Chapter 2 - The Boy Who Wouldn't LeaveWhen I woke, the first thing I noticed was the smell of antiseptic.
The second was the gun beneath my pillow.
The third was the man standing beside my hospital bed.
Vincent Moretti had been my right hand for seventeen years. He was forty-eight, built like a retired boxer, and possessed the unsettling ability to stand perfectly still for twenty minutes without appearing uncomfortable.
He was also holding a paper cup of coffee.
"You're awake," he said.
"Observant as ever."
"Doctor says you had a temperature of ninety-four degrees when they brought you in. Another thirty minutes in that snow, and we'd be discussing funeral arrangements."
"Then I suppose I owe someone a thank-you."
"Several people, actually."
Vincent placed the coffee on my bedside table.
"The old man who found you is Samuel Mercer. Retired mechanic, former volunteer firefighter. His grandson is Noah. The dog is Goliath."
"I remember."
"Good. Because Noah has been asking about you every fifteen minutes for two days."
I turned toward the window.
Outside, mountains disappeared beneath gray clouds. A thin layer of snow covered the roofs of Hollow Falls, a small West Virginia town I'd never heard of before my brother tried to bury me there.
"Where is the boy?"
"In the waiting room."
"Why?"
"Because every time the nurses tell him visiting hours are over, he asks whether you're dead yet."
I stared at him.
Vincent shrugged.
"His words. Not mine."
"Bring him in."
Vincent hesitated.
"Boss, there's something else."
I looked at him.
"We found the driver who drove the men away from the burial site. He's dead. His car was burned. Whoever organized this knew how to clean up."
"Of course he did."
"We also found this."
Vincent placed a photograph on my blanket.
It showed a man standing beside a black Mercedes.
Marcus Bellini.
My adviser.
The man who had convinced me to travel alone.
"When was this taken?" I asked.
"Yesterday morning. At a private airfield in Pennsylvania. He boarded a flight to Geneva three hours after your disappearance."
I felt something cold settle behind my ribs.
"Find him."
"We're trying."
"No." I looked at Vincent. "Try harder."
He nodded once and moved toward the door.
"Bring me the boy first."
A moment later, Noah entered the room with Goliath trailing behind him. Samuel followed, carrying a paper bag filled with sandwiches and a knitted blanket.
Noah looked smaller indoors. His coat had been replaced by a blue sweatshirt, and his brown hair stuck up in several directions.
He stopped beside my bed.
"You're awake."
"I've heard."
He frowned.
"Do you always talk like that?"
"Only when people ask obvious questions."
Samuel sighed.
"Mr. Vale, I apologize. He's been worried about you."
"I can see that."
I looked down at Noah.
"Why did you come back?"
The boy glanced at Goliath.
"I didn't know who you were. But Goliath wouldn't leave you. I figured he knew you were worth saving."
For the first time in years, I smiled without intending to.
"Your dog may be the wisest creature in West Virginia."
"He's smart," Noah said proudly. "He can find my grandfather's truck keys even when Grandpa hides them."
"That's impressive."
"He also eats socks."
"Less impressive."
Noah laughed.
The sound caught me by surprise. I'd spent so long surrounding myself with men who feared me that I had forgotten how ordinary laughter could fill a room.
Then Samuel's gaze settled on the photograph Vincent had left behind.
His face changed.
"Where did you get that?"
I looked at him.
"You recognize the man?"
Samuel didn't answer immediately.
He studied Marcus's face, then examined the black car in the photograph.
"I saw that vehicle near the old logging road two nights ago. I thought someone had abandoned it."
"When?"
"About eleven. I was driving home from the pharmacy."
"You should have mentioned this to the police."
Samuel's expression grew guarded.
"I did."
"And?"
"They asked me whether I'd been drinking."
Something about his tone made Vincent straighten.
I looked at Samuel carefully.
"What aren't you telling me?"
The old man glanced at Noah.
"Nothing the boy needs to hear."
That was when the monitor beside my bed began beeping.
Vincent pulled his phone from his pocket.
His expression changed as he read the screen.
"Boss."
"What?"
"We have a problem."
He handed me the phone.
A message had appeared on the secure line my men used only for emergencies.
THE REAPER IS ALIVE. CONFIRMATION RECEIVED. CONTRACT ACCEPTED.
Beneath it was a photograph.
A man stood outside Hollow Falls Medical Center wearing a gray overcoat. His face was partially hidden by a scarf, but his eyes stared directly into the camera.
I recognized him from an intelligence file Vincent had shown me years earlier.
Silas Vane.
The best professional killer money could hire.
He had supposedly died during a covert operation in Prague.
Apparently, the dead were becoming popular company.
"How much?" I asked.
Vincent swallowed.
"Five million dollars."
"That's reasonable."
"Boss, that's just the advance. The total contract is fifteen million. Half goes to him, half to the people arranging his escape."
"And the deadline?"
"Twenty-four hours."
I looked toward the hospital door.
Noah had followed the exchange with frightened eyes, though he couldn't understand the details.
"Does that mean somebody's going to hurt you again?" he asked.
I could have lied.
Instead, I said, "They may try."
"Why?"
"Because someone I trusted wants me dead."
Noah stared at me for a long moment.
Then he moved closer to my bed.
"Grandpa says bad people always think they're stronger when they have more money."
I almost laughed.
"In my experience, bad people are often right."
"But money can't make somebody love you."
The room became very quiet.
Samuel looked away.
Vincent suddenly found the window fascinating.
And I, Luca Vale, who had spent twenty-five years buying influence and commanding fear, found myself unable to answer a nine-year-old boy.
Then Vincent's phone rang again.
He listened for four seconds before turning pale.
"Boss, security just found something in the parking garage."
"What?"
"A rifle. With a scope trained directly on this room."
He crossed to the window and pulled the curtains shut.
"Silas isn't waiting twenty-four hours."
I looked at Noah.
"Take the boy and his grandfather somewhere safe."
Vincent nodded.
Then every light in the hospital went out.
A gunshot cracked from the corridor.
And a voice emerged from the darkness.
May you like
"Good evening, Mr. Vale."
Silas Vane had arrived.
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