Chapter 3 - The Man Inside the Convoy
His name was Owen Mercer.
Dante had trusted him for eleven years.
That fact frightened me more than the explosion.
Owen disappeared into the forest before Dante’s men could surround him. Two guards pursued him, but the storm swallowed everything beyond the headlights.
The security chief lifted Dante.
“Hospital. Now.”
Dante pointed at me.
“She comes.”
“I’m fine.”
Nobody listened.
Five minutes later I was sitting inside an armored SUV beside a billionaire whose blood was staining leather worth more than my annual salary.
His security chief sat opposite us.
“Grant Keller,” he introduced himself.
I said nothing.
Grant studied me as though deciding whether I was brave, stupid, or involved.
Probably all three.
“Tell me exactly what you heard.”
Dante interrupted.
“Not here.”
Grant frowned.
“Sir?”
“If Mercer was compromised, assume communications are compromised.”
That silenced him.
Dante looked at me.
“Who knows you followed me?”
“My manager.”
“Anyone else?”
“911.”
Grant swore.
“What?”
“If Vanessa planned this properly, someone may be monitoring emergency dispatch.”
I stared at him.
“You’re saying your boss’s wife can monitor 911?”
“I’m saying money buys people.”
Dante closed his eyes.
For the first time, he looked less like the man on magazine covers and more like someone who had just discovered his home had no locked doors.
His hand suddenly found mine.
“You climbed down after me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I knew why you crashed.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I looked at him.
“Because you were alive.”
Something unreadable crossed his face.
The hospital was never reached.
Halfway there, Grant received an alert.
“Change route.”
Dante’s eyes opened.
“Why?”
“Your admission leaked before we arrived.”
“Who knew?”
“Three people.”
Grant looked at the driver.
Then the second guard.
Then himself.
Nobody spoke.
We diverted to a private Moretti property overlooking Lake Michigan.
A physician met us.
Dante had cracked ribs, a deep shoulder wound, and a concussion.
I had cuts and a sprained wrist.
While the doctor treated him, Grant took my statement.
Vanessa.
The unknown lover.
The brakes.
Midnight.
Then I described Owen.
Grant’s expression darkened.
“Owen Mercer wasn’t assigned to Bellini’s tonight.”
“Then why was he there?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Dante spoke from across the room.
“Where is Vanessa?”
Grant checked his phone.
“Home.”
“Does she know I survived?”
“Officially, no.”
Dante looked at me.
“Keep it that way.”
My stomach tightened.
“You want her to think you’re dead?”
“For several hours.”
“Why?”
“Because people behave differently when they believe the person they tried to kill can no longer watch them.”
Then my phone rang.
Bellini’s.
My manager.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
I heard breathing.
Then Vanessa Moretti’s voice.
“Cara?”
My entire body went cold.
“How did you get this phone?”
She ignored me.
“I need you to tell me something.”
Dante slowly stood.
Vanessa whispered:
“Did my husband say anything before he died?”
Dante’s eyes met mine.
I realized what he wanted.
So I swallowed my fear.
And lied.
“No.”
Vanessa exhaled.
Relieved.
Then she said something I didn’t understand.
“Good. Then he never learned why you were working at Bellini’s.”
The line went dead.
Dante stared at me.
“Cara.”
“I don’t know what she meant.”
May you like
But Grant was already looking at me differently.
And suddenly I wasn’t just the witness anymore.
