small businesses through which false invoices were processed. That doesn't mean the business itself knowingly participated."
"Money laundering?"
"Potentially fraud and money laundering. We need bank records, contracts, and evidence of who controlled the transactions."
I thought about the strange invoices.
The missing ingredient deliveries.
Brenda pressuring employees to accept inventory discrepancies.
Julian staying after closing with the accounting computer.
It had all looked like ordinary workplace corruption.
But now I wondered whether the bakery had been selected because it was located inside a building owned by Vale Harbor Holdings.
"Was this about hurting Nico?"
"We don't know."
"Then why did they send pictures of me getting into his car?"
"That's an important question."
I closed my eyes.
"Please tell me somebody is going to figure this out."
"We're working on what we can, Clara. The police and financial investigators will have to establish the criminal facts."
After we hung up, I sat beside the window.
For the first time, I wished I hadn't said anything about the inventory.
Then I remembered Julian tearing my notebook.
The look on Brenda's face.
The way they'd expected me to apologize and disappear.
No.
That was exactly why I had to keep telling the truth.
At six-thirty that evening, I stood in front of Maya's mirror wearing a dark green wrap dress.
It was the same dress I'd worn to Rosa's Christmas dinner.
I had considered buying something new.
Something expensive.
Something that might make me look like the kind of woman who belonged beside Nico Vale.
But then I stopped myself.
If he didn't like the woman in this dress, wearing a more expensive one wouldn't change anything.
Maya stood behind me.
"You look gorgeous."
"You're biased."
"Obviously. I'm your best friend."
I smiled.
Then my expression faded.
"What if people stare?"
"Let them."
"What if they photograph us?"
"They probably will."
"What if somebody says something about my body?"
Maya came closer.
"Then they're telling you who they are, not who you are."
I swallowed.
She hugged me from behind.
"And Clara?"
"Yeah?"
"If that man makes you feel small, you come home."
I nodded.
"Promise."
Nico chose a small Italian restaurant in the North End.
Not a private members' club.
Not an exclusive rooftop restaurant.
A warm, family-owned place with exposed brick, candles, and an elderly owner who greeted Nico by his first name.
The owner, Mr. Bellini, hugged me after Nico introduced us.
"Any woman who makes this man leave the office before midnight is welcome here."
Nico looked mildly offended.
"I do leave before midnight."
"Yes. Sometimes at eleven fifty-eight."
I laughed.
Our table was near a window overlooking Hanover Street.
Public enough to feel comfortable.
Quiet enough to talk.
Nico pulled out my chair.
Then sat opposite me.
For several seconds, we looked at each other.
Finally, I said, "This is weird."
He smiled.
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"I haven't decided."
"Fair."
I picked up the menu.
Then put it down.
"Can we make a rule?"
"Of course."
"No bakery investigation for the first thirty minutes."
His smile widened.
"An excellent rule."
"And no organized-crime discussions."
"That one may be more difficult."
I raised an eyebrow.
He laughed.
"All right. Thirty minutes."
I looked at him.
"So what does Nico Vale do when he's not terrifying the city?"
"Apparently I eat Italian food with a very suspicious pastry chef."
I smiled.
"Seriously."
He thought for a moment.
"I read. I restore old furniture when I have time. I play chess badly."
"Badly?"
"Marco was better. Mia is much better."
"Anything else?"
"I swim early in the morning. I like old jazz records. And I have an unreasonable attachment to a dog that Rosa insists belongs to her."
"The golden retriever?"
"Franklin."
I laughed.
"You named him Franklin?"
"After Benjamin Franklin."
"Of course you did."
Nico's eyes warmed.
"What about you?"
I hesitated.
"Baking."
"That doesn't count. It's your profession."
"It's also my favorite thing."
"What else?"
I considered.
I liked reading mysteries.
I loved walking through bookstores when it rained.
I collected old Christmas ornaments from thrift shops.
I wanted to see the Pacific Ocean because I'd never traveled farther west than Ohio.
I had once dreamed of taking pastry classes in Paris.
And secretly, I loved ballroom dancing.
Nico listened as though every detail mattered.
When I admitted the dancing, his eyebrows rose.
"Ballroom dancing?"
I blushed.
"Don't laugh."
"I'm not laughing."
"You look amused."
"I'm trying to imagine why you've kept that a secret."
"Because Julian said dancing wasn't for women who looked like me."
The warmth disappeared from Nico's face.
I immediately regretted mentioning him.
"Sorry."
"Clara."
I looked up.
"You don't have to apologize for telling me something that hurt you."
My throat tightened.
He continued.
"For what it's worth, Julian Cross sounds like a man who has confused cruelty with intelligence."
I smiled faintly.
"That's an elegant way to describe an idiot."
"I was raised by Rosa."
"Clearly."
We ordered pasta.
Shared stories.
Argued about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
And laughed until I forgot to be nervous.
Then Nico asked me a question.
"What would you do if you knew nobody could make you feel ashamed?"
I stared at him.
"That's a big question for dinner."
"I know."
I considered.
"I'd open a bakery."
His eyes softened.
"A big one?"
"No."
I shook my head.
"A little one. With windows people can look through. Good coffee. Fresh bread. A kitchen where nobody gets yelled at for making mistakes."
I smiled.
"And a community table."
"Why a community table?"
I looked down.
"Because I know what it feels like to walk into a room and not know where you're supposed to sit."
Nico said nothing.
Then he reached across the table.
Palm up.
An invitation.
I looked at his hand.
And placed mine in it.
His fingers closed gently around mine.
No pressure.
No performance.
Just warmth.
For one breathless moment, I forgot there was anyone else in the restaurant.
Then my phone vibrated.
I almost ignored it.
But the number belonged to Evelyn.
I answered.
Her voice was urgent.
"Clara, I'm sorry to interrupt your evening. Have you given any copies of your inventory photographs to anyone besides me and Lillian's accountant?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"Someone just sent a bundle of documents to a federal financial-crimes investigator."
My stomach tightened.
"About what?"
"North Quay Provisioning. Several Vale Harbor contracts. And payments allegedly authorized by Nico."
I looked across the table.
Nico had gone very still.
Evelyn continued.
"Clara, your name appears in the packet as the original source of the information."
I stopped breathing.
"That's impossible."
"I believe you. But the packet claims you provided the records voluntarily."
I looked at Nico.
"Someone's framing me again."
He took the phone after I offered it to him and asked Evelyn to repeat exactly what she knew.
He listened without interrupting.
Then he said, "Send the documents to Andrew. We'll cooperate with any lawful inquiry."
He handed the phone back.
I stared at him.
"You're not angry?"
"At you?"
I nodded.
"No."
"But somebody is making it look like I betrayed you."
His expression softened.
"Clara, you didn't."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because you're sitting here looking as though someone just knocked the air out of you."
I swallowed.
He leaned forward.
"And because you've never once asked me to trust you without evidence. You've shown me who you are."
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I whispered, "Thank you."
We left the restaurant shortly before ten.
The streets were quiet.
Fresh snow glittered beneath the lamps.
Nico walked beside me, his coat brushing my shoulder.
At the corner, I stopped.
"Can I ask you something difficult?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever think Anna would be safer if she stayed away from you?"
His face changed.
For a moment, I regretted asking.
Then he said, "Every day."
I swallowed.
"Then why did you let her stay?"
"Because she wasn't a possession I could move somewhere for safekeeping."
He looked toward the street.
"She made her own choices. And I made terrible ones."
"Did you love her?"
"Yes."
I waited.
Then asked the question I'd been avoiding.
"Do you think you can love someone again?"
He looked at me.
The city seemed to go quiet around us.
"I didn't think so."
My heart began pounding.
"And now?"
He reached for my hand.
"Now I'm beginning to question a lot of things I thought I knew."
I stared at him.
He moved closer.
Slowly enough that I could have stepped away.
"May I kiss you, Clara?"
No man had ever asked me that question with such seriousness.
I nodded.
"Yes."
His hand touched my cheek.
Warm.
Careful.
Then his lips met mine.
It wasn't a dramatic kiss.
There were no fireworks.
No music swelling in the background.
Just a quiet street.
Falling snow.
And a man whose hands had once frightened an entire city holding me as though he was afraid of hurting something precious.
When he pulled back, I was smiling.
So was he.
Then Gabriel approached from the SUV.
The look on his face destroyed the moment.
"Nico."
Nico turned.
"What?"
Gabriel held out his phone.
"Andrew received the financial packet."
"And?"
"The documents include a forged authorization bearing your signature."
Nico's expression hardened.
Gabriel continued.
"The signature is attached to a transfer instruction for a Vale Harbor account."
My heart sank.
"How much?" Nico asked.
"Eight hundred and forty thousand dollars."
I stared at him.
The alleged six-thousand-dollar bakery theft suddenly seemed very small.
Nico looked at me.
And for the first time since we'd met, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
May you like
Not fear for himself.
Fear that someone had just made me part of a war I didn't understand.
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