Chapter 2 - The Wedding He Said Wasn’t Safe
By seven the next morning, I had made three decisions.
The first was that I hated sleeping in rich people’s houses.
Everything was too quiet.
The mattress was too soft.
The curtains closed by themselves.
The bathroom had heated floors, which felt immoral considering I had spent the previous winter stuffing towels under the apartment door to keep cold air out.
The second decision was that Ethan Callahan was not going to control my life simply because someone had followed me through an airport.
The third was that I was going to my sister’s wedding.
Ethan disagreed with decisions two and three.
Strongly.
“No.”
He stood at the far end of a dining room table long enough to seat a football team.
I was holding Sophie on my hip while trying to butter a piece of toast one-handed.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“You keep saying that as though it changes anything.”
“It changes the part where you think you’re in charge.”
“I am in charge of security inside this house.”
“Great. I’m leaving the house.”
His jaw moved.
Margaret, the housekeeper, quietly removed herself from the room.
Coward.
I pointed the butter knife at him.
“My sister and I have barely spoken for four years. She called me and asked me to stand beside her today. I spent money I do not have to get here. I’m going.”
“A man tracked your arrival.”
“I know.”
“Someone killed Adam.”
My hand stopped.
That still hurt to hear.
Ethan saw it.
His expression softened slightly.
“I’m not trying to punish you, Rachel.”
“Then stop treating me like a prisoner.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“I’ve been keeping myself alive for twenty-nine years.”
“That man at the airport wasn’t there twenty-nine years ago.”
“No. But you were not there for any of those years either.”
Silence.
I instantly regretted the sharpness.
Not because he didn’t deserve some of it.
Because I was tired of being angry at people who were trying to help me just because the people who should have helped me had failed.
Sophie slapped her palm against my shoulder.
I kissed her head.
Ethan poured coffee.
“Where is the wedding?”
“The Hawthorne Hotel.”
He looked up.
“No.”
I laughed.
“You’ve already used that word.”
“The Hawthorne is owned by Callahan Hospitality.”
That should not have surprised me.
Apparently half of Chicago belonged to him.
“Good. Then security should be excellent.”
“It will be now.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m sure.”
He made one phone call.
That was all.
Within fifteen minutes, my entire day changed.
A driver appeared.
A woman named Nina brought three dresses because apparently my ten-year-old department-store dress was “not suited for an event where surveillance mattered.”
I told her surveillance did not care about dresses.
She smiled politely and said, “Mr. Callahan disagrees.”
I chose the least expensive-looking one out of spite.
It probably still cost more than my car.
At ten-thirty, Ethan walked downstairs in a charcoal suit.
No tie.
Dark overcoat.
He looked less like a criminal king and more like the CEO newspapers claimed he was.
Which somehow made him more dangerous.
“You’re coming?”
“Yes.”
“To my sister’s wedding?”
“To the hotel.”
“You are not walking into the ceremony.”
“I have no intention of ruining your sister’s wedding.”
“Your presence might accomplish that automatically.”
He gave me a flat look.
“I’m touched by your confidence.”
The Hawthorne rose above Michigan Avenue like an old stone cathedral.
Elena had sent photographs.
They did not prepare me for the real thing.
Gold revolving doors.
Marble floors.
Crystal chandeliers.
People moving quietly because the building itself seemed to demand manners.
The instant Ethan entered, staff straightened.
Not dramatically.
That would have been embarrassing.
But I noticed.
A manager crossed the lobby almost immediately.
“Mr. Callahan.”
“Daniel.”
“Everything is prepared.”
“Security?”
“Discreet.”
Ethan nodded.
Nobody asked why the hotel’s owner had arrived beside a sleep-deprived waitress carrying a baby.
Chicago people, apparently, had survival instincts.
Elena was upstairs.
I suddenly became more nervous about seeing my sister than about being followed by murderers.
My hand shook as I knocked.
The door opened.
Elena stood there in a white silk robe.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
She looked older.
Not old.
Just different.
Softer around the eyes.
Her dark hair was pinned loosely.
Mom’s pearl earrings were in her ears.
That almost broke me.
Then Elena looked at Sophie.
Her entire face changed.
“Oh my God.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Meet your niece.”
Elena covered her mouth.
She had seen photographs.
We had video-called twice.
But Sophie had never been in her arms.
Elena stepped closer carefully.
“Can I?”
I handed her over.
Sophie stared at this stranger who looked strangely like me.
Then she grabbed Elena’s nose.
My sister laughed.
And suddenly I was seventeen again.
Elena was twenty.
We were sitting on our mother’s kitchen counter eating ice cream straight from the carton while Dad complained we were going to ruin dinner.
All those years disappeared.
Elena looked at me over Sophie’s head.
“You came.”
“You asked.”
Her eyes filled.
“I didn’t know if you would.”
“I almost couldn’t afford it.”
The truth came out before pride could stop it.
Elena’s smile vanished.
“Rachel.”
“Don’t.”
“You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want charity.”
“I’m your sister.”
“That hasn’t always meant much.”
The words landed.
I regretted them immediately.
Elena lowered her eyes.
“No.”
She looked at Sophie.
“It hasn’t.”
Before we could dig deeper into four years of pain, the door opened behind me.
Elena froze.
Ethan stood in the hallway speaking quietly to one of his security men.
My sister’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
“Rachel.”
I knew that tone.
“What?”
“Why is Ethan Callahan standing outside my bridal suite?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That is Ethan Callahan.”
“I know.”
“You arrived in Chicago eight hours ago.”
“I know.”
“Did you join organized crime between baggage claim and breakfast?”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Elena did too.
It was the first time we had laughed together in years.
Then Ethan glanced inside.
Elena stopped laughing.
“He looks terrifying.”
“He held Sophie for two hours on the plane.”
My sister stared at me.
“What?”
“Long story.”
“Apparently.”
I spent the next few hours trying to pretend the day was normal.
Hair.
Makeup.
Photographs.
Flowers.
Sophie wore a tiny ivory dress Elena had ordered months earlier but never mentioned.
For a while, I almost forgot Adam.
The key.
The man at the airport.
Almost.
Then I saw Ethan in the corridor outside the ballroom.
He was speaking to a security guard.
His expression was wrong.
I walked toward him.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“My face doesn’t say anything.”
“It says something now.”
He looked at me.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Stay upstairs for twenty minutes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“We found someone in the loading corridor without hotel credentials.”
“Who?”
“He’s gone.”
“You said security was good.”
“It is.”
“Apparently not.”
His jaw hardened.
“He had a photograph.”
I knew before asking.
“Of me?”
“No.”
He looked toward Sophie, asleep in Elena’s room.
My blood went cold.
“Sophie?”
“Yes.”
I stopped breathing.
Ethan reached for my arm.
“Rachel.”
“Show me.”
“There’s nothing you need to see.”
“Show me.”
He hesitated.
Then he handed me his phone.
The photograph had been taken at LAX.
I was walking toward security with Sophie strapped against my chest.
A red circle had been drawn around the baby.
Below it were two typed words.
FIND RABBIT.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Ethan caught it.
I turned toward the elevator.
“I’m taking Sophie and leaving.”
He stepped in front of me.
“That may be exactly what they want.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“My child is in a photograph.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice cracked.
“You don’t know what it feels like to look at your child and realize somebody has decided she is useful.”
Something went still inside him.
When he answered, the steel had left his voice.
“I do.”
I looked at him.
He said nothing more.
I remembered what he had said on the plane.
I had a younger sister.
Past tense.
I swallowed.
“What happened to her?”
“Not today.”
“Ethan.”
“Not today.”
His eyes shifted toward Elena’s suite.
“I failed her. I won’t fail Sophie.”
There was no arrogance in the words.
Only pain.
Before I could answer, a man came around the corner.
Tall.
Gray suit.
Silver hair.
Ethan’s entire body changed.
Not visibly to most people.
But I had learned enough about him overnight to notice.
“Ethan.”
The older man smiled.
“Uncle.”
Declan Callahan.
I knew the name.
Everyone did.
He had spent thirty years appearing beside mayors, charity boards and powerful families.
His reputation was cleaner than Ethan’s.
His eyes were not.
They landed on me.
Then on the bridal suite door.
“Who is your friend?”
“Not your concern.”
Declan smiled more widely.
“Everything in this family eventually becomes my concern.”
A chill slid through me.
Ethan moved half a step closer to me.
“Not this.”
Declan’s gaze returned to mine.
“Rachel Morales.”
My heart stopped.
Ethan’s voice became lethal.
“How do you know her name?”
Declan blinked.
Then laughed softly.
“The hotel manager mentioned you had arrived with a guest.”
“You said Morales.”
Silence.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
So did Ethan.
Declan recovered instantly.
“I make it my business to know who enters properties carrying my family’s name.”
“They carry mine.”
Declan’s smile disappeared.
“For now.”
Then he walked away.
I stared at Ethan.
“He knew me.”
“Yes.”
“That’s bad.”
“Yes.”
For once, we agreed immediately.
The ceremony was scheduled for five.
At four-thirty, Elena stood trembling in front of a mirror.
“Do I look ridiculous?”
“You look exactly like Mom hoped you would.”
Her eyes filled.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Mention Mom when I have mascara on.”
I smiled.
She took my hand.
“I’m glad you came.”
“So am I.”
“Even with whatever insanity is happening outside?”
I looked toward the door.
“Especially because of it.”
Elena’s fiancé, Lucas Bennett, was one of the few genuinely decent men I had met in my life.
He was a civil attorney.
Patient.
Quiet.
Completely obsessed with my sister.
When he saw her walking down the aisle, he cried without trying to hide it.
For forty minutes, the world felt safe.
Then the reception began.
Music.
Dinner.
Champagne.
Sophie asleep in a bassinet near my chair.
Ethan stayed at the back of the ballroom.
Watching.
Always watching.
I hated how much safer that made me feel.
At nine-fifteen, Elena pulled me onto the dance floor.
“You haven’t smiled all night.”
“I smiled.”
“Once.”
“That counts.”
She spun me badly.
We laughed.
Then the lights went out.
Every chandelier.
Every wall sconce.
Everything.
People screamed.
My heart stopped.
“Sophie.”
I ran.
Someone grabbed me.
I swung blindly.
“Rachel.”
Ethan.
“Let go!”
“It’s me.”
“Sophie!”
His voice cut through the darkness.
“Marcus has her.”
Emergency lights flickered on.
At the edge of the ballroom, one of Ethan’s men held Sophie.
She was crying.
Alive.
I ran to her.
The security man handed her over.
“She’s okay.”
I pressed my face against her.
Then a shout came from the corridor.
Ethan turned.
Two of his men disappeared through the doors.
Seconds later, glass shattered.
A gunshot cracked somewhere below us.
Guests screamed.
Elena stared at me.
“What the hell is happening?”
I could not answer.
Ethan was already moving.
He looked back at me.
“Service stairs. Now.”
“I’m not leaving Elena.”
“Your sister comes too.”
Lucas wrapped an arm around his wife.
“What’s happening?”
Ethan’s voice was controlled.
“Someone used the outage to access this floor.”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you when I know.”
We moved through the service corridor.
Sophie sobbed against my shoulder.
Elena’s wedding dress dragged across gray concrete.
It would have been absurd if I had not been so terrified.
At the garage level, black SUVs waited.
One security man opened a door.
Ethan stopped.
Something caught his attention.
A sedan parked thirty feet away.
Engine running.
He shoved me backward.
“Down!”
The sedan accelerated.
Straight toward us.
Everything happened at once.
Ethan pushed me behind a concrete pillar.
Security men drew weapons.
The sedan swerved.
Metal screamed.
It hit an empty SUV, ricocheted and smashed into a support barrier.
Airbags exploded inside.
Ethan’s men surrounded it.
The driver’s door opened.
Nobody came out.
One of the guards looked inside.
“Empty.”
“What?” I whispered.
Remote-controlled.
A distraction.
Ethan turned sharply.
“Check the south ramp.”
Too late.
Another vehicle was already disappearing into the night.
Ethan’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face darkened.
“Where?”
He looked at me.
Then at Sophie.
“Bring it here.”
Minutes later, a guard handed him a small package.
Inside was Sophie’s gray rabbit.
The original.
The one we had left locked inside Ethan’s house.
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
Ethan stared at the torn seam.
The key was gone.
Someone had entered the Callahan estate.
Someone had gotten past his security.
Someone had taken the safe-deposit key Adam left for his daughter.
And whoever had done it had wanted Ethan to know.
A card sat beneath the rabbit.
He read it once.
Then handed it to me.
One sentence.
YOUR FATHER HID IT BETTER THAN ADAM DID.
I looked at Ethan.
“My father?”
His face had gone completely still.
“Rachel.”
“What does my father have to do with this?”
Before he could answer, Elena stepped closer.
Her face was white.
“Dad worked for the Callahans.”
I turned.
“What?”
She looked terrified.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“He made me promise not to tell you.”
The parking garage seemed to tilt beneath me.
Our father had died twelve years earlier.
A robbery, police said.
Wrong place.
Wrong time.
I looked at Ethan.
“You knew him too.”
It wasn’t a question.
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
My stomach twisted.
“How?”
May you like
He opened them.
“Your father once saved my life.”
