Chapter 5

I moved my hand away from his.

King noticed.

He didn’t try to take it back.

“What doors?” I asked.

His voice was quiet.

“The service doors at Hawthorne House. The property was being renovated, and Voss wanted to restrict access to the east wing.”

“Was anyone living there?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him.

“Then why would you approve locking doors?”

“Because I was told the affected entrances belonged to an unoccupied section under construction.”

“Did you check?”

King looked down.

“No.”

The answer made something inside me go cold.

I stood beside his hospital bed, remembering the way he’d defended me at the nightclub.

I’d mistaken that moment for evidence of everything he was.

Now I was learning that a man could protect one woman and still fail others terribly.

“How many people died?” I asked.

“Three.”

“Names?”

He looked up.

“Ruth Delaney. Fifty-eight. Thomas Bell, seventy-one. And seventeen-year-old Michael Santos.”

He said each name slowly.

Like he’d been carrying them for years.

I sat down again.

“Did you know them?”

“Not before the fire.”

“What happened?”

King looked toward the dark window.

“Seven years ago, Voss and I were partners in a property investment company. He handled acquisitions and renovations. I supplied capital and dealt with the people who caused trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

He gave me a tired look.

“You know what I am, Harper.”

“I know what people call you. I’m asking what you did.”

King nodded.

“Sometimes I threatened people who stood in our way. Sometimes I paid men to make problems disappear. I told myself I wasn’t hurting ordinary people because I wasn’t the one standing in their doorway.”

He looked at his bandaged hand.

“That was a convenient lie.”

I remained silent.

“The Hawthorne building was supposed to be renovated in stages. Tenants were being moved into other units while the work happened.”

“And the doors?”

“Voss submitted a temporary access plan. It restricted two entrances so contractors could work safely.”

“Did you read it?”

“I read the summary. I approved the expense and the restrictions.”

I stared at him.

“That’s it?”

“That’s what I did.”

“And people died.”

“Yes.”

His voice didn’t change.

I think that was what made it bearable to listen.

He wasn’t trying to make himself sound innocent.

He was telling me something ugly, and leaving it ugly.

“What happened after the fire?”

King exhaled.

“Voss said an electrical fault had started it. The inspector confirmed that. The report said the exit doors had been secured temporarily but that another route remained available.”

“Was that true?”

“I believed it at first.”

“At first?”

He looked at me.

“A few months later, I heard complaints from former tenants. They said the emergency stairwell had been blocked before the fire. They said they’d reported it.”

“And?”

“I asked Voss.”

“What did he say?”

“That tenants were angry about being relocated and were exaggerating.”

I folded my arms.

“You believed him?”

“I wanted to.”

The words hurt.

Because they sounded like the truth.

He rubbed his face carefully.

“I’d made money from that property. I’d approved the renovation. If the complaints were true, I was responsible for part of what happened.”

“So you let it go.”

“For too long.”

“How long?”

“Almost a year before I started looking into it myself.”

I stood again.

“King, three people were dead.”

“I know.”

“Somebody should have listened before the fire.”

“Yes.”

I waited for him to defend himself.

He didn’t.

That made it harder.

I wanted him to be the man I’d met in the nightclub.

The man who’d looked at a stranger and demanded an apology.

But the man in front of me was more complicated.

And I didn’t know whether I could love someone whose mistakes had cost people their lives.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

He looked at me.

“Because I liked the way you looked at me.”

I stared.

He continued.

“You didn’t know my history. You talked to me about people and places I’d never noticed. You made me feel like I could be someone other than the man Chicago feared.”

His voice tightened.

“And I didn’t want to lose that.”

I looked down.

“You should have trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

“I should have.”

“You told me people could use me to get to you. But you didn’t tell me why.”

King nodded.

“I know.”

I reached for my purse.

He watched me.

“Are you leaving?”

“I need to think.”

“That’s fair.”

He didn’t ask me to stay.

I walked toward the door.

Then I stopped.

“What about Mara Ellis?”

King looked up.

“What about her?”

“Marisol thinks she’s alive and hiding.”

“She is.”

“Then why hasn’t she testified?”

King’s expression changed.

“Because she believes I personally ordered those doors secured.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I signed the authorization. But I never ordered the occupied stairwell locked.”

I turned back.

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is what Voss told the workers to do after I approved the plan.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Not yet.”

I looked at him.

“Then how do you know?”

“Because I found a copy of the work order six months ago. It included instructions that weren’t in the version I approved.”

I stared at him.

“Where is it?”

“Voss took the records before I could give them to Marisol.”

I thought about the red folder in my photograph.

“Was Mara carrying those records?”

“Possibly. She kept her own copies.”

“And Voss wanted my pictures because I photographed them meeting?”

“Yes. The photographs could help establish who was handling the records and when. He also wanted to know whether you’d captured Mara giving anything to someone else.”

I looked at him carefully.

“Why didn’t you tell Marisol this before?”

King looked away.

“Because I knew what else she’d discover once she opened the case.”

“What?”

“My original signature. My company’s payments. Everything I’d done to keep the business operating after the fire.”

I swallowed.

“King, that’s evidence.”

“I know.”

“People deserve to know.”

He nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

For a moment, we sat in silence.

Then he said, “There’s something you need to understand about Mara.”

I looked up.

“She doesn’t trust me. And she has a good reason.”

“What reason?”

King’s expression became haunted.

“She came to my office after the fire. She brought complaints from tenants and asked me to help her reopen the investigation.”

“What did you do?”

He closed his eyes.

“I sent her away.”

I felt my throat tighten.

Then King looked directly at me.

“And six months later, she sent me a copy of the original work order. It had my initials beside a warning that people were still living behind those doors.”

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