CHAP 1 — THE THREE WORDS
Because the man wasn’t there for Vincent.
He was there for her.
Mave felt Vincent’s arm harden beneath her fingers.
Across the ballroom, the scarred stranger stopped moving.
People flowed around him as if he were a stone planted in the middle of a river.
His eyes never left Mave.
Then his lips moved.
Three words.
Vincent read them.
His face changed.
Mave felt it before she understood it.
“Vincent?”
“Keep smiling.”
“What did he say?”
“Not here.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
His voice remained calm.
“It’s an instruction.”
He covered her hand where it rested against his forearm and guided her through the ballroom.
To everyone watching, they looked intimate.
A powerful man escorting an elegant woman through a charity dinner.
No panic.
No hurry.
Only Leo noticed the change.
He appeared near the champagne tower.
Vincent barely moved his lips.
“East corridor.”
Leo’s expression lost all humor.
He disappeared.
Mave glanced over her shoulder.
The stranger was gone.
Her stomach dropped.
“Where did he go?”
Vincent did not look back.
“Exactly where he wanted.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he wanted me to see him.”
A waiter moved toward them.
Vincent changed direction instantly.
Mave nearly stumbled.
His hand closed around hers.
“Stay with me.”
“You’re frightening me.”
“Good.”
She stared at him.
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Fear keeps people awake.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to be awake for?”
They reached a private corridor.
Leo stood beside the service elevator.
“Car’s coming.”
“Donovan?”
Leo shook his head.
“Still not answering.”
Something flashed across Vincent’s face.
Mave caught it.
“You told me Donovan was sick.”
“That’s what I was told.”
“By whom?”
“Donovan.”
The elevator opened.
Vincent guided her inside.
Mave pulled her hand free.
“Tell me what that man said.”
Vincent pressed the basement button.
“No.”
“Vincent.”
The elevator descended.
Mave stepped directly in front of him.
“You ordered me into a dress I didn’t want, brought me to a room full of people I don’t know, some stranger walked toward me like he knew me, and now Donovan—the reason I’m supposedly here—is missing.”
She pointed at him.
“You do not get to tell me no.”
Leo looked at the ceiling.
Vincent stared at her.
Then:
“He said, ‘She’s a Vale.’”
Mave frowned.
“A what?”
“A name.”
“I heard that.”
The elevator doors opened.
Two Costa security men waited.
Vincent stepped out.
Mave followed.
“Who is Vale?”
Vincent continued walking.
She caught his arm.
He stopped.
For three years, she had watched men hesitate before touching Vincent Costa.
Mave did it when she was angry.
Maybe that was why he let her.
“Who is Vale?”
Vincent turned.
“Someone who should be dead.”
A distant door slammed.
Leo’s hand moved beneath his jacket.
Security closed around them.
Mave’s heartbeat quickened.
They reached the underground garage.
The Maybach waited with its rear door open.
Vincent placed Mave inside.
He entered beside her.
Leo took the front passenger seat.
The car pulled away.
Only when they reached Fifth Avenue did Mave realize Vincent was watching the mirror.
A gray sedan followed them.
One turn.
Then another.
Vincent told the driver:
“Take Lexington.”
The Maybach changed direction.
The sedan followed.
Mave looked from the mirror to Vincent.
“That’s him?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“The man at the Plaza wanted to be seen.”
Vincent watched the sedan.
“These people don’t.”
“Which people?”
No answer.
Rain began striking the windows harder.
Mave’s tablet vibrated inside her evening bag.
She pulled it out.
An email.
No sender.
No subject.
One attachment.
A photograph.
Mave opened it.
Her breath stopped.
A little girl stood outside a brownstone holding a red umbrella.
Five years old.
Maybe six.
Dark hair.
Serious eyes.
Mave knew the photograph.
It sat in an album at her aunt’s house.
It was her.
Beside the child stood a woman Mave knew as her mother.
And beside her—
a man.
The photograph had always been torn at that edge.
This version was complete.
The man was tall.
Dark-haired.
One hand rested on young Mave’s shoulder.
On his right hand was a silver signet ring.
An engraved V.
Below the photograph were six words.
ASK VINCENT WHAT HAPPENED TO MARCUS VALE.
Mave slowly raised her eyes.
Vincent had already seen the screen.
His face was expressionless.
That frightened her more than anything.
“You know him.”
Vincent said nothing.
“You know that man.”
“Yes.”
“My mother told me my father died in a car accident.”
Vincent looked toward the rain-streaked window.
“Your mother lied.”
The temperature inside the Maybach seemed to drop.
Mave whispered:
“And you knew?”
A long silence.
Then Vincent said:
“Yes.”
She slapped him.
Leo looked backward.
The driver did not react.
Vincent’s face turned slightly from the impact.
He did not touch her.
Did not become angry.
Did not defend himself.
Mave’s hand trembled.
“You knew who my father was.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Before you ever walked into my office.”
Mave felt something inside her break.
Three years.
Every coffee.
Every schedule.
Every quiet conversation.
Every moment she had believed she had built a place for herself in Vincent Costa’s world.
He had known.
“Why did you hire me?”
Vincent’s answer came quietly.
May you like
“To keep you alive.”
Behind them, the gray sedan accelerated.
