Chapter 3 - THE DEAD MAN’S WARNING
Cassian read the note six times.
Delaney counted because she had nothing else to do with her fear.
NOT MERCER. JULIAN.
Three words.
Twelve years late.
Still enough to change the shape of the room.
“Your father knew?” she asked.
Cassian folded the paper again.
“My father suspected everyone.”
“That is not same.”
“No.”
He turned watch over.
“The compartment was hidden?”
“Yes.”
“I never knew.”
“Your father did not tell you.”
“No.”
“Then why leave it in your watch?”
“It was his watch.”
Delaney stopped.
Of course.
Cassian inherited it after father died.
Meaning warning could have been inside for twelve years, carried on Cassian’s wrist through meetings, funerals, wars, dinners.
A dead man’s message against skin.
“Why would he suspect Julian?”
Cassian looked toward cottage window.
“My uncle handled northern routes before he left Boston.”
“Wexler’s piers.”
“Yes.”
The man from dinner.
The folded napkin.
Gone one week before Cassian disappeared.
Delaney felt a thread pull tight.
“Wexler.”
Cassian’s eyes sharpened.
“What about him?”
“He kept talking.”
“At dinner?”
“Yes.”
“That was the point.”
“No. He said something about northern piers.”
“What?”
Delaney searched memory.
Numbers.
Excuses.
She had been pouring water.
“Three manifests. He said three manifests did not match.”
Cassian sat straighter despite pain.
“I never saw that.”
“He said he could explain third list.”
“Third list?”
“Yes.”
Cassian cursed.
“What?”
“Our system has two manifests. Legal cargo and internal risk copy.”
“What is third?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then Wexler did.”
“Yes.”
“And he disappeared.”
Cassian looked at her.
“Did anyone clear his room?”
“What room?”
“He had guest room after dinner.”
“Housekeeping did.”
“Who?”
Delaney knew.
“Me.”
Cassian stared.
“Did you find anything?”
“No.”
Then memory.
Bathroom wastebasket.
Wet paper.
Burned edge.
She had emptied it without reading.
Staff do not read.
Furniture.
Damn.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“Paper in bathroom bin. Half burned.”
“Do you remember it?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
“Blue ink.”
Cassian’s mouth tightened.
“Julian signs in blue.”
“That seems flimsy.”
“Yes.”
He looked almost approving.
“Good.”
“For what?”
“Not accepting convenient evidence.”
Delaney shrugged.
“You said facts.”
“Apparently I am contagious.”
He leaned back.
Pain crossed face.
“Lie down.”
“I am.”
“Properly.”
“Delaney.”
“You are bleeding through bandage.”
He looked down.
She was right.
Again.
This irritated him.
Good.
She changed dressing.
He did not speak.
Up close, scars crossed his torso too.
Old bullet. Knife. Surgery.
A life where violence had been converted into pale lines and expensive shirts.
Delaney focused on gauze.
“What happened in warehouse?”
Cassian’s voice changed.
“I arrived at east block at twelve forty-three.”
“Alone.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Mercer said alarm system showed unauthorized access and fire sensor malfunction.”
“He called?”
“Yes.”
“From his number?”
“Yes.”
“Voice?”
“No. Text first. Then automated alert.”
“Did you call him?”
“I tried.”
“No answer.”
“So you went alone.”
He glared.
“I was four minutes away.”
“That is not explanation.”
“I did not expect ambush inside my own warehouse.”
“Everyone says things like that after ambush.”
Cassian almost smiled.
Then:
“Fire started after I entered.”
“Where?”
“Office mezzanine.”
“Accelerant?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Someone locked east doors remotely.”
“Security system.”
“Yes.”
“Mercer controls.”
“Yes.”
“But note says not Mercer.”
“Correct.”
“How did you get out?”
“Loading chute to lower dock.”
“Then car?”
“My car was gone.”
Delaney stopped.
“Gone?”
“Yes.”
“So what went into bay?”
“Replacement.”
“How?”
“Someone had duplicate armored sedan. Or similar shell.”
“Your shoe?”
He looked at her.
“Was in trunk.”
“What?”
“I keep spare clothes in car.”
Perfect.
A fake crash with his belongings.
“Then pump room?”
“Two men caught me near tide tunnel.”
“Faces?”
“Masks.”
“Voices?”
“One familiar.”
“Who?”
Cassian hesitated.
“Rafael Dane.”
Delaney knew name.
One of Julian’s old lieutenants.
“Works for Julian?”
“Used to.”
“Now?”
“Freelance security.”
“That is a polite term.”
“Yes.”
“They beat you?”
“Yes.”
“Why not kill?”
“Wanted something.”
“What?”
Cassian looked at watch.
“The watch.”
Delaney felt cold.
“They knew?”
“Apparently.”
“Did they search you?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t they find?”
“I did not have it.”
He had left it in study.
One forgotten object saved him.
“They locked you in pump room until?”
“Until I told them where it was.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Three days.”
“Yes.”
Delaney stared.
“Why not lie?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“They knew house layout.”
“Someone watching study.”
“Yes.”
So they waited for watch.
Delaney picked it up after disappearance.
Did someone see?
Maybe.
Her blood chilled.
“Am I being watched?”
Cassian looked at her.
“Probably.”
Wonderful.
“Then bringing you here was stupid.”
“Yes.”
“You agreed.”
“I was concussed.”
“Convenient.”
He almost laughed again.
Then serious:
“You need to leave estate.”
“No.”
His face hardened.
“This is not debate.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one that makes men disappear after dinner.”
Cassian stared.
Delaney continued.
“I leave now, staff notices. Mercer notices. Julian notices. If someone watched me take watch, leaving confirms I know something.”
He hated logic when it trapped him.
“So you continue normal.”
“Yes.”
“And I stay here.”
“Yes.”
“Without doctor.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“I said no.”
“I heard.”
She stood.
“There is one person.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Mara Voss.”
Cassian frowned.
“Estate veterinarian.”
“Yes.”
“I am not a horse.”
“She stitched a stable hand after he fell through glass and asks fewer questions than a hospital.”
Cassian considered.
“Can you trust her?”
Delaney thought.
“No.”
“Then no.”
“Can you trust anyone?”
Silence.
Fair.
She sat.
“Mercer?”
Cassian looked at note.
“I want to.”
“That is not answer.”
“No.”
“Julian?”
“No.”
“Your uncle is in house.”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
“My sister.”
“Elara?”
“Yes.”
Delaney knew Elara Thorne only from photographs.
Thirty.
Lived London.
Art dealer.
Returned after disappearance?
“No,” Cassian said when Delaney asked. “Julian told her search had become recovery. She is flying in tomorrow.”
“Would she recognize you are alive from anything?”
“Maybe.”
“Can we tell her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Julian watches her, grief is safer than hope.”
Delaney hated sentence.
“But you trust her.”
“With my life.”
“Then you are lying to her to protect her.”
Cassian looked at Delaney.
“Yes.”
She shook head.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You powerful people all use protection to excuse taking choices away.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You think I should call my sister and tell her I am hiding in a cottage while the man who tried to kill me controls my house?”
“I think maybe she deserves to decide what risk she accepts.”
“You know nothing about my family.”
“I know she thinks you are dead.”
That hit.
Cassian looked away.
Delaney softened.
“I’m not saying call tonight.”
“Good.”
“I’m saying don’t turn lying into virtue.”
He was silent.
Then:
“Noted.”
A mafia boss taking criticism from a maid.
Another impossible thing.
Delaney returned main house before dawn.
No one questioned where she had been.
She carried laundry basket.
Furniture again.
At breakfast, Julian sat at head of table.
Cassian’s seat.
That made Delaney’s stomach turn.
He wore navy suit.
Blue pen beside plate.
Of course.
Mercer Hale stood near door.
Face tired.
He looked genuinely grieving.
Or skilled.
Elara had not arrived yet.
Julian asked:
“Delaney.”
She stopped.
He knew her name.
Bad.
“Yes, sir?”
“Where were you last night?”
Her heart stopped.
“Staff quarters.”
He smiled.
“Were you?”
Mercer looked at her.
Something in his face.
Warning?
Julian stirred coffee.
“One of kitchen girls said you left.”
Delaney lowered eyes.
“Market.”
“At midnight?”
“No, sir. Earlier.”
“Then walk.”
She realized.
He knew harbor road.
Maybe saw.
“After dinner.”
“Where?”
“Harbor.”
Julian’s spoon stopped.
Delaney continued before fear showed.
“My mother liked water.”
True enough.
“Sentimental.”
“Yes, sir.”
Julian looked at her for long time.
Then smiled.
“Take Mr. Thorne’s study next.”
Delaney’s blood chilled.
“Sir?”
“It should be prepared for inventory.”
Inventory.
Succession.
Cassian’s life reduced to assets.
Julian picked up blue pen.
“And Delaney?”
“Yes?”
“If you find his father’s watch, bring it to me.”
There it was.
She lowered eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
Mercer said nothing.
But as Delaney turned, his hand brushed table twice.
A signal?
Two taps.
She remembered Cassian folded napkin twice before ending Wexler.
Maybe coincidence.
In study, Delaney cleaned slowly.
She searched for anything.
Nothing.
Then she found desk drawer already forced.
Someone had looked.
For watch.
Under blotter, faint indentation in dust showed rectangular paper removed recently.
She opened lower cabinet.
Empty.
Then heard door.
Mercer.
He closed it behind him.
Delaney froze.
“Where is he?”
Her heart stopped.
“Who?”
Mercer looked at her.
“Do not waste time.”
“I don’t know—”
“Cassian.”
Silence.
Delaney’s hand moved toward cleaning spray as if it could be weapon.
Mercer saw.
Almost smiled.
“He is alive.”
Not question.
“How do you know?”
“Because Julian is still looking for watch.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves Cassian did not have it when car ‘crashed.’”
Mercer stepped closer.
Delaney backed.
He stopped.
Good.
“I did not send that alert.”
Cassian’s suspicion.
“Your number.”
“Cloned.”
“You expect me to believe?”
“No.”
Mercer reached inside jacket.
Delaney tensed.
He removed small plastic evidence bag.
Inside:
A strip of cloth.
Gray suit fabric.
Blood.
Cassian?
“Found in tide tunnel yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“Because Julian controls two officers on task force.”
Delaney stared.
Mercer continued.
“I have been searching for Cassian privately.”
“Why stop official search?”
“I didn’t.”
“Everyone says you did.”
“Julian announced it.”
True.
“Why are you telling me?”
Mercer’s eyes dropped to her palm.
No watch there.
Still.
“Because someone saw you enter east warehouse yesterday.”
Delaney went cold.
“Who?”
“Rafael Dane.”
Alive.
Watching.
Mercer said:
“If you found Cassian, you have hours, not days.”
Delaney stared.
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Best answer.
Then he handed her folded map.
“Old drainage route from cottage property to west boathouse.”
He knew cottage.
Damn.
“Move him.”
Delaney looked at map.
Mercer whispered:
“Julian is searching greenhouse tonight.”
Her blood froze.
Then footsteps outside.
Mercer stepped away.
Door opened.
Julian.
Blue pen in hand.
He looked at both.
“Am I interrupting?”
Mercer smiled smoothly.
“Inventory.”
Julian looked at Delaney.
“Find the watch?”
She met his eyes.
Real power did not need volume.
Neither did lying.
“No, sir.”
Julian smiled.
“Keep looking.”
When he left, Mercer whispered:
“Now you understand.”
Delaney did.
Cassian was alive.
May you like
Julian suspected she knew.
And the safest man in house might be the one Cassian’s dead father had warned him not to blame.
