Chapter 2 - THE NAME EVERYONE KNEW
Declan got Iris, four carriers, one furious shepherd, and a rabbit named Pepper out through the alley in less than ninety seconds.
Iris knew because she counted.
Counting helped.
Ten steps from the kennel door to the back exit.
Seven to the alley.
Twelve to the black SUV waiting beneath a dead security light.
It gave her something to do besides think about the note in her pocket.
IF DECLAN KADE EVER COMES TO YOU BLEEDING, IT MEANS THEY FINALLY FOUND WHAT I HID.
The words seemed to pulse against her hip.
Declan opened the rear hatch.
“Cats first.”
Iris shoved the carriers inside.
“Pepper goes on the floor. Keep him level. He had abdominal surgery yesterday.”
Declan stared at the rabbit carrier.
“I know how gravity works.”
“Wonderful. Tonight is full of surprises.”
A bullet struck brick somewhere behind them.
Declan pushed Iris down behind the SUV.
She landed hard on one knee.
“Hey—”
“Stay down.”
He leaned around the rear quarter panel and fired twice.
Someone at the mouth of the alley shouted.
The shepherd, Duke, lunged hard enough to nearly pull Iris's arm from its socket.
“Duke!”
The dog spun toward her, ears flat, confused by the noise.
“Car. Now.”
To Declan's visible disbelief, the dog obeyed.
Iris climbed in after him.
Declan slammed the rear door, rounded the vehicle, and got behind the wheel.
“Where is the surviving attacker?” Iris asked.
“In the utility room.”
“You left him there?”
“Bound.”
“With what?”
“His own zip ties.”
“Of course.”
Declan started the engine.
Two black vehicles blocked the south end of the alley.
He reversed.
Fast.
Iris grabbed the seat.
“You do know these animals are recovering from surgery?”
“So am I.”
“That is not helping your case.”
Declan swung backward through the narrow alley, clipped a trash can, and shot into the cross street as another vehicle entered behind them.
For the next six minutes Iris learned several things about Declan Kade.
He drove like a man with no fear of traffic laws, replacement costs, or death.
He did not waste movement.
And even while bleeding through his bandage, he never once looked panicked.
That calm terrified her.
People were not calm in situations like this unless they had been in them before.
Often.
“You knew Evan,” she said.
Declan's eyes stayed on the mirrors.
“Yes.”
The simple answer hurt more than a denial would have.
“How?”
“Not now.”
Iris laughed sharply.
“That's becoming your favorite phrase.”
A pair of headlights appeared behind them.
Declan took a right without signaling, then another.
“Seat belt.”
“I am wearing one.”
“Tighter.”
“What does that even—”
He braked hard.
A delivery truck rolled through the intersection ahead.
The pursuing SUV overshot their turn.
Declan accelerated in the opposite direction.
Iris looked at him.
“Are you always like this?”
“Yes.”
“That's unfortunate.”
For the first time, his mouth almost moved.
They crossed the river twelve minutes later and entered a neighborhood Iris rarely visited, all old brick warehouses converted into expensive lofts with restaurants hidden behind unmarked doors.
Declan pulled into an underground garage beneath a building with no visible name.
A steel gate closed behind them.
Three men appeared almost immediately.
All armed.
All wearing dark clothing.
One approached the driver's side.
“Boss.”
The word confirmed everything the surname already had.
Iris closed her eyes briefly.
Declan Kade.
Not rumor.
Not coincidence.
Boss.
The man leaned closer, saw the blood at Declan's side, and swore.
Declan ignored him.
“Call Maeve. No phones on the building network. Sweep the garage twice. Nobody comes in without my approval.”
The man's gaze shifted to Iris.
Then to the animals.
Then back to Declan.
“The dog too?”
Duke growled.
Declan looked at him.
“Especially the dog.”
They were taken to the top floor.
The apartment was not what Iris expected.
No gold fixtures.
No ridiculous portraits.
No display cases filled with weapons.
It was spare and quiet, with dark wood floors, gray furniture, and windows overlooking the river.
Too clean.
Almost impersonal.
A home designed by someone who did not intend to remain anywhere long enough to leave evidence of himself.
Iris set Pepper's carrier on a low table.
“Where can I put the cats?”
Declan pointed toward a laundry room with a closing door.
“Duke stays with me.”
“No.”
Declan looked at her.
“Duke stays with me.”
“He doesn't know you.”
“He'll learn.”
Duke looked between them and sat on Iris's boot.
Declan's eyes dropped to the dog.
“Traitor.”
Iris would have laughed if her hands had not still been shaking.
A woman entered from the hallway carrying a black medical bag.
She was in her forties, with cropped silver-blond hair and the impatient expression of someone already offended by whatever injury she had been called to treat.
Her eyes landed on Declan.
“You tore the sutures.”
“Apparently.”
“Apparently?”
Then she saw Iris.
“You stitched him?”
Iris folded her arms.
“I extracted the bullet, cleaned the wound, closed muscle, and gave him antibiotics.”
The woman's eyebrows rose.
“Doctor?”
“Veterinarian.”
A pause.
“Honestly, that explains why the work looks better than what half the emergency department would have done.”
Declan removed his coat.
Iris turned away before she could stare at the blood spreading through his shirt.
The woman introduced herself as Dr. Maeve Quinn.
Whether she actually practiced medicine anywhere legitimate, Iris decided not to ask.
While Maeve reopened the bandage, Iris washed glass dust from her hands in the kitchen sink.
Her reflection in the dark window looked unfamiliar.
Pale face.
Hair half loose.
Tiny line of blood along one cheek where flying glass had cut her.
Evan's note remained in her pocket.
She took it out.
Read it again.
Declan watched from the dining table while Maeve worked.
“You found something,” he said.
Iris looked at him.
“You're bleeding on a chair that probably costs more than my car.”
“What did you find?”
She walked over and set the note on the table.
Maeve stopped moving.
Declan did too.
He read the sentence.
His face emptied.
That frightened Iris more than surprise would have.
“You recognize the handwriting?” he asked.
“It's Evan's.”
“When did you get this?”
“It was in my coat pocket.”
Declan's eyes sharpened.
“Tonight?”
“I didn't put it there.”
Maeve said, “Could one of the men at the clinic have planted it?”
Iris shook her head.
“The key was wrapped inside. They were trying to abduct me. Why give me a key?”
Declan picked it up.
Old brass.
Small teeth.
No number.
He examined the strip of paper.
“This was folded a long time ago.”
“Exactly.”
“So it was already in the coat.”
Iris stared at him.
She wore that coat rarely.
It had belonged to Evan.
A heavy brown field jacket, too large for her, kept on a hook in the back hall for freezing nights when she had to walk dogs after surgery.
She had put it on during the escape because it was closest to the door.
Her throat tightened.
“It was his jacket.”
Declan's gaze lifted.
“Evan's?”
“Yes.”
Maeve resumed stitching quietly.
Iris sat across from Declan.
“Now you talk.”
He looked toward Maeve.
She tied off a stitch.
“I've seen worse secrets than whatever this is.”
Declan waited until she finished the bandage.
Then he stood, buttoned a clean shirt one of the men had brought, and poured a glass of water.
Not whiskey.
Iris noticed.
Maybe because she had told him no alcohol.
Maybe because he actually listened.
He sat again.
“Seven years ago, Evan Hayes worked for Kade Freight.”
Iris stared.
“No, he didn't.”
“He did consulting work under another name.”
“He was an accountant for a hospital network.”
“That was his primary job.”
“You're saying my brother secretly worked for you?”
“My father.”
Iris went still.
Declan continued.
“Kade Freight was audited internally after money started disappearing from dock accounts. My father believed someone was skimming. Evan was brought in quietly because he was good with forensic accounting and had no known connection to us.”
“How did you know him?”
“I handled the audit with him.”
Images flashed through Iris's memory.
Evan working late.
Evan claiming hospital deadlines.
Evan looking tired during the last month of his life.
She had believed all of it.
“What did he find?”
Declan's gaze settled on the brass key.
“Enough to scare people.”
“That is not an answer.”
“He found shell companies moving money through charities, shipping firms, and municipal contracts. Some accounts belonged to a rival crew. Some were connected to city officials.”
“And some?”
Declan's expression hardened.
“Some belonged to my family.”
Iris inhaled slowly.
“Patrick.”
He looked at her.
“The man at the clinic said ask Patrick.”
Declan did not respond immediately.
“My uncle. Patrick Kade.”
“Did Evan investigate him?”
“Yes.”
“Did Patrick kill him?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to believe I would tell you if I knew.”
“Why?”
“Because you're holding the only thing Evan appears to have left behind specifically for us.”
Us.
The word bothered her.
“There is no us.”
Declan's eyes held hers.
“No. There wasn't.”
A phone vibrated on the counter.
One of Declan's men entered without waiting.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We recovered the Tahoe from the alley. Plates are clean. Vehicle is stolen.”
“And the clinic?”
“Police arrived eight minutes after we cleared out.”
Iris sat straighter.
“So they know?”
The man looked uncomfortable.
“Not exactly.”
Declan's voice cooled.
“Explain.”
“Scanner traffic says they got an anonymous report of a burglary. No shots fired. No mention of bodies.”
Iris frowned.
“There were at least four shots.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And one dead man.”
The man's eyes moved toward Declan.
“Body was gone before patrol entered.”
The room chilled.
Declan stood.
“Gone?”
“Yes.”
“What about the surviving attacker?”
“Also gone.”
Iris looked between them.
“You tied him up.”
“I did.”
“Then who removed them?”
Declan's face became stone.
“Someone with access.”
“To the clinic?”
“To the police response.”
Maeve swore softly.
Declan turned to his man.
“Who has the incident?”
“Twelfth precinct.”
Declan's eyes narrowed.
“Captain Larkin?”
“Yes.”
Iris knew that name too.
Captain Owen Larkin had been the detective who came to her apartment seven years earlier and told her Evan had died during a robbery.
Her chair scraped backward.
Declan looked at her.
“What?”
She could barely force the words out.
“Larkin investigated Evan's murder.”
The men in the room went silent.
Iris pulled the photograph from her pocket and set it beside the key.
Then she looked at Declan.
“For seven years, I believed my brother died because he handed his wallet to the wrong person near a train station.”
Declan's gaze did not leave hers.
“Iris—”
“No.”
She pointed at the photograph.
“You knew him. Your family paid him. A police captain connected to his death is now making bodies disappear from my clinic.”
Her voice broke despite everything she did to control it.
“So tell me the part you've been avoiding.”
Declan said nothing.
She saw the answer before he gave it.
Not knowledge.
Guilt.
“What happened the night Evan died?”
Declan's jaw tightened.
“He called me.”
Iris stopped breathing.
“When?”
“Eleven minutes before the police say he was shot.”
Her fingers curled against the table.
“What did he say?”
Declan looked at the brass key.
“He said he had proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“He wouldn't say over the phone.”
“Did he ask you to meet him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The word fell between them.
Iris stared at him.
“Why?”
Declan's face became colder, but his voice did not.
“Because my father ordered me not to go.”
“And you listened.”
“Yes.”
“Then Evan died.”
“Yes.”
The room seemed too small.
Iris stood.
Declan rose too.
She wanted to hit him.
She wanted to demand an impossible explanation that would make seven years disappear.
Instead she whispered, “Get away from me.”
He did.
Immediately.
That somehow made it worse.
Iris walked to the window and pressed both hands against the cold glass.
Behind her, Duke settled beside the rabbit carrier.
Rain threaded silver lines down the river-facing windows.
After a long silence, Declan spoke.
“I went to the station after I heard.”
Iris did not turn.
“Too late.”
“Yes.”
“I searched for the proof he mentioned.”
“You did a wonderful job.”
“I thought it died with him.”
She looked over her shoulder.
Declan was staring at the key.
“Until tonight,” he said.
Then Maeve picked up Evan's note and held it under the lamp.
“Declan.”
He looked at her.
She pointed to the paper's lower edge.
“There is something else.”
Iris crossed back to the table.
Faint indentations marked the paper, nearly invisible unless the light struck sideways.
Writing from another page that had once rested on top of it.
Maeve took a pencil and shaded lightly across the surface.
Letters appeared.
Not many.
A sequence.
B-14.
Then three words.
BENEATH THE DOGS.
Iris stared.
Declan's eyes lifted toward her.
“The clinic basement?”
Iris shook her head slowly.
“There is no basement.”
A memory surfaced.
Evan renovating the kennel corridor the summer before his death.
New drainage.
New concrete.
Weeks of complaints about dust and contractors.
Beneath the dogs.
May you like
Her stomach dropped.
“There is now.”
