SHE SAVED THE MAFIA BOSS'S GRANDMOTHER FROM THE ICE—THEN DISCOVERED WHY SOMEONE WANTED THE OLD WOMAN TO DISAPPEAR

By four in the morning, Marin knew three things about the Ambrosie estate.

First, the coffee was excellent.

Second, nobody opened a door without another person noticing.

Third, the words yellow house frightened Raphael Ambrosie more than any armed threat could have.

Filamina finally slept after the physician adjusted her blankets and dimmed the room. Marin sat in an armchair nearby because the old woman had refused to close her eyes until "the lake nurse" promised not to disappear.

Raphael stood at the window.

"You should sleep," Marin said.

"So should you."

"I'm working."

"No one hired you."

"Your grandmother did. She has terrible benefits."

He glanced back at her.

"She likes you."

"She met me in a lake. The competition was limited."

For a moment, Raphael looked younger.

Then the shadow returned.

"The yellow house belonged to my grandfather's family," he said. "Tomaso Ambrosie."

Marin remembered Filamina touching Raphael's face and calling him that name.

"She mistakes you for him."

"Sometimes."

"Often?"

"More often this year."

Raphael leaned one shoulder against the wall.

"My grandfather died before I turned ten. The house was demolished after a fire. My grandmother hasn't spoken about it in years."

"Memory disorders don't erase in order," Marin said. "Old places can be more real than yesterday."

"Could she have walked there?"

"If she believed the lake was a road she knew, yes."

Raphael's jaw tightened.

"She shouldn't have been able to leave the estate."

That was the real problem.

Marin looked toward the hallway where security cameras watched every intersection.

"How did she?"

"We're finding out."

Booker appeared as if summoned by the question.

"West service door opened at eleven thirty-eight," he said. "No alarm. The system shows authorized staff access."

Raphael turned.

"Whose credential?"

Booker hesitated.

"Yours."

The room went silent.

Raphael stared at him.

"I was in the city until midnight."

"I know."

"Then someone duplicated it."

"Or the log was altered."

Marin felt the back of her neck tighten.

Filamina moved in bed and murmured something about lemons.

Booker lowered his voice.

"There is another problem. Her overnight companion says Mrs. Ambrosie was asleep at eleven. She claims she checked twice."

"Where is she now?"

"Gone."

Raphael's face became expressionless.

"Gone where?"

"Phone off. Apartment empty."

Marin watched the two men exchange a look heavy with possibilities.

"Before anyone decides this is an organized conspiracy," she said, "people do leave jobs after emergencies. Fear makes ordinary behavior look criminal."

Booker nodded once. "Agreed."

Raphael did not.

"You think someone sent her toward the lake," Marin said.

"I think someone made it possible."

He looked at his sleeping grandmother.

"That's enough."

At six fifteen, Marin finally tried to leave again.

Raphael stopped her in the foyer.

Morning snow had begun outside, soft and pale beyond the tall glass doors.

"I need a favor."

"That's dangerous language from a man with your reputation."

"Stay for seventy-two hours."

Marin blinked.

"No."

"You answered before I explained."

"Efficiency."

"My grandmother trusts you. She refuses unfamiliar nurses when she's frightened. Her regular companion is missing. I want a clinician with her while we determine what happened."

"I'm a home health nurse, not private security."

"Good. I already have security."

"And I have clients."

"Booker can contact your agency and cover your shifts."

Marin folded her arms.

"Cover my shifts how?"

"By paying them."

"That's not how employment works."

"It is when the owner owes my company three favors."

"Of course he does."

Raphael ignored the sarcasm.

"You would be paid separately. Three days. Twelve-hour shifts. You choose the rate."

Marin almost laughed.

"You don't want me to choose the rate."

"Try me."

She named a number twice what she normally earned.

"Done."

Marin's irritation increased.

"That wasn't supposed to be easy."

"Then ask for more."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want your money to become a leash."

Raphael's gaze sharpened.

"I don't put leashes on people."

"Men who say that usually own very nice collars."

Booker walked through the foyer carrying a tablet and wisely continued without speaking.

Raphael lowered his voice.

"My grandmother nearly died tonight. I am not asking you to belong to me. I'm asking you to do a job she is already asking you to do."

That landed differently.

Marin looked toward the medical wing.

She thought about her rent deadline.

She thought about Leah's bills stacked in a shoebox under her bed.

She thought about Filamina in the lake, holding a dock post because she believed she was saving a place for a dead man.

"Seventy-two hours," Marin said. "No longer."

"Agreed."

"I make medical decisions within my scope. Your security team doesn't override them."

"Agreed."

"If she needs a hospital, she goes to a hospital."

A pause.

"Agreed."

"And nobody investigates me."

Raphael said nothing.

Marin narrowed her eyes.

"You already did."

"Booker ran your name when you called."

"Of course he did."

"Marin—"

"What did he find?"

Raphael's expression changed just enough to answer before he spoke.

"That you used to work emergency medicine. That your privileges were revoked after an internal hospital inquiry. And that your sister died in the same hospital four months later."

The foyer seemed to lose heat.

Marin stepped backward.

"You had no right."

"Someone found my grandmother in freezing water. I needed to know who I was bringing into my home."

"And now you know enough to think I'm damaged. Congratulations."

"That's not what I think."

"You don't know what you think."

She turned toward the door.

Raphael caught himself before reaching for her.

"Marin."

She stopped but did not face him.

"I don't care why the hospital pushed you out," he said. "I watched you save my grandmother correctly while you were injured and hypothermic. That's the evidence I have."

Marin closed her eyes.

No one had said anything like that to her in years.

She turned slowly.

"Seventy-two hours," she repeated.

"Seventy-two."

Booker returned, holding the small leather notebook from Filamina's coat.

"We have another problem."

Raphael looked at him.

Booker opened the notebook to a page covered in shaky handwriting.

At the center was a date.

Yesterday's date.

Beneath it were six words: