Chapter 3 - The Name My Mother Hid
Vincent barricaded the door.
Nobody outside fired.
That bothered him more than bullets would have.
“They need something inside alive.”
“The baby?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
His jaw tightened.
“Tell me about your parents.”
“My father died when I was eleven. My mother when I was nineteen.”
“Names.”
“Daniel and Margaret Mercer.”
Vincent swore quietly.
“You knew them?”
“My father knew Daniel.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Another lie entered my life.
Vincent's father, Patrick Callahan, had built much of his criminal empire with Daniel Mercer.
My father.
Not a schoolteacher, as my mother had always told me.
An accountant.
Strategist.
And eventually Patrick's partner.
“What happened to him?”
Vincent looked away.
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“Car accident.”
“And unofficially?”
“Someone killed him.”
My chest tightened.
“Who?”
“My father suspected someone inside the Callahan organization.”
Outside, an engine started.
One SUV left.
Why?
Vincent checked the satellite phone again.
A signal flickered.
He called one person.
“Declan. Cabin Six. Bring everyone.”
Pause.
“No, my mother isn't with me.”
Another pause.
Vincent looked toward the phone Evan had thrown inside.
“That's the problem.”
He disconnected.
“Your mother is alive?”
“Very.”
The older woman in the video was Eleanor Callahan.
She controlled the respectable half of the family empire and supposedly hated everything Vincent represented.
Yet she was working with Evan.
“Why?”
“I intend to ask.”
The baby began crying harder.
Vincent moved closer, then stopped himself.
“May I?”
I nodded.
He awkwardly adjusted the blanket.
My daughter immediately grabbed his finger.
Vincent froze.
For one bizarre moment, there was no storm.
No armed men.
No conspiracy.
Only a terrifying man being defeated by five tiny fingers.
Then I noticed something.
Around my daughter's ankle was a thin hospital-style identification band.
I stared.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“That wasn't there.”
He looked.
The band couldn't have come from the cabin.
It had been hidden beneath the clean fabric Vincent took from his travel bag.
His expression changed.
He opened the bag.
The towels.
Water.
Infant blanket.
Medical supplies.
Everything required for an emergency birth.
“You came prepared.”
“No.”
“You had baby supplies.”
“I didn't pack this bag.”
“Who did?”
“My driver.”
“Where is he?”
Vincent stared toward the storm.
“Missing.”
He searched deeper.
At the bottom was an envelope.
His name.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother holding me as a newborn.
Beside her stood Daniel Mercer.
Patrick Callahan.
And Eleanor.
On the back:
THE CHILD WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO RETURN TO MONTANA.
Below it was today's date.
Vincent looked at me.
“Claire, someone knew you'd be in this cabin.”
A second photograph slipped out.
An ultrasound.
My ultrasound.
Taken six weeks earlier.
Someone had circled my baby's heart.
Beside it:
May you like
MATCH CONFIRMED.
Then the cabin went dark.
