Chapter 1 - THE PHONE IN VICTOR’S HAND
Sadi’s second phone buzzed again.
The sound was small, almost harmless, but it sliced through the silence outside Victor Costello’s office.
Victor stood over her, motionless, one hand resting near the pistol against his thigh. His expression had not changed, yet something dangerous had entered his eyes.
“Answer it,” he said.
Sadi pressed her bleeding fingers against the cracked screen. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s him.”
“Mick O’Shea?”
Her head snapped up.
Victor’s jaw tightened. “You’re not the only person in this city who knows how to listen.”
The phone buzzed again.
Sadi swallowed and answered.
“Well?” Mick asked. “Have you found the money?”
“You said I had one hour.”
“You have fifty-two minutes now.”
“I told you I don’t have twenty thousand dollars.”
A quiet laugh came through the speaker. “Then perhaps you should ask the man standing over you.”
Sadi glanced at Victor.
Mick continued, “I wonder what he would pay to keep his employee from causing trouble.”
Victor crouched slowly in front of her. Sadi could see the faint scar above his eyebrow, the dark stubble along his jaw, and the cold patience of a man who had ordered terrible things without raising his voice.
“Mick,” Victor said.
The line went silent.
Sadi stared at him.
Victor held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”
“No.”
It was the first word she had ever spoken directly against him.
The hallway seemed to grow colder.
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “You believe he can protect you?”
“He’ll hurt my brother.”
“He already intends to.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand men like Mick better than you ever will.”
The phone clicked.
Mick’s voice returned. “Victor Costello. I was wondering when you’d join us.”
Sadi’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Victor took the phone from her hand. “If you go near St. Jude’s again, the police will find you before sunrise.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It’s a schedule.”
Mick laughed softly. “You think hospitals frighten me?”
“I think you’re frightened of several things. Hospitals are not among them.”
“What do you want?”
“I want my money.”
“You’ll receive it.”
“When?”
Victor looked at Sadi. “Within one hour.”
Her eyes widened.
Mick smiled through the phone. “You’re paying her debt?”
“I’m paying for the privilege of speaking to you.”
“And what happens when I ask for more?”
“Then you’ll learn how expensive your next request becomes.”
Mick’s voice hardened. “The girl is not your concern.”
Victor leaned closer to the phone. “Everything inside my house is my concern.”
Then he ended the call.
Sadi stared at him. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You don’t know what he’ll do.”
Victor stood. “I know exactly what he’ll do. He’ll panic because he expected you to remain alone.”
“He has my brother.”
“Your brother is in St. Jude’s oncology wing?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Samuel Hayes. Everyone calls him Sam.”
“How old?”
“Sixteen.”
“What treatment?”
“Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He was supposed to start a new round of treatment tomorrow.”
Victor’s face remained unreadable, but his voice changed slightly. “And Mick knows all of this?”
“He knows where Sam is. He knows about the machines. He knows my schedule. He knows everything.”
“Because you told him?”
“No.”
“Then someone else did.”
The thought struck her so hard she stopped breathing.
Victor turned toward the office. “Come inside.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I have work.”
“You’re finished cleaning for tonight.”
“If I lose this job—”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t understand. I need every dollar.”
Victor opened the office door. “You need more than dollars.”
Inside, the room was dark except for the city lights shining through the windows. A long desk occupied the center, covered with folders, ledgers, and a single silver lighter. Sadi had entered the office only once in eight months, and that had been to dust the bookshelves while Victor was away.
She had always believed the room belonged to a man who trusted no one.
Now she realized it was worse.
It belonged to a man who expected betrayal.
Victor walked to the desk and lifted a phone. “Call Dr. Lena Morales at St. Jude’s. Tell her I need Samuel Hayes protected immediately.”
Sadi grabbed his sleeve. “No.”
He looked at her hand.
She released him.
“I don’t want your men around my brother,” she whispered.
“They won’t touch him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know they’ll keep Mick’s men away.”
“What if your people are worse?”
Victor’s eyes darkened. “If I wanted your brother dead, Sadi, you would not be standing in my hallway.”
The words were cruel, but the certainty behind them frightened her more.
He dialed.
“Morales,” he said when someone answered. “Victor Costello. I need a private security detail sent to the oncology wing at St. Jude’s. Now.”
Sadi listened as he gave Sam’s name, room number, and physician.
He knew too much.
When he ended the call, she stared at him. “How did you know his room number?”
Victor’s silence answered before his words did.
“I’ve been aware of your brother for months.”
“Why?”
“Because you have been sending most of your salary to the hospital. Because you once sold your car and walked twelve miles to work. Because you stopped eating lunch three months ago.”
Sadi felt heat rise behind her eyes.
“You had me watched.”
“I had everyone watched.”
“I’m not everyone.”
“No,” Victor said quietly. “You’re the only employee who has never stolen, lied, flirted, threatened, or asked me for anything.”
“I’m asking now.”
“What?”
“Let me leave.”
Victor moved around the desk. “You can leave when I know where you’re going.”
“To the hospital.”
“No.”
“I have to get to Sam.”
“Men may already be waiting for you there.”
“Then I’ll go alone.”
Victor caught her wrist before she could reach the door.
His fingers closed around her arm—not painfully, but firmly enough to stop her.
Sadi looked down at his hand.
He released her immediately.
For the first time, something like regret crossed his face.
“You’re not going anywhere alone,” he said.
“I’m not one of your prisoners.”
“Then stop behaving like someone determined to walk into a trap.”
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it was a message.
Sadi opened it.
A photograph filled the screen.
Sam lay asleep beneath white hospital sheets, a tube resting beneath his nose. Beside him stood Mick O’Shea, smiling at the camera.
Underneath the image were six words:
FIFTY MINUTES, SADI. BRING THE MONEY.
Sadi’s knees weakened.
Victor saw the photograph.
The room went completely still.
Then he took the phone from her hand, studied the image, and picked up his pistol.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To collect your brother.”
“And the money?”
May you like
Victor looked at her.
“No,” he said. “I’m going to collect the man who thinks he can threaten what belongs to me.”
