Chapter 3 - THE SECRET UNDER THE SCARThe next morning, Sloan found Raphael awake before dawn.
His bedroom door was open.
That alone was unusual.
He sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the prosthetic leg resting beside him.
He had refused to wear it for months.
“Come in,” he said.
Sloan stepped inside.
“You called?”
“No.”
He looked up.
“I want coffee.”
“That sounds like a request.”
“It was.”
She smiled faintly.
“Black?”
“Yes.”
She turned.
“Sloan.”
She looked back.
“About last night…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She had not expected that.
“For what?”
“For not screaming.”
She leaned against the door.
“You were the one with the gun.”
“You were still afraid.”
“Very.”
A flicker of humor appeared.
“You didn't look afraid.”
“I was busy pretending.”
Raphael nodded.
“Good skill.”
She left.
When she returned with coffee, he was still staring at the prosthetic.
“You should use it,” she said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“It hurts.”
“The prosthesis?”
“The memory.”
Sloan looked at the artificial limb.
“Can I ask something?”
“You always do.”
“Why haven't you tried another prosthetist?”
“I've tried nine.”
“That many?”
“Three in Boston. Two in New York. One from Switzerland.”
“And?”
“They all say my stump healed normally.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
His eyes met hers.
“What did you ask?”
“Does it physically hurt when you wear it?”
“No.”
“Then why do you stop?”
Silence.
“Because the second my foot touches the floor…”
He looked down.
“…I remember the explosion.”
Sloan nodded slowly.
“That's not phantom pain.”
“What is it?”
“Your brain pairing movement with danger.”
He stared at her.
“That isn't medical terminology.”
“No.”
“It sounds like you made it up.”
“Maybe.”
He almost smiled.
Then she noticed something.
A tiny tremor in his left hand.
“Sloan?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still have your nursing books?”
She froze.
“No.”
“You burned them?”
“I threw them away.”
“Why?”
She looked down.
“Because I didn't want to remember.”
Raphael was quiet.
“Your sister?”
“Junie.”
“How is she?”
Sloan looked surprised.
“You know about her?”
“My security team knows everything about people who work here.”
“That sounds invasive.”
“It is.”
He reached for his coffee.
“Is she improving?”
“Slowly.”
“How much does it cost?”
Sloan shook her head.
“No.”
“How much?”
“I don't take charity.”
“It isn't charity.”
“It is if you pay.”
“Then consider it a salary advance.”
She stared at him.
“How much?”
“Whatever you need.”
“That isn't an amount.”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Sloan's jaw dropped.
“What?”
“For her rehabilitation.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because then you own me.”
Raphael's expression hardened.
“I don't own people.”
She looked directly at him.
“Your reputation says otherwise.”
Silence.
The words landed.
He looked away.
“Fair.”
A minute later he said,
“Then I won't pay.”
Sloan relaxed.
“But…”
She looked up.
“I'll arrange for her treatment to be covered through one of my charities.”
“You have a charity?”
“Several.”
“Are those legal?”
He looked offended.
“Mostly.”
She laughed despite herself.
It surprised both of them.
That afternoon, Sloan was cleaning the study when she heard a noise beneath the floor.
A faint metallic click.
She stopped.
Again.
Click.
Like a lock turning.
She moved the rug.
There was a narrow seam in the wood.
She knelt.
A hidden latch.
Her nursing instincts had taught her to observe spaces where other people stopped looking.
She lifted the panel.
A dark stairway descended beneath the house.
She should have called Daniel.
Instead, she climbed.
At the bottom was a concrete hallway.
Old.
Cold.
Unused.
Sloan moved slowly.
Then she saw the wall.
Photographs.
Boxes.
Shipping manifests.
Names.
A massive evidence board.
At its center was a photograph of Raphael's late brother, Daniel.
Underneath it:
WHO BETRAYED RAPHAEL?
Sloan's pulse raced.
She heard footsteps behind her.
She turned.
Raphael stood at the bottom of the stairs.
His face had gone white.
“You weren't supposed to find this.”
Sloan swallowed.
“I was cleaning.”
“Underground?”
“I got curious.”
“You shouldn't have.”
“Then lock the door.”
He stared.
“Why didn't you?”
He didn't answer.
She looked at the board.
“Who is Charles?”
Raphael's face changed.
“He was my father's attorney.”
“And Victor?”
“My operations chief.”
“Both still work for you?”
“Yes.”
Sloan turned.
“You trust them?”
Raphael did not answer.
She looked at him.
“You don't.”
“No.”
“Then why are they still here?”
His jaw clenched.
“Because my brother died before he could prove which one betrayed us.”
Sloan glanced at the evidence board.
“What did Daniel find?”
Raphael moved past her.
“He believed somebody inside my security network helped organize the marina attack.”
He pointed to a map.
“The explosive was planted beneath the rear axle.”
Sloan frowned.
“That required access to the vehicle.”
“Yes.”
“Which means…”
“Exactly.”
He looked at her.
“The attacker had help.”
Sloan stared at the board.
“Who knew your route?”
“Six people.”
“Names?”
“I'll tell you when I trust you.”
“You hired me five days ago.”
“And yet you found my hidden basement.”
“Maybe your security is terrible.”
His mouth twitched.
“Maybe.”
She looked at another photograph.
A blurry image taken the night before the accident.
A man standing near the marina.
Sloan leaned closer.
There was a distinctive silver watch.
A dark suit.
A ring.
She had seen that ring.
Not on the attacker.
On someone in the house.
Her stomach tightened.
“Raphael.”
“What?”
“Who is that?”
He stepped closer.
His face changed.
“Charles.”
Silence.
Sloan pointed.
“That's him.”
Raphael looked at the image.
Then at her.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because that watch is unusual.”
He stared.
“What?”
“I've seen it in this house.”
“Where?”
“On Charles.”
Raphael's eyes hardened.
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I wasn't sure.”
“You seem sure now.”
“I am.”
He reached for the photograph.
At that exact moment, the lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the corridor.
Sloan heard Raphael's voice.
“Don't move.”
A second later, a metallic click came from behind them.
Someone had entered the tunnel.
Raphael pulled Sloan behind him.
He had no weapon.
Then a man's voice echoed through the corridor.
“Raphael.”
The voice was calm.
Familiar.
Charles.
“You've been looking in the wrong direction.”
A gunshot exploded.
Raphael shoved Sloan down.
Concrete shattered above them.
“Run!” he shouted.
They sprinted through the darkness.
Sloan heard another shot.
Then another.
Raphael stumbled.
She grabbed him.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
He was lying.
Blood was spreading across his shirt.
“Raphael!”
“Keep moving.”
She dragged him toward the stairs.
Behind them, Charles shouted.
“Your brother was right, Rafe!”
Raphael stopped.
The pain crossed his face.
Charles's voice came again.
“He just died too early to save you.”
Raphael turned.
Sloan grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“He killed my brother.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know his voice.”
She held him tighter.
“And if you go back now…”
He looked at her.
“…you'll be doing exactly what he wants.”
May you like
Raphael stared at her.
Then, slowly, he followed her upstairs.
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