Chapter 6 - The Betrayal in the Blood
The warehouse stood at the end of a deserted industrial road.
Maeve recognized the smell before the car stopped.
Wet concrete. Old oil. Rust.
It reminded her of the freight depot beside the railway line where she'd waited for buses during college.
Donovan had insisted she remain in the car.
She had agreed.
Now, watching him cross the warehouse floor with Julian and two armed men, Maeve began to understand why people feared him.
He did not shout.
He did not threaten.
He simply walked toward a man sitting beneath a harsh overhead light, his hands bound to the chair.
The man was bleeding from his forehead.
“Where is Claire Morgan?” Donovan asked.
The prisoner laughed weakly.
“I don't know anyone by that name.”
Donovan pulled a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the table.
It showed Claire leaving a small grocery store two days earlier.
The prisoner's expression changed.
“Who sent you?” Donovan asked.
“No one.”
“Try again.”
The man looked toward the armed guards.
Donovan leaned forward.
“I'm going to ask you a question once more. You can answer me, or you can continue lying. The difference will be how long this conversation lasts.”
The prisoner swallowed.
“Victor.”
Maeve felt her stomach tighten.
Donovan straightened.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took Claire?”
“I'm not the one who grabbed her.”
“Then who did?”
The man hesitated.
Donovan said nothing.
Finally, the prisoner whispered, “Matteo Vescari.”
Donovan turned to Julian.
“Find out where Vescari is keeping her.”
Julian nodded and stepped away.
Maeve watched from the car window as Donovan moved around the table.
The prisoner began speaking rapidly.
“Wait. You need to understand something. Victor said you would come here. He said you'd bring the woman.”
Donovan stopped.
“What woman?”
The prisoner looked toward the car.
Maeve's blood ran cold.
“He said the pregnant one.”
Donovan's head turned slowly.
For the first time since they had arrived, Maeve saw pure anger break through his composure.
“What did Victor tell you about her?”
The prisoner shook his head.
“I was only supposed to photograph her. I wasn't supposed to touch her.”
“Who gave you the address of her apartment?”
“Victor.”
“Who sent the messages?”
“Victor.”
Donovan leaned closer.
“And the message claiming the child wasn't mine?”
The prisoner's face changed.
“That wasn't us.”
“Who sent it?”
“I don't know.”
Donovan studied him.
The man looked genuinely frightened.
That was when the lights went out.
A gunshot split the darkness.
Maeve ducked instinctively.
Someone shouted.
The car's rear window shattered.
She screamed and threw herself onto the floor as glass scattered across the seat.
A second shot struck metal.
The driver shouted for her to stay down.
Maeve covered her stomach with both arms.
The baby.
The only thought in her mind was the baby.
She could hear footsteps pounding across the warehouse, doors slamming, men yelling commands.
Then Donovan appeared beside the car.
He pulled open the passenger door and reached toward her.
“Maeve. Look at me.”
She raised her head.
His sleeve was dark with blood.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Your stomach?”
She checked herself.
“No. I think I'm okay.”
He helped her out of the car and moved her behind a concrete barrier.
“Stay here.”
“Donovan, you're bleeding.”
“It's nothing.”
“You're bleeding through your shirt.”
He glanced at the wound near his upper arm.
“It's a graze.”
A bullet had torn through his sleeve and cut the skin beneath it.
Maeve pressed a folded handkerchief against the wound.
“You're not going anywhere until someone looks at that.”
He stared at her, almost incredulous.
“Someone just tried to shoot you.”
“And someone just shot you.”
For a moment, they looked at each other.
Then he gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You really are impossible.”
“Apparently.”
Julian arrived with two guards.
“Sir, we need to move. The shooter escaped through the loading bay.”
“What about the prisoner?”
“Dead.”
Donovan's face hardened.
“Who killed him?”
“We don't know.”
Julian glanced toward Maeve.
“But we found something on him.”
He held out a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a hospital identification bracelet.
Maeve recognized the name printed across it.
ELENA HAYES.
Beneath her name was a date from three years earlier.
And beside it, written in faded blue ink, were three letters.
LIVE.
Donovan took the bag.
For several seconds, he could only stare.
Then he looked at Julian.
“Get the car.”
Julian nodded.
Donovan turned toward Maeve.
“We're leaving.”
She looked at the bracelet.
“Does this mean your sister survived?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because every answer I've trusted has turned out to be a lie.”
For the first time, Maeve understood the depth of his fear.
Donovan wasn't simply afraid of losing his family.
He was afraid that his family had never been what he believed it was.
They drove away from the warehouse under heavy security.
Maeve sat beside Donovan in the back seat, keeping pressure on his wound while a doctor waited at the townhouse.
Neither spoke until the city lights reappeared.
Then Maeve said, “You should have told me about the risk before bringing me here.”
Donovan looked down.
“You're right.”
“I could have been killed.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you refuse to let me come?”
“Because you asked me to trust your judgment.”
“And now?”
He turned toward her.
“Now I have to trust mine enough to admit I made a mistake.”
The answer silenced her.
He was not asking her to forgive him.
He was acknowledging that protecting her did not make him infallible.
When they returned to the townhouse, the doctor examined his arm and confirmed the bullet had not struck bone.
Maeve waited in the kitchen, unable to settle.
At midnight, Julian entered with a laptop.
“We recovered a security recording from the warehouse.”
Donovan sat down beside Maeve.
“Show me.”
The recording showed the prisoner speaking with someone near the loading bay earlier that evening.
The image was grainy, but the man's face was visible.
Victor Sloane.
He was alive, calm, and apparently unconcerned about being seen.
He handed the prisoner a folder.
Then he pointed toward the camera.
Toward the exact corner where the equipment had been mounted.
Julian paused the recording.
“There's more.”
He opened a second file.
This time, the footage showed the warehouse corridor moments before the shooting.
Victor appeared again.
He walked directly toward the prisoner, removed a small object from his jacket, and placed it in the man's palm.
Then he smiled.
Seconds later, the lights went out.
The footage resumed when the emergency lights activated.
The prisoner was dead.
Victor was gone.
Maeve slowly turned toward Donovan.
“Your closest friend is trying to destroy you.”
Donovan watched the frozen image of Victor's face.
“No,” he said.
His expression hardened.
“He's trying to take something from me.”
Maeve thought of Elena's photograph.
The hospital bracelet.
The threat against her unborn child.
“What?”
May you like
Donovan closed the laptop.
“My family.”
