Chapter 1 - She Ran Into His Restaurant Barefoot, and the Man Waiting for His Date Realized Someone Was Hunting HerBy the time I reached my blind date, I had been chased through a collapsing tunnel, lost both shoes, torn the hem off a ninety-dollar dress, and discovered that a little gold locket was apparently worth killing me over.
What I did not know was that the man waiting for me at Table Twelve was the most feared crime boss in Grayhaven.
I knew only that his name was Vincent Moretti, that my best friend Jenna had described him as a thirty-eight-year-old wine distributor with old-fashioned manners, and that he was staring at me with dark, unreadable eyes as I limped barefoot across the polished floor of the Riverside Café.
Mud streaked my calves.
My dark hair was plastered to my cheeks by rain.
One of my ruined heels dangled from my left hand because, somewhere between the drainage tunnel and the river embankment, I had decided carrying both of them was ridiculous.
Vincent rose slowly.
He wore a charcoal suit without a tie, the collar of his white shirt open just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo near his collarbone.
He was taller than Jenna had warned me, broad through the shoulders, composed in a way that made every other person in the crowded café seem slightly frantic by comparison.
His eyes moved from my muddy dress to my bare feet, then to the terror I knew must have been written all over my face.
He didn't laugh.
He didn't ask what happened.
He simply pulled out my chair.
I dropped into it and whispered, "Pretend you know me."
One of his eyebrows lifted.
"That was the general idea of a blind date."
"Don't look behind me."
The humor vanished from his face.
I placed my shaking hands beneath the table.
"There are two men outside. Maybe three. They've been following me for almost forty minutes."
Vincent did not turn.
That frightened me almost as much as the men outside.
Any normal person would have looked.
Instead, he reached across the table and covered one of my hands with his.
His palm was warm, steady, and unexpectedly gentle.
"There you are," he said in a voice loud enough for anyone watching through the windows to hear. "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind."
I stared at him.
His thumb pressed once against my knuckles.
Play along.
"I'm sorry I'm late."
"You look like you had trouble parking."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
It sounded half hysterical.
Vincent's mouth curved slightly.
Through the rain-streaked window behind him, reflected faintly in a framed mirror on the café wall, I saw one of the men who had chased me from the Winthrop estate.
Black coat.
Broad shoulders.
Phone raised near his face.
Watching.
Vincent saw him in the reflection too.
His expression did not change.
A server approached us, took one look at my condition, and hesitated.
Vincent said, "Hot soup. Whatever's freshest. Tea. And bring a clean towel, please."
"I don't need food."
"You haven't stopped shaking since you sat down."
"I need to leave."
"No."
The word was quiet.
Not cruel.
But absolute.
I pulled my hand away.
"You don't understand."
"I understand that three men followed a barefoot woman through a rainstorm and are now waiting for her outside."
He leaned closer.
"What I don't understand is why."
My fingers automatically moved toward the neckline of my dress.
The locket was still there, tucked inside my bra where I had hidden it after escaping the estate.
Vincent noticed the movement.
Of course he did.
This man seemed to notice everything.
"My name really is Evelyn Carter," I whispered.
"I'm an art conservator. I was working late at the old Winthrop property on Ridge Avenue. We found a section of damaged plaster behind a mural last week, and tonight I opened it."
His gaze sharpened.
"There was something inside?"
"A gold locket."
"Is that what they're after?"
"I think so."
"You think?"
"They were polite until they saw it."
That earned the faintest hint of amusement.
Then the soup arrived.
I stared at it.
Vincent slid the bowl toward me.
"Eat."
I almost told him he was bossy.
Instead, I took one spoonful.
The broth was warm and salty, and that tiny taste of normal life almost broke me.
I looked down so Vincent wouldn't see my eyes fill.
Unfortunately, Vincent Moretti seemed to specialize in seeing what people tried to hide.
"You don't have to be embarrassed because you're scared."
"I'm not embarrassed."
"Good."
"I'm embarrassed because I look like I lost a wrestling match with a swamp."
He looked at the mud coating my blue dress.
"I've had worse dates."
I laughed again.
For five seconds, sitting across from a stranger while dangerous men waited outside, I felt almost safe.
Then the café door opened.
A man stepped inside wearing a navy jacket with the logo of Crown Shield Security, the private firm contracted to protect the Winthrop restoration site.
Mason Pike.
I'd seen him twice before.
He managed security for several wealthy properties across Grayhaven.
Tonight he had been the man shouting orders while I ran through the tunnels.
He approached our table smiling.
"Ms. Carter."
My spine went rigid.
"Mason."
Vincent calmly drank his coffee.
Mason's smile widened.
"You left the site rather suddenly."
"There were men chasing me."
"A misunderstanding."
"One of them threatened to throw me in the river."
"Tempers were high."
Vincent finally looked up.
"That's an interesting definition of misunderstanding."
Mason's eyes shifted toward him.
"And you are?"
"Her date."
Mason laughed softly.
"You should go home, friend. This doesn't concern you."
Something changed in Vincent's face.
It was subtle.
A slight lowering of his chin.
A coldness entering his eyes.
"She arrived at my table terrified and barefoot."
He set his coffee cup down.
"That made it concern me."
Mason's smile disappeared.
Then his gaze dropped toward Vincent's hand.
Recognition flashed through his face.
"Oh."
The single syllable was barely audible.
Vincent leaned back.
"Now we understand each other."
My stomach tightened.
"What does that mean?"
Neither man answered.
Mason looked at me.
"Ms. Carter, give me what you found."
"No."
"It doesn't belong to you."
"Then tell me who it belongs to."
Mason's expression hardened.
"The locket belongs to a family that would rather see you dead than let you keep it."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"What family?"
Mason looked directly at him.
"The Morettis."
Everything inside me went still.
Vincent didn't move.
Not one muscle.
Mason smiled.
"Now you understand."
Vincent stood.
The café fell strangely silent around us.
"Get out," he said.
Mason chuckled.
"You've become sentimental."
"No."
Vincent's voice remained quiet.
"I've become very patient."
Mason reached into his jacket.
Three men appeared near the café entrance.
Vincent's security team moved immediately.
For the first time, I understood that he hadn't been just a quiet businessman sitting alone at Table Twelve.
The men in the room weren't following his lead because he was a customer.
They were following orders.
His orders.
And all three looked at him with absolute fear.
Vincent leaned toward me.
"Stay here."
Then he walked away.
The next thirty seconds felt unreal.
No shouting.
No gunfire.
Just movement.
Fast.
Controlled.
Mason was removed from the café.
His men followed.
The door closed.
Vincent returned.
He sat down as if nothing had happened.
I stared at him.
"You're not a wine distributor."
"No."
"Are you a criminal?"
He looked at me.
"Yes."
The answer was so direct that I didn't know how to react.
"Then who are you?"
"Vincent Moretti."
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
I looked toward the door.
"What did Mason mean about your family?"
Vincent didn't respond immediately.
Then he asked:
"How much did you see tonight at the Winthrop estate?"
"Enough to know someone lied about the restoration plans."
"What did you find?"
"A hidden compartment."
"And?"
"A photograph."
He leaned closer.
"Of whom?"
I swallowed.
"Your brother."
That was the first time I saw fear in Vincent Moretti.
Not for himself.
For someone else.
"What brother?"
"Tobias Moretti."
His face drained.
"Tobias is dead."
"I know."
I reached into my purse.
The photograph was wet but intact.
I placed it on the table.
Vincent stared at it.
Tobias stood in front of the Winthrop mural.
Beside him was my father.
Daniel Carter.
My dead father.
And behind them was a little girl.
A little girl who looked exactly like me.
Vincent's hand moved toward the photograph.
His fingers stopped before touching it.
"Where did you get this?"
"Behind the mural."
"When?"
"Tonight."
His jaw tightened.
"What else was there?"
"Nothing."
He studied me.
"You're lying."
"I don't lie well."
"You just did."
I swallowed.
"The locket."
He stared.
"Show me."
I took it from my dress.
The gold oval pendant had belonged to my mother.
She had told me never to open it.
I had never understood why.
Vincent looked at it and went completely pale.
"Where did your mother get that?"
"My father gave it to her."
He closed his eyes.
"Your father stole it."
I stared.
"My father?"
"Yes."
"What is inside?"
Vincent looked at me.
"I don't know."
"But you know what it is."
"Yes."
He took a breath.
"It's a key."
"A key to what?"
His eyes met mine.
"My family's most dangerous secret."
Outside, tires screamed against wet pavement.
Vincent stood.
"You're coming with me."
"I don't think so."
"You don't have a choice."
I stared at him.
He immediately corrected himself.
"You do."
Then he looked toward the door.
"But whatever choice you make, make it knowing that the people hunting you have already killed one man tonight."
My stomach dropped.
"Who?"
He looked at the photograph.
"My brother."
I stared at the picture.
Tobias Moretti.
Dead seven years.
Apparently not as dead as everyone believed.
Vincent picked up the photograph.
"Someone wants this locket."
"Why?"
He looked at me.
"Because seven years ago, my brother disappeared."
"And tonight, you found the first evidence that he never left willingly."
He offered his hand.
I hesitated.
Then I took it.
May you like
Outside, the storm intensified.
And somewhere in Grayhaven, someone was preparing for war.
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