Chương 2 - My Best Friend Vanished After Her Badge Let My Stalker Inside—Then the Crime Boss Showed Me Why Derek Had Been Watching More Than Just MeBy midnight, I had learned something terrifying about fear.
It made every coincidence look like evidence.
Harriet had money hidden beneath her dresser.
Derek had written thank you on my photograph.
Her badge had been used six times.
She knew where I lived.
Easy conclusion.
Harriet sold me out.
Except I knew Harriet.
Or thought I did.
Mr. Harrow stood beside the hotel security desk while detectives questioned employees.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“About your friend?”
“Yes.”
“I think evidence arranged too neatly deserves suspicion.”
I stared.
“You don't think she helped him?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That whoever left cash beneath her dresser wanted police to find it.”
That stopped me.
“Why?”
“Because people who successfully buy access don't usually leave labeled evidence.”
He had a point.
I hated that too.
A detective approached.
“Ms. Walsh?”
“Yes?”
“We need somewhere safe for you tonight.”
“I can go to my sister.”
“No.”
The word came from Mr. Harrow.
I turned.
“You don't get a vote.”
“Correct.”
He looked at the detective.
“But if Derek knows Ms. Walsh's address, assume he knows her immediate family.”
The detective nodded.
“He's right.”
I crossed my arms.
“Everyone stop saying that.”
For the first time, Mr. Harrow almost smiled.
Almost.
The Ashford offered me a room.
I refused the fourteenth floor.
Mr. Harrow didn't argue.
That surprised me.
I stayed on six.
Two uniformed officers remained downstairs.
Hotel security changed access codes.
I locked my room.
Then locked it again.
At two in the morning, I sat on the bed and called Molly.
My younger sister answered sleepily.
“Renee?”
“Don't go to work tomorrow.”
She became instantly awake.
“What happened?”
I told her enough.
Not everything.
Molly was twenty-three.
Graduate student.
Professional worrier.
She listened silently.
Then:
“I'm coming downtown.”
“No.”
“You're alone.”
“No, I'm in a hotel full of cops and terrifying men in suits.”
“What?”
“Long story.”
“Renee.”
“Stay home. Lock everything. Police may call.”
She went quiet.
Then:
“Is it Derek?”
“Yes.”
Her breathing changed.
Molly hated him.
She had hated him before I did.
Once, during Christmas dinner, Derek corrected the way I told a story.
Not a fact.
The way.
Molly stared at him and said:
“Do you ever let her finish being a person before you edit her?”
I had been furious with Molly.
Derek didn't speak to me for two days afterward.
Back then, I blamed her.
Now I wanted to apologize forever.
“I should've listened to you,” I whispered.
“No.”
“Molly—”
“You left.”
“Eventually.”
“You left.”
Her voice softened.
“That counts.”
I cried after we hung up.
Quietly.
Then someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
I froze.
“Who is it?”
“Room service.”
“I didn't order anything.”
Silence.
My hand went to the phone.
Then a man's voice:
“Ms. Walsh, this is Ashford security. Mr. Harrow asked us to bring you tea.”
Of course he did.
I opened the door with the chain still attached.
Two hotel employees stood outside.
Tea.
Toast.
A note.
No handwriting.
Just hotel stationery.
EAT SOMETHING.
I laughed despite myself.
Bossy.
I drank the tea.
At eight, detectives returned.
Harriet was still missing.
Derek had been released pending further proceedings related to the hotel incident.
That made no sense to me.
“He threatened me.”
The detective looked sympathetic.
“We documented everything.”
“That isn't the same as keeping him away.”
“No.”
“Can you arrest him for Harriet?”
“We don't have evidence connecting him to her disappearance.”
“But the badge—”
“Shows her badge was used.”
“Cash?”
“Could implicate her.”
“Or frame her.”
“Yes.”
I hated careful answers.
Then Detective Alvarez slid a photograph across the table.
Derek entering a parking garage.
Two days earlier.
Beside him—
one of Mr. Harrow's men.
My blood went cold.
I stared.
Same charcoal suit.
Same broad shoulders.
The man who had stood outside Suite 1401.
I looked toward the lobby.
Mr. Harrow was speaking with another man near the windows.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“That's what we'd like to know.”
I stood.
Alvarez caught my wrist lightly.
“Don't confront anyone.”
I looked at his hand.
He released me immediately.
“Sorry.”
I walked across the lobby.
Mr. Harrow saw my face.
“What happened?”
I held up the photograph.
“Who is this?”
His eyes changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“Detective Alvarez.”
“Renee—”
“Name.”
He looked at the picture.
“Victor Saye.”
“He works for you.”
“Worked.”
Past tense.
My stomach tightened.
“When did he stop?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Because he disappeared.”
I stared.
“Your man disappeared the same day Harriet disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't think that was worth mentioning?”
“I told police.”
“Not me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
His silence answered.
Protection.
Deciding what I could handle.
I hated it.
“You don't know me.”
“No.”
“Then don't decide what information I deserve.”
His jaw tightened.
“You're right.”
Again.
No argument.
No explanation.
That made being angry inconvenient.
“Who are you?”
He looked toward the detectives.
“You've heard the rumors.”
“I want facts.”
He studied me.
Then:
“My name is Adrian Harrow.”
“Real name?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do?”
“Several legal things.”
I stared.
“And?”
“Several things I won't discuss in a hotel lobby.”
“Crime?”
His expression did not change.
“That word covers a broad category.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“That's not reassuring.”
“It wasn't meant to be.”
At least he was honest.
“Why is Derek meeting your employee?”
“Former employee.”
“Adrian.”
It was the first time I used his first name.
Something shifted in his eyes.
He answered.
“Victor was selling information.”
“About me?”
“We don't know.”
“About the hotel?”
“Possibly.”
“About you?”
“Almost certainly.”
Then he told me why he had rented the fourteenth floor.
Not vacation.
Not business conference.
Someone had been stealing information from his organization.
Shipping routes.
Meeting locations.
Financial records.
Adrian suspected an internal leak.
The Ashford stay was bait.
Different employees received different schedules.
Victor received one.
That false schedule appeared in the hands of a rival organization forty-eight hours later.
“You knew Victor was a traitor.”
“Suspected.”
“And Derek met him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We're finding out.”
I stared.
“Derek isn't involved in organized crime.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I lived with him.”
Adrian's voice became quiet.
“People hide rooms inside themselves.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Then Alvarez called us.
They had found Harriet's car.
Lower Wacker Drive.
Abandoned.
Blood on the passenger seat.
Not much.
Enough.
My knees weakened.
Adrian reached toward me.
Stopped.
“May I?”
I looked at his hand.
Then nodded.
He steadied my elbow.
Nothing more.
“Harriet.”
My voice broke.
Alvarez continued.
“There was a second phone in the trunk.”
“Whose?”
“We don't know.”
The phone contained messages.
Victor.
Derek.
And someone saved only as H.
The messages went back two months.
Derek:
I just need where she works.
Victor:
That costs.
Derek:
I have money.
Victor:
Not enough.
Then H:
Use the girl.
Derek:
Harriet?
H:
She trusts her.
My stomach turned.
Harriet wasn't the seller.
She was the tool.
Someone had targeted her because she was my friend.
The messages continued.
Derek had apparently befriended Harriet online using a fake identity.
A man named Daniel.
Photographs stolen from someone else.
Weeks of messages.
Compliments.
Flirting.
Then requests.
What time do you work?
Can you send me a picture in uniform?
What's that card on your lanyard?
Harriet had unknowingly photographed her badge.
Later, someone cloned it.
My anger became nausea.
“She didn't betray me.”
Alvarez nodded.
“Doesn't look like it.”
“Where is she?”
“We're working on it.”
Then Adrian looked at the phone.
“Scroll.”
Alvarez hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because Victor doesn't use the letter H for Harrow.”
“How do you know?”
“He uses A.”
Alvarez scrolled.
One message stopped Adrian.
H:
When Walsh is contained, bring Harrow downstairs. The girl is leverage.
I read it twice.
“The girl?”
Adrian looked at me.
“You.”
Everything rearranged.
Derek had not simply found me.
Someone had helped him find me because they wanted access to Adrian.
“But Adrian didn't know me.”
Alvarez looked at Harrow.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Had you seen Ms. Walsh before?”
Adrian paused.
My skin prickled.
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“You said one second near the service elevator.”
“I saw you before that.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Where?”
“The hotel.”
“Why do you remember?”
He looked uncomfortable for the first time.
“You helped an elderly housekeeper.”
“What?”
“She dropped linens near the freight elevator.”
I remembered.
Mrs. Alvarez.
No relation to the detective.
Bad knee.
I carried half the stack.
Adrian continued:
“Victor complained that you delayed the elevator.”
“So?”
“I told him waiting thirty seconds wouldn't kill him.”
I stared.
“That doesn't explain why you remember me.”
Adrian looked directly at me.
“No.”
Silence.
Then:
“I remembered you because you looked at me.”
“What?”
“Most employees avoided eye contact.”
“Because your men look like they bury people.”
Alvarez coughed.
Adrian almost smiled.
“You looked directly at me and said, ‘You can take the next elevator.’”
I remembered.
Oh God.
“That was you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were rude.”
“I was.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then Alvarez's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
He stood.
“We found Harriet.”
I stopped breathing.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Where?”
“An abandoned restaurant near the river.”
“Is she hurt?”
“Dehydrated. Bruised. Conscious.”
I cried.
Adrian stepped back and let Molly, who had just arrived with police escort, reach me first.
That mattered too.
At the hospital, Harriet told us what happened.
“Daniel” had asked to meet.
She went.
Victor appeared instead.
He demanded her badge.
When she refused, he took it.
Then Derek arrived.
Harriet recognized him from my photograph.
She tried to run.
They grabbed her.
But the worst revelation came last.
Derek wasn't the one giving orders.
Victor wasn't either.
A woman came to the abandoned restaurant.
Red coat.
Dark hair.
Harriet had seen her face.
“Who?” I asked.
Harriet looked at Adrian.
Then at me.
“She said her name was Helena.”
Adrian went completely still.
I saw fear.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Who is Helena?” I whispered.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then:
“My sister.”
And suddenly I understood.
Derek wasn't the center of this story anymore.
He was only a weapon.
May you like
Someone had aimed him at me.
And the woman holding the trigger belonged to Chicago's most feared crime family.
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