Chapter 2 - THE TRACKER IN THE RAIN
The rain did not let up over Chicago.
Declan Hayes stood at the high glass of his office on the forty-second floor.
He did not touch the broken porcelain on the rug.
He did not call maintenance to clean the dark stain drying into the mahogany wall.
His private phone vibrated against his palm.
"Declan."
It was Liam.
The line hissed with wet pavement and passing wipers.
"She took the service elevator down," Liam said.
"Did she take a cab?"
"No," Liam replied.
"She walked past the taxi line outside the lobby."
"In this rain?"
"She has an umbrella," Liam said.
"A cheap folding one."
"It's shaking in her hand."
Declan felt a muscle twitch below his left eye.
"Where is she heading?"
"West toward LaSalle," Liam said.
"She keeps checking her rear view in store windows."
"She knows someone is behind her?"
"No," Liam said.
"She's checking to see if someone is already waiting."
Declan walked behind his desk.
He pulled open the bottom right drawer.
A matte-black Sig Sauer rested inside beside a leather key pouch.
He took the keys.
He left the weapon.
For now.
"Keep three car lengths back," Declan ordered.
"Do not approach her."
"Understood."
"If anyone lays a finger on her sleeve," Declan said, his voice dropping an octave, "put a hole through them."
"Understood."
Declan hung up.
He pulled on his charcoal coat.
The elevator down was empty and silent.
In the lobby, the doorman reached for the revolving glass.
"Car, Mr. Hayes?"
"No, Thomas."
Declan stepped directly into the cold downpour.
The rain hit his bare head.
He turned toward LaSalle Street.
Water rushed along the curbs, carrying gray froth toward the storm drains.
Two blocks ahead, through the mist of brake lights and umbrellas, he caught sight of her.
The dark blue umbrella.
The pale cashmere sweater hidden under a beige trench coat.
Her shoulders were pulled inward, defensive and tight.
She turned into an alleyway between an old printing house and a bank annex.
Declan sped up his stride.
His boots splashed through puddles.
He reached the mouth of the alley.
Liam was idling a nondescript gray sedan at the opposite curb.
Liam signaled with two fingers against the windshield.
Declan glanced down the narrow passage.
Brick walls rose four stories high on either side.
Steam drifted up from a grate in the asphalt.
Norah was standing near an iron fire escape.
Her back was pressed to the damp brick.
A man was standing eighteen inches from her chest.
He wore an expensive gray tailored overcoat.
His leather gloves were dark with rain.
One of his hands rested flat on the wall beside Norah’s head.
The other hand held an open phone screen in front of her face.
Declan stopped at the mouth of the alley.
The wind carried the man’s voice back through the brick corridor.
"She missed her lunch medication, Norah."
Norah flinched.
Her voice was thin, barely audible through the rumble of street traffic.
"I gave you the accounts this morning."
"The accounts were short," the man said.
His tone was conversational.
Polite.
Deadly.
"Declan Hayes runs twenty shell companies through the docks," the man murmured.
"You gave me three."
"I don't have access to the shipping manifests," Norah pleaded.
She raised both hands to protect her chest.
The sleeve of her coat slipped down.
The purple ring around her wrist stood out stark against her pale skin.
The man smiled.
He lowered his hand from the wall and touched her jaw with a gloved finger.
He dragged the leather tip across the makeup covering her bruise.
"Then you'll get access, little bird."
"Or Clara doesn't get her insulin tonight."
Norah choked back a sob.
Her knees buckled slightly.
"Please, Julian."
"Don't hurt her."
"I'll copy the manifests after five."
Julian.
Declan’s jaw set like iron.
Julian Vance.
Senior Vice President of Vance Logistics.
A primary partner on the Hayes family port development contract.
A man who had sat across from Declan at dinner three nights ago and praised his steak.
Julian leaned closer to Norah’s ear.
"If Declan suspects even a whisper, Norah..."
Julian patted her cheek with cold familiarity.
"Your sister won't wake up tomorrow."
Julian turned around toward the alley exit.
He took three steps forward.
Then he stopped dead.
Declan stood directly in the center of the narrow passage.
His coat was soaked.
His hands were deep inside his pockets.
His eyes were completely still.
Julian’s smile vanished.
His throat moved as he swallowed.
"Declan," Julian said, his voice cracking slightly before smoothing out.
"What an unusual place to take a walk."
Behind Julian, Norah saw Declan.
All color drained from her face.
Her umbrella slipped from her hand and splashed into the puddle at her feet.
"Mr. Hayes," she gasped.
Declan didn't look at her.
He kept his eyes locked on Julian Vance's face.
"Take your hands out of your pockets, Julian," Declan said softly.
Julian forced a hollow chuckle.
"Look, Declan, this isn't what it looks like."
"I was just having a word with your secretary."
"She seemed upset about her workload."
Declan took one step forward.
"I didn't ask what it looked like."
He took another step.
The distance between them closed to six feet.
"I told you to take your hands out of your pockets."
Julian pulled his hands free, holding them up at chest height.
"We have a twenty-million-dollar agreement on the South Dock, Declan."
"You don't want to make a scene over administrative staff."
Declan’s left hand shot out like an iron vise.
He seized Julian by the lapels of his tailored coat.
He slammed the man backward into the wet brick wall.
The impact knocked the breath from Julian’s lungs with a wet thud.
Julian’s head struck the mortar.
"Declan!" Norah screamed.
Declan leaned in until his nose was an inch from Julian’s ear.
"You touched her face," Declan whispered.
His voice was so low it sounded like gravel grinding together.
"You touched her with those gloves."
Julian clawed at Declan’s wrists.
He couldn't budge them an inch.
"You touch her again," Declan said, "and I'll peel your fingers off one joint at a time."
"Then I'll feed them to your father."
Julian’s eyes bulged with genuine terror.
He knew what the Hayes name meant in this city.
It wasn't corporate prestige.
It was seventy years of unmarked graves along Lake Michigan.
"The girl is mine, Hayes," Julian wheezed, his face turning red.
"Her father died owing Vance Logistics half a million."
"The debt transferred to her."
Declan did not blink.
"Her debt just transferred to me."
Declan threw Julian sideways into the mud.
Julian scrambled to his hands and knees, gasping for air, his expensive coat ruined by sludge.
"Get out of my sight," Declan said.
Julian stumbled to his feet.
He didn't look back.
He sprinted out of the alley toward LaSalle, disappearing into the pedestrian crowd.
Silence settled over the brick corridor.
Only the sound of rain dripping from the fire escape remained.
Declan turned to face Norah.
She was trembling so violently she had to hold onto the iron ladder to stay upright.
Her eyes were wide, brimming with tears that cut paths through the concealer on her cheek.
"Why didn't you let him kill me?" she whispered.
Declan walked over to her.
He picked up her fallen umbrella.
He shook the dirty water from the fabric and held it over her head.
"Where is your sister, Norah?"
She looked up at him, her lips blue from the cold.
"I don't know," she cried softly.
"They moved her this morning."
Declan took her cold, bruised wrist in his hand.
May you like
He held it with the gentlest possible grip.
"Then we're going to find her."
