Chapter 2 - Noah Took Me Out of the Restaurant, but He Refused to Tell Me Why Someone Had Been Tracking Me for Three WeeksNoah's car moved through the rain.
I sat beside him.
His coat was still around my shoulders.
Neither of us spoke.
I stared out the window.
Three months.
He had been gone for three months.
And now he had returned like a storm.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“My apartment?”
“My house.”
“Which one?”
“The lake house.”
I looked at him.
“The one with the twenty guards?”
“Yes.”
“I don't want that.”
“I don't care.”
I stared.
“You've been gone for three months and that's the first thing you say to me?”
He looked at me.
“You were being followed.”
“I know.”
“Someone photographed you.”
“I know.”
“Someone accessed your apartment.”
I froze.
“What?”
His jaw tightened.
“My people found signs of entry.”
“You think someone broke in?”
“I know.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“They were looking.”
“For what?”
“You.”
I looked away.
“What about my brother?”
“Safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“With one of my men.”
“Mateo doesn't know about any of this.”
“He will.”
“No.”
Noah looked at me.
“He needs protection.”
“I don't want him involved.”
“He's already involved because he's your brother.”
I hated hearing that.
Then I remembered Preston.
“You said they weren't trying to embarrass me.”
“No.”
“What were they trying to do?”
“Trigger me.”
“Why?”
“So I would call you.”
I looked at him.
“I didn't call you.”
“No.”
“Then how did you know?”
He hesitated.
“One of my men was inside the restaurant.”
I stared.
“You were watching me?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
I was furious.
“Then what's the difference between you and whoever was stalking me?”
His face tightened.
“I know the difference.”
“Do you?”
“You could have been killed.”
“So could anyone.”
“Not by them.”
“Who are they?”
Noah didn't answer.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
He reached for my hand.
I pulled it away.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
“I came because of you.”
“You came because someone watched me.”
“I came because they touched you.”
I looked at him.
“You didn't touch me for three months.”
The words slipped out.
His eyes closed briefly.
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because staying away was the only way to keep you alive.”
I stared.
“Then why marry me?”
“Because I loved you.”
“And now?”
He looked directly at me.
“I love you more.”
I didn't know what to say.
The car stopped.
We entered the lake house.
Security surrounded us.
The doors locked behind us.
I felt trapped.
Noah removed his coat from my shoulders.
“Go upstairs.”
“No.”
“Anna.”
“I want answers.”
“You'll get them.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Now.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
He took me into his office.
A wall of files.
Photographs.
Maps.
Screens.
I stared.
This wasn't a home.
It was a command center.
Noah opened a file.
“Your father.”
I froze.
“My father?”
“He wasn't a mechanic.”
I stared.
“My father worked at a machine shop.”
“That was his cover.”
“What did he do?”
“He handled money for my father.”
I felt sick.
“Your father?”
“My father.”
I sat.
“So our families knew each other.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Your father worked for the Moretti organization.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he leave?”
“He tried to expose it.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
I stared.
“I was twelve.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“He wanted you out.”
“Out of what?”
“Our world.”
I stared at the files.
“What does this have to do with Preston?”
Noah turned the page.
A photograph.
Preston's father.
My father.
Noah's father.
All together.
Years ago.
I felt sick.
“Those men have been connected to your family for decades.”
“How?”
“They were part of a financial network.”
“What network?”
“The Black Ledger.”
He said it quietly.
“What is that?”
“A system designed to hide money.”
“For criminal organizations?”
“For politicians.”
“Corporations.”
“Judges.”
“Everyone.”
I stared.
“And my father?”
“He kept the records.”
“Then he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Did your father kill him?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Noah hesitated.
“We don't know.”
I looked at him.
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“You know something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
He turned away.
“Your father wasn't the only person with access to the ledger.”
“Who else?”
“Your mother.”
I froze.
“My mother died.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
Noah handed me another file.
A photograph.
My mother.
Alive.
Taken six months ago.
I stopped breathing.
“That isn't possible.”
“It was taken in Toronto.”
I stared at the photograph.
“She's alive.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“We don't know.”
“Then why show me?”
“Because she sent this.”
He gave me a note.
Tell Anna not to trust the people she thinks are protecting her.
My heart raced.
“Who sent it?”
“Your mother.”
I looked at Noah.
“Then who should I trust?”
He answered immediately.
“Me.”
I laughed.
“You've lied to me for years.”
“I hid things.”
“That's lying.”
“I know.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I've had every opportunity to hurt you.”
He stepped closer.
“And I never did.”
I looked away.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“What?”
A pause.
His expression hardened.
“Find him.”
He hung up.
“Who?”
“Preston Hale.”
“What happened?”
“He escaped.”
“From your men?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Someone helped him.”
I stared.
“Who?”
Noah's voice became cold.
“Your father's old security chief.”
My blood froze.
“That man died.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“He's alive.”
“Who?”
Noah whispered:
“James Reyes.”
My father's closest friend.
The man I had called Uncle James.
The man who had attended my father's funeral.
May you like
The man who had hugged me.
And he had been helping Preston.
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