Chapter 2 - Three Men With Clean Shoes
Victor Morelli's shoes were too clean for our neighborhood.
That was the first stupid thing I noticed.
Outside, rainwater had turned the sidewalk into gray sludge, and everyone who entered St. Jude's tracked half the city across our cracked tile. But Victor's polished black shoes were spotless. He had either stepped out of a car directly onto the curb or had people whose job was making sure dirt never touched him.
His men closed the clinic door behind them.
The lock clicked.
I kept my hand in my pocket.
"We're closed," I repeated.
Victor glanced at the darkened reception desk, the mismatched chairs, the faded donation poster taped crookedly to the wall.
"So you said."
"Then your hearing works. That's encouraging."
One of the men behind him shifted.
Victor's smile returned.
"You're Norah Hayes."
My stomach tightened.
"Depends who's asking."
"A concerned colleague."
"You don't look like a nurse."
"I have other skills."
"I'm sure you do."
He came closer.
Not fast. That would have been easier. Fast movement gives you permission to react. Victor moved with the confidence of someone who expected the room to belong to him by the time he reached the center of it.
"Gabriel came here three nights ago," he said.
I shrugged.
"Lots of people come here."
"Not like Gabriel."
"Bleeding? You'd be surprised."
His eyes hardened.
"Where is he?"
Behind the curtain, silence.
Too much silence.
Gabriel was awake. I knew it.
And I also knew he was in no condition to fight three armed men.
"If your friend is sick," I said, "try calling him."
Victor leaned close enough for me to smell expensive cologne.
"I did. He stopped answering."
"Maybe he doesn't like you."
The nearest gunman almost smiled.
Victor did not.
His hand landed on the counter beside mine.
"Miss Hayes, you are standing between me and a man who owes me an explanation. I suggest you move."
I thought of Gabriel pale on the gurney. Of the artery I had stitched. Of the way he had asked who knew where he was before he asked how badly he had been hurt.
Then I thought of the suppressed gunfire he had described while half-conscious.
An ambush.
Men falling.
Someone who knew his route.
I looked at Victor.
"No."
The room went very still.
Victor blinked once.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. You're carrying weapons in a medical clinic. You don't get to wander through patient rooms because you're impatient."
"You truly don't understand who you're talking to."
"I understand perfectly. That's why I'm being clear."
The curtain moved.
Gabriel stepped out.
He wore the black trousers from his ruined suit and a clean white undershirt I had found in our donation closet. One hand rested against the wall. His face was pale, and he had no business standing.
But the room changed when he entered it.
Victor's men straightened.
Victor's expression transformed so quickly I almost missed it.
Shock.
Then relief.
Then calculation.
"Gabriel," he said. "Thank God."
Gabriel's gaze moved from Victor to the two armed men and then to me.
"Norah," he said quietly, "step behind me."
I almost laughed.
"You're held together with sutures."
"Behind me."
"No."
Victor stared between us.
Something about my refusal seemed to amuse him.
"You've made a friend."
Gabriel's face remained unreadable.
"Why are you here?"
"We have been tearing the city apart looking for you."
"That wasn't my question."
Victor's smile thinned.
"Your convoy was hit. Three of our men are dead. I assumed you would want familiar faces around you."
Gabriel leaned more heavily on the wall than he probably realized.
"And yet you brought guns into the clinic where I was recovering."
Victor spread his hands.
"Protection."
"From whom?"
No one answered.
I watched them looking at each other, and for the first time I understood how dangerous silence could be between men like these.
Victor finally said, "From whoever tried to kill you."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
"How did you know where to find me?"
A tiny pause.
That was all.
But I saw it.
Victor recovered smoothly.
"We checked every emergency room and clinic within six miles of the ambush."
"St. Jude's isn't in any city directory," I said.
His head turned toward me.
I wished immediately that I had kept my mouth shut.
Victor smiled.
"Resourceful people find things."
Gabriel looked at me.
I could see the same question forming in his mind.
If Victor could find a hidden clinic that had not reported Gabriel's arrival, how?
Victor reached inside his coat.
My pulse kicked.
Gabriel moved faster than a man with a fresh abdominal wound should have been able to move.
He stepped in front of me.
Victor slowly withdrew a phone.
"Relax," he said.
Gabriel did not.
Victor tapped the screen and held it out.
"Your men need to hear your voice."
Gabriel ignored the phone.
"Leave."
Victor stared at him.
"What?"
"Take them and leave."
"You're injured."
"I'm aware."
"You need security."
"Not yours."
The words hit like a door slamming.
Victor's face lost all warmth.
"Gabriel, whatever happened on that street, don't confuse shock with betrayal."
Gabriel's voice dropped.
"Then don't give me reasons to."
For a moment, I thought Victor might do something stupid.
Instead he adjusted his coat.
"I'll have a car sent."
"Don't."
"You cannot stay here."
"That is not your decision."
Victor looked at me one last time.
"Miss Hayes."
"Mr. Morelli."
"You have no idea what you've stepped into."
"I was having a peaceful week until your boss leaked three units of blood onto my floor."
That almost made Gabriel smile.
Victor noticed.
The temperature in the room dropped another degree.
"Be careful," he said to me.
Then he left.
His men followed.
The lock clicked behind them.
I waited until their footsteps faded before turning on Gabriel.
"What was that?"
He swayed.
I grabbed his arm.
"Sit down."
"I'm fine."
"You are sweating through a donated undershirt and pretending your organs aren't stapled together. Sit."
He let me guide him back to the gurney.
The second he sat, his jaw tightened.
"You tore something, didn't you?"
"No."
"You're a terrible liar."
I lifted the edge of his bandage.
Fresh red stained the gauze.
"Congratulations. You've reopened part of the wound because apparently masculinity is a chronic illness."
"Norah."
"Quiet."
I replaced the dressing while he watched the doorway.
"Was Victor at the ambush?" I asked.
"No."
"Was he supposed to be?"
Gabriel's eyes met mine.
"Yes."
That answer changed everything.
"Why wasn't he?"
"He said he was handling a problem at the south docks."
"And now he found a clinic no one was supposed to know about."
"Yes."
I taped down the gauze more firmly than necessary.
"You think he set you up."
"I think somebody did."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
I stepped back.
"Then you need to leave."
His eyebrows lifted.
"You were just arguing that I shouldn't move."
"Medically, you should be in bed. Strategically, apparently, my clinic has become a target because the world's most inconvenient patient came through my door."
"Victor knows you're connected to me now."
"I'm not connected to you."
"He won't see the distinction."
"That's his problem."
"It becomes yours when he decides you know something."
I hated that he was right.
Gabriel leaned back against the thin pillow.
"You need protection."
"No."
"That wasn't a question."
"Then you haven't learned much about me in three days."
His mouth flattened.
"Norah, Victor's warning was not theater. If he betrayed me, you are now a loose end. If he did not betray me, whoever did will eventually learn who kept me alive. Either way, you're exposed."
I crossed my arms.
"And what do you suggest? I move into your evil lair?"
"Safe house."
I stared at him.
He was serious.
"Absolutely not."
"For forty-eight hours."
"No."
"Until I know who hit my convoy."
"No."
"You are remarkably committed to that word."
"It has protected me from many bad decisions."
He studied me.
"I owe you my life."
"You owe the clinic for blood and gauze."
"Then let me repay the debt by keeping you alive."
I opened my mouth to refuse again.
The clinic phone rang.
Eli, who had been hiding in the supply room with excellent instincts, answered it.
His face changed.
"Norah."
I turned.
"What?"
He covered the receiver.
"Somebody just broke into your apartment."
My blood went cold.
Gabriel went completely still.
"Who called?"
"Your neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez. She saw two men coming out of your place."
I looked at Gabriel.
There was no triumph in his expression.
Only anger.
Cold, controlled, terrifying anger.
He stood again, slower this time.
"Pack a bag," he said.
I wanted to argue.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared from an unknown number.
It showed my apartment door hanging open.
Under it were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM DIE.
I stared at the message until the letters blurred.
Gabriel took the phone from my hand.
His face hardened.
"Forty-eight hours," I whispered.
"No," he said.
I looked up.
"What?"
His eyes met mine.
"Until this is over."
And for the first time since he had stumbled into my clinic, I believed Gabriel Rossy was genuinely afraid.
May you like
Not for himself.
For me.
