Chapter 2 - THE NAME
Kate stared at the dark wool of Damon Blackwell’s lapel.
She could not look into his eyes.
If she looked into his eyes, she would break completely.
The silence in the third-floor storage room stretched thin.
The music from the ballroom below drifted up faintly.
A waltz.
People were dancing.
People were drinking champagne.
"Kate."
His voice was barely a breath.
It commanded obedience without raising a decibel.
"Who?"
She swallowed the copper taste in her mouth.
"It doesn't matter, sir."
"Everything matters in this house."
"I slipped," she whispered, the lie tasting like ash.
"You didn't slip."
He reached out.
His gloved finger touched her uninjured wrist.
Not to hurt her.
To anchor her.
"The bruising on your bicep is four fingers wide," he said softly.
"That is not a fall. That is a grip."
She shivered.
"Please, Mr. Blackwell."
"Name him."
She looked up then.
She looked straight into those dark, cold eyes.
"Preston Caldwell."
The name hung in the air between them like a dropped blade.
Senator Caldwell’s son.
The guest of honor.
The golden boy of Boston politics.
Damon did not blink.
His expression did not shift by a single millimeter.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Look at me and tell me it was Preston."
"It was Preston Caldwell."
Damon let go of her wrist.
He turned slowly toward the narrow window overlooking the estate gardens.
Outside, security lights cut sharp lines across the manicured lawns.
"He is downstairs," Damon said to the glass.
"He is drinking my scotch."
"I just want to go home, Mr. Blackwell."
"You are not going anywhere tonight, Kate."
He turned back around.
His face was carved from granite.
"My private physician is waiting in the west wing."
"I can't afford a doctor—"
"I am not billing you."
He pulled a silver case from his pocket, flipped it open, but did not take anything out.
"Marcus!" he called toward the hallway.
The heavy oak door swung open instantly.
His head of security stepped inside, massive and silent in a tailored suit.
"Sir?"
"Clear the east wing," Damon said.
"And bring me Preston Caldwell."
Marcus looked once at Kate’s arm.
His face hardened into a mask of pure steel.
"Immediately, boss."
"Wait," Kate gasped, grabbing at Damon’s sleeve with her good hand.
"You can't. His father is a United States Senator. There will be an investigation. The police—"
Damon looked down at her small hand clutching his black sleeve.
Slowly, deliberately, he covered her hand with his own.
"Let me handle the police, Kate."
"You don't understand. They have power."
A shadow of a smile touched the corner of Damon’s mouth.
It wasn't a warm smile.
It was the smile of a predator looking at a rabbit that had wandered into a den of wolves.
"Power, Miss Bennett," Damon whispered, "is something people talk about when they don't have enough money or enough guns."
He turned to Marcus.
"Bring him quietly. I don't want a scene in front of the governor."
"Understood," Marcus murmured, vanishing into the corridor.
Kate stood frozen against the shelves.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She had just signed a death warrant for a senator's son.
Or perhaps, for herself.
Damon walked to the door, paused, and looked back over his shoulder.
"Follow me, Kate."
"Where?"
"To a safe place," he said quietly.
May you like
"We have business to finish before the sun comes up."
THE END OF CHAPTER 2
