Chapter 2

I stared at Nolan through the narrow opening.

“You photographed him tied to a chair?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know where he is.”

“I know where he was.”

I tightened my grip on the door.

“That’s not good enough.”

Nolan looked at the chain.

“May I come inside?”

“Absolutely not.”

For the first time since I’d met him, he looked almost relieved.

“Good,” he said. “At least you’re thinking.”

I wanted to slam the door in his face.

Instead, I asked, “Who made you take that photograph?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Graham Voss.”

The name landed exactly where I’d feared it would.

Nolan continued.

“King went to a meeting this afternoon. It was supposed to be a private discussion about an old property dispute. Voss changed the location at the last minute.”

“And you let him?”

“I objected.”

“But you went.”

“King insisted.”

I looked at the photograph again.

“Why didn’t you stop them?”

Nolan’s expression hardened.

“Because Voss brought six men, and two of ours turned their backs when things started going wrong.”

That frightened me more than anything he’d said.

King’s people had betrayed him.

Nolan looked at my phone.

“They made me photograph him to prove he was alive. Voss wanted me to deliver the picture to you.”

“Why?”

“Because he thinks you have something.”

“What?”

“An original photograph.”

I held up the picture of Voss beside the black car.

“This?”

Nolan leaned closer.

His expression changed.

“Where’s the full-resolution file?”

“Somewhere you can’t get to it.”

He nodded.

“Keep it that way.”

That wasn’t the response I expected.

“Why are you helping me?”

His jaw tightened.

“Because I worked for King for fourteen years. And because I made a mistake today that’s going to follow me for the rest of my life.”

He glanced toward the stairs.

“Voss let me leave because he thought I’d bring you and the file back to him. If I don’t, he’ll know I’ve changed sides.”

“You were already on King’s side.”

“I should have been.”

Something in his voice made me hesitate.

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

Nolan looked away.

“Not exactly.”

“That’s another terrible answer.”

“I knew Voss was getting desperate. I didn’t know he’d take King.”

I thought about the man from the nightclub.

The expensive suit.

The casual cruelty.

The way he’d looked at me like I was something King had brought in off the street.

“Why does Voss hate him?”

Nolan gave a humorless laugh.

“He doesn’t hate King. He hates that King stopped doing business his way.”

I waited.

“Years ago, they invested in several properties together. Old apartment buildings. Warehouses. Places developers wanted.”

“What happened?”

“Something went wrong at one of the buildings.”

“How wrong?”

Nolan’s expression closed.

“People died.”

I felt cold.

“Was King responsible?”

Nolan didn’t answer.

And that was an answer of its own.

I stepped away from the door.

“Nolan, I need to know whether I’m protecting a man who’s being framed or helping somebody escape what he did.”

His eyes met mine.

“You’re asking the right question.”

“Then answer it.”

“I can’t answer for King.”

I looked down at the photographs.

All my life, I’d trusted what I could see.

A face.

A gesture.

Someone’s expression when they thought nobody was watching.

But photographs could show only a piece of the truth.

I was beginning to understand how dangerous that could be.

“Who was the man with Voss?” I asked.

Nolan studied the image.

“I need a better copy.”

“I don’t have one here.”

“Where is it?”

I said nothing.

He gave a small nod.

“Good.”

Then he reached into his jacket.

I stepped back sharply.

He stopped.

“Easy. It’s only this.”

He held up a small black notebook.

King’s notebook.

I’d seen him use it at dinner. He disliked putting important personal details in his phone.

Nolan slid it through the opening.

“King handed me this before they separated us.”

I opened it carefully.

The first pages contained appointments and reminders.

A restaurant reservation.

A note to buy flowers for an elderly aunt.

A reminder to ask me about my gallery exhibition.

My throat tightened.

Then I found a page marked with a narrow strip of blue paper.

There was an address written at the top.

Hawthorne House.

Beneath it were three names.

Graham Voss.

Peter Grady.

Mara Ellis.

The last name had been circled twice.

“Who’s Mara Ellis?”

Nolan’s expression shifted.

“She used to manage the building.”

“The one where people died?”

He nodded.

“King’s been trying to find her for months.”

“Why?”

“Because she kept records. Real ones. Not the versions that ended up in the official report.”

I looked again at the picture on my laptop.

The older man held a red folder.

Beside him was a woman in a tan coat whose face was partly hidden by the open car door.

I’d barely noticed her.

I enlarged the preview.

“Is that Mara?”

Nolan leaned closer.

“Possibly.”

“Then King knew about this photograph?”

“He knew you’d been taking pictures near the river. He didn’t know exactly what you’d caught.”

I remembered his question about photographing strangers.

The serious expression I’d mistaken for concern.

My stomach sank.

“He suspected I was involved.”

“He was afraid you might become involved.”

“And he didn’t tell me.”

Nolan said nothing.

I closed the notebook.

Outside, a car passed slowly along the street.

I watched its headlights move across my wall.

“I want to help King,” I said. “But I won’t hand over my work to people who threaten me.”

“Then we need someone outside Moretti’s organization.”

“Who?”

“An investigator King was preparing to meet. She’s been reopening the Hawthorne case.”

“Why didn’t he go to her before?”

Nolan hesitated.

“Because he wasn’t ready to tell her everything.”

There it was again.

Another secret.

Another man deciding how much truth I was allowed to know.

I looked at King’s notebook.

Then I noticed something tucked beneath the back cover.

A folded receipt from a parking garage.

The date was the same day I’d photographed Voss.

On the reverse, in King’s handwriting, were four words.

Harper may have seen.

I stared at them.

Nolan looked over my shoulder.

He went quiet.

I turned toward him.

“King knew someone was watching me before my apartment was searched.”

Nolan didn’t deny it.

“Harper—”

“He brought me to that nightclub. He warned me people might use me against him. And after he realized what I’d photographed, he still let me walk around Chicago thinking everything was fine.”

Nolan lowered his eyes.

I pressed the notebook against my chest.

“Tell me the truth. Was King protecting me—or was he protecting what I photographed?”

Share