Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Wouldn’t Take His Money
Jo knew the moment Gideon read the note that something had changed.
His shoulders did not tense.
His face did not twist with fear.
That would have been easier.
Instead, every trace of warmth simply disappeared.
“Sammy,” she said, “coat.”
Her son frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
He recognized that tone.
Thirty seconds later, he had his red puffer jacket half zipped.
Gideon walked toward Jo.
“You have somewhere else you can stay tonight?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Yes or no.”
“That depends on why a stranger just dropped you an envelope like we’re in a bad spy movie.”
Gideon glanced toward the window.
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, it doesn’t depend.”
Jo folded her arms.
“I’m going home.”
“Not tonight.”
“You don’t decide that.”
His eyes returned to hers.
Jo expected an argument.
Instead, he breathed out.
“You’re right.”
The answer surprised both of them.
Gideon removed his phone.
“Someone photographed me here.”
Jo looked toward Sammy.
Her stomach tightened.
“Was he in it?”
“No.”
“Me?”
“No.”
Relief came first.
Anger followed.
“So why can’t we go home?”
“Because whoever took it knows where I spent midnight.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It was.”
His gaze moved toward Sammy.
“Now I’m not certain.”
Jo understood.
She hated that she understood.
Twenty minutes later, a black SUV arrived.
Jo stopped on the sidewalk.
“No.”
Gideon looked at her.
“No what?”
“I am not getting into that.”
“It’s a car.”
“It looks like the president gets transported in it after somebody threatens nuclear war.”
Sammy whispered, “Cool.”
Jo pointed at him.
“You are not helping.”
The driver stepped out.
He was in his fifties with kind eyes and a wool scarf.
“Mrs. Bradley?”
“Miss.”
“Harvey Cole.”
He smiled.
“I have grandchildren. I drive slowly.”
Jo looked at Gideon.
“You planned that introduction.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I’d be suspicious.”
“Yes.”
“I’m starting to dislike you.”
“That would make you unusual tonight.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
The SUV drove Jo and Sammy home.
Gideon followed in a second vehicle.
Jo lived on the third floor of a brick apartment building above a laundromat.
The front lock had been broken for months.
Gideon noticed.
Of course he did.
“So this is where you live.”
“Try not to faint from the luxury.”
Sammy raced upstairs.
Jo turned.
“You can leave.”
Gideon looked at the shattered lock.
“No.”
“You said I get to decide.”
“You do.”
“Goodnight.”
“I’ll put two men outside.”
“No.”
“They won’t bother you.”
“No.”
“You’re remarkably committed to making protection difficult.”
“You’re remarkably committed to pretending you aren’t frightening.”
That stopped him.
Jo lowered her voice.
“I don’t know who you are.”
Gideon said nothing.
“That man tonight knew you. The maître d’ knew you when you walked into whatever fancy place you came from. Your coat probably has its own insurance policy.”
“Jo—”
“And your hand?”
She looked at the bruised knuckles.
“You didn’t get those opening a jar.”
“No.”
“What exactly did I let sit beside my son?”
That question hit somewhere Gideon had not armored.
He could have lied.
Instead he said,
“A man with enemies.”
Jo waited.
“That isn’t enough.”
“It’s what I can give you tonight.”
“Then leave.”
Gideon nodded.
No anger.
No threat.
He walked downstairs.
Jo watched from the hall window until his car disappeared.
She did not see the unmarked sedan that remained across the street.
Gideon’s men knew how not to be noticed.
At 7:10 the next morning, Jo woke to pounding on her door.
Sammy was still asleep.
She opened it.
Her landlord stood outside.
Carlton Reeves never visited unless rent was involved.
“Happy New Year.”
Jo stared.
“What?”
“The building’s changing ownership.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Means your lease won’t be renewed.”
“My lease has five months.”
“Owner’s invoking renovation clause.”
“You can’t just—”
“Thirty days.”
Jo felt the floor disappear beneath her.
“I’ve never missed rent.”
“Nothing personal.”
Everything was personal when you were poor.
People with money called it policy.
People without money called it where the hell am I supposed to live?
Two hours later, Jo learned the diner had been sold too.
Her manager called.
Copper Kettle would close in two weeks.
Happy New Year.
By noon, Jo had lost her future apartment and future job.
At 2:30, someone knocked.
Gideon.
She almost slammed the door.
“What?”
“I heard.”
That made her angrier.
“How?”
“People tell me things.”
“Do people also tell you when I buy toothpaste?”
“No.”
“That pause was too long.”
Gideon held out an envelope.
Jo stared.
“What’s that?”
“Six months’ rent.”
“No.”
“You didn’t open it.”
“I heard you.”
“You’ll need time to find work.”
“No.”
“Jo.”
“No.”
He looked genuinely confused.
It might have been the first time in years someone rejected a large amount of money while needing it desperately.
“You’d rather lose your apartment?”
“I’d rather understand the price.”
“There is no price.”
“There’s always a price.”
Gideon became quiet.
Jo stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.
“My ex-husband used money like a leash.”
Gideon said nothing.
“He’d disappear for weeks, come back with groceries, and expect gratitude to erase everything else.”
“I’m not your husband.”
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“But I’ve known you for fifteen hours.”
Gideon looked at the envelope.
Then slowly put it back into his coat.
“Fair.”
Jo stared.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You’re not going to order me?”
“No.”
“Threaten my landlord?”
“I considered it.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
Gideon almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“What?”
A man spoke rapidly on the other end.
Gideon listened.
Then looked toward Jo’s apartment.
“Lock the door.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Someone accessed your employment file at the diner last night.”
Jo stopped breathing.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“What was in it?”
“Address.”
Her eyes shifted toward the thin apartment door.
Sammy was twenty feet away.
Sleeping.
Gideon said,
“The money was optional.”
His voice became colder.
“This isn’t.”
Jo looked at him.
“You don’t own me.”
“No.”
“Then stop talking like you do.”
Gideon forced himself to slow down.
“Someone followed me to your workplace. Then someone accessed your address.”
He paused.
“I’m asking you to let me put you somewhere secure until I understand why.”
Jo wanted to refuse.
Then she heard Sammy singing quietly inside the apartment.
The decision stopped being about pride.
“How long?”
“Tonight.”
“One night?”
“We reassess tomorrow.”
“My rules.”
Gideon’s eyebrows lifted.
“No guns where Sammy can see them.”
“Agreed.”
“No strangers coming in and out.”
“Agreed.”
“You do not buy us things.”
A longer pause.
“Gideon.”
“Agreed.”
“And I want to know your real name.”
He stared.
“That is my real name.”
“I mean who you are.”
Silence.
Then Gideon Hale said,
“You should probably sit down.”
Jo folded her arms.
“Try me.”
He looked directly at her.
“My companies control most of the freight moving through the Western District.”
“That sounds legal.”
“Some of them are.”
Jo went still.
Gideon continued.
“I have relationships with people who do illegal things.”
“That is the most lawyer sentence I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve paid excellent lawyers.”
Her face lost color.
“You’re mafia.”
“I dislike the word.”
“I don’t care.”
She turned toward the door.
“Jo.”
She looked back.
“Did you kill someone last night?”
“No.”
“Have you killed anyone?”
Gideon did not answer quickly enough.
Jo closed her eyes.
“Oh, my God.”
“I will not hurt you.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“Jo—”
“You sat next to my son.”
“I know.”
“You let him talk to you.”
“I know.”
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
That answer stole some of her anger.
Gideon did not defend himself.
Jo whispered,
“I don’t trust you.”
He nodded.
“You shouldn’t.”
She stared.
“Then why would I go anywhere with you?”
“Because whoever is watching you believes you matter to me.”
Jo laughed bitterly.
“I don’t.”
Gideon looked toward the door behind which Sammy was moving around.
Then back at her.
“That may not matter anymore.”
A car door slammed on the street below.
Gideon looked instantly toward the window.
A man stepped from a gray sedan.
Jo saw him.
Her blood went cold.
She had not seen that face in four years.
Nathan Bradley.
Her ex-husband.
Sammy’s father.
He looked up at the third-floor window.
And smiled.
Jo whispered,
“No.”
Gideon studied her.
“You know him?”
Jo could barely speak.
“He disappeared before Sammy learned to walk.”
Nathan lifted one hand.
Not waving.
Displaying something.
A photograph.
Jo recognized the red sweater.
Sammy.
Taken through the diner window the night before.
Gideon’s expression became terrifyingly still.
Jo grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Whatever you're thinking.”
Her fingers tightened.
“No.”
For several seconds, Gideon Hale said nothing.
Then he reached for his phone.
“Marco.”
A man answered.
“Bring Nathan Bradley upstairs.”
Jo’s eyes widened.
Gideon added,
“Alive. Unhurt.”
Then he looked at Jo.
May you like
“Your rules.”
And for the first time, Jo wondered whether a dangerous man could become more frightening by choosing restraint.
