Chapter 6 - He Followed Three Buses to My Door
I learned later that Luca hadn't intended to enter our apartment.
He only wanted to know where I went after work.
He followed me because his business adviser had accused someone inside the estate of leaking shipping schedules, and my movements through the basement had made me an obvious suspect.
At least that was the explanation he gave me.
The truth was more complicated.
He had also begun wondering why I never sat down during a shift.
Why I asked for extra hours when I already looked exhausted.
Why I took food that would otherwise be thrown away.
Why I knew the location of a records room nobody had mentioned during orientation.
And why the name Daniel Reed frightened Gavin Roarke.
Luca didn't tell me that last part until much later.
That morning, I boarded the first bus at 5:17.
I fell asleep before the second stop.
When I woke, my bag was still clutched against my chest.
The bread inside had flattened.
I changed buses.
Then changed again.
At a small pharmacy near Kensington Avenue, I bought supplies Eli needed and checked whether a prescribed medicine was ready.
The pharmacist explained that the refill required another insurance authorization.
I thanked her.
I wasn't feeling thankful.
When I stepped outside, I counted the cash remaining in my wallet.
Twenty-eight dollars.
Enough for groceries.
Not enough for everything else.
I didn't know Luca was parked across the street.
Watching through tinted glass.
I walked home.
Climbed four flights of stairs.
Stopped outside our door.
Then heard Eli coughing.
My heart tightened.
I pushed the door open.
“Mom?”
“We're here.”
She sat on the bed with Eli tucked against her.
His face was tired.
He had been awake much of the night.
I put down my bag.
“Hey, Captain.”
He smiled faintly.
“Already home?”
I knelt beside him.
“Your timing is terrible.”
He laughed.
Then coughed again.
Mom looked worried.
I touched his forehead.
No fever.
Good.
I helped him drink water.
Then promised to call the cardiology nurse if his breathing didn't settle.
He rested against Mom.
I turned toward the kitchen.
That's when I noticed the shadow near the door.
A man in black.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Standing partly hidden by the frame.
For one terrible second, I thought somebody had come to rob us.
Then he stepped into the light.
Luca Varela.
My employer.
My suspected enemy.
The man connected to the worst night of our lives.
I gripped the strap of my bag.
“Mr. Varela?”
He didn't answer.
His gaze had gone past me.
Toward the wall above Eli's bed.
The photograph.
Dad beside the sedan.
I watched the change in his expression.
It was small at first.
His eyes narrowed.
Then widened.
His breathing stopped.
He looked as though somebody had opened a door in a room he'd believed was empty for years.
“What is that?”
I glanced backward.
“The photograph?”
He stepped closer.
I moved in front of him.
“Please don't.”
He stopped immediately.
His eyes returned to mine.
“Who is the man?”
“My father.”
“Name?”
“Daniel Reed.”
Luca went pale.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered:
“I was supposed to be in that car.”
The sentence made no sense.
Not until he explained.
Three years earlier, he had planned to visit a private warehouse near the river.
My father was assigned to drive him.
At the last minute, Luca was called into another meeting.
His twelve-year-old sister Isabel needed a ride home from a family gathering.
Someone reassigned the car.
Someone also changed the route.
Daniel Reed died before reaching the estate.
Isabel vanished.
The car was recovered near the river after leaving a service road.
Police found signs of a collision and evidence suggesting the vehicle had entered the water.
But no confirmed remains belonging to Isabel.
For three years, Luca had lived between two possibilities.
His sister was dead.
Or somebody had taken her.
Neither possibility had allowed him to sleep.
Now he stood in our apartment staring at Dad's photograph.
The same car.
The same plate.
The same driver.
My mother watched from the bed.
Her face had turned gray.
Luca asked questions.
I answered what I knew.
Then Mom revealed something she'd concealed from both of us.
A second photograph.
Hidden behind the first.
A young girl beside an ambulance.
Alive after the crash.
When the photograph slipped into my hand, my knees nearly failed.
I stared at the girl's frightened face.
She was wrapped in a gray blanket.
One bare foot touched the pavement.
A man's hand gripped her upper arm.
Another figure stood near the ambulance.
The image was grainy.
Taken from a distance.
But her face was unmistakable when Luca held it beneath the window.
“Isabel.”
He said the name like a prayer he hadn't allowed himself to say in years.
Then he looked at Mom.
“Where did this come from?”
Her hands shook.
“An envelope.”
“When?”
“Three days after the funeral.”
I stared.
“Mom, you never told me.”
She was crying now.
“There was no return address.”
“What else was inside?” Luca asked.
“A warning.”
His expression changed.
“What warning?”
Mom looked toward Eli.
Then back at Luca.
“Don't tell the Varelas.”
Silence.
She swallowed.
“It said the girl was alive, but the person who arranged the crash would kill her if we tried to tell anyone.”
My stomach dropped.
Luca's jaw tightened.
“Who wrote it?”
“I don't know.”
“Was there a signature?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Then how did you know it was true?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Because Daniel told me someone had changed the route.”
Luca took a slow breath.
“And you believed the person who sent this knew something about that night.”
She nodded.
“Why didn't you go to the police?”
“I did.”
We both stared.
Mom wiped her face.
“I showed the envelope to a detective.”
“What detective?” Luca asked.
“Martin Hale.”
Luca's expression hardened.
I watched him carefully.
He recognized the name.
“Hale was assigned to the original investigation,” he said.
Mom nodded.
“He told me the photograph was probably a fake.”
I stared.
“And you believed him?”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“I believed he was frightened.”
That silenced me.
She continued.
“He wouldn't let me keep the envelope. He said it belonged in evidence.”
“Did he give you a receipt?” Luca asked.
“No.”
“Did he return the photograph?”
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then how do we have this copy?”
Mom looked toward Dad's photograph.
“Daniel had taught me to make copies of important documents.”
She managed a sad smile.
“I made one before the detective came.”
Luca stared at the photograph again.
Then looked at me.
“Your mother may have preserved the first evidence that Isabel survived.”
I didn't know what to say.
Eli suddenly spoke.
“Is that the little girl from Dad's car?”
Silence.
I turned.
He had heard everything.
He looked frightened.
Mom tightened her arms around him.
Luca stepped back.
The movement surprised me.
He wasn't trying to take the photograph.
He wasn't ordering us into a car.
He wasn't shouting at Mom for keeping it hidden.
He simply looked at Eli and seemed to realize he was standing inside a child's home.
“I'm sorry,” Luca said.
Eli blinked.
“For what?”
“For frightening you.”
My brother considered.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Luca looked toward me.
“May I take a photograph of the original and your copy?”
I stared.
“You're asking?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they're yours.”
I swallowed.
That wasn't what I'd expected from him.
I nodded.
He photographed both.
Then handed everything back.
He moved toward the door.
“Mr. Varela.”
He stopped.
“What happens now?”
His expression changed.
The softness vanished.
Not replaced by cruelty.
By determination.
“Now,” he said quietly, “I find out who made my sister disappear.”
He looked toward my mother.
“And whoever sent that warning knew the danger was inside my family.”
Then he left.
I watched him descend the stairs.
Halfway down, he stopped.
Turned back toward me.
And said:
“Hannah, don't go near Gavin Roarke again.”
My blood went cold.
May you like
Because I hadn't told Luca that Roarke had recognized my father.
And Luca had just named him anyway.
