Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN COUNTY
Rachel Delaney looked nothing like a dead woman.
She looked exhausted.
That was different.
By ten the next morning, I was sitting across from her in a private attorney room at Cook County Jail.
Private required favors.
Favors were one of the few currencies I still trusted.
Marco stood outside.
My lawyer, Elena Rossi, sat beside me with a yellow legal pad and the expression she wore whenever I had already made a decision she considered legally irritating.
Rachel entered in county clothing.
She stopped when she saw me.
Then laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“Of course.”
I leaned back.
“Good morning.”
“Is it?”
“No.”
She sat.
Her hair was shorter than I remembered.
Her face thinner.
Cancer had left its evidence too.
The hollow cheeks.
The careful movements.
But her eyes were sharp.
“You found them.”
Not a question.
“Lena found me.”
Rachel’s entire body went still.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Noah?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
For three seconds, the woman disappeared.
The mother remained.
Then she opened them.
“Where?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
“Then why should I tell you anything?”
“Because Briggs found them last night.”
The color left her face.
“How?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
She looked down at her hands.
“Did he take them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were in my restaurant.”
Rachel stared at me.
Then, unbelievably, she started laughing.
Real laughter this time.
Quiet.
Disbelieving.
“What?”
“Lena.”
“What about her?”
“She remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
Rachel wiped at her eyes.
“Adrian told her once that if everything went wrong, find Dominic.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“Adrian knew Lena?”
“Yes.”
I sat forward.
“Start there.”
Rachel looked at Elena.
My lawyer said, “I represent Mr. Moretti. I do not represent you.”
“Comforting.”
“You asked.”
Rachel looked back at me.
“I met Adrian six years ago. I worked for him.”
“I know.”
“He was kinder than people expected.”
“I know that too.”
“You say that like you resent it.”
“I resented most things about my brother when he was alive. It was how we communicated.”
That almost made her smile.
“He found out about my cancer before I told anyone at work.”
“How?”
“I fainted.”
“That would do it.”
“He paid for a specialist.”
I stared.
“He never told me.”
“Why would he?”
That was Adrian.
Quiet generosity irritated him less than public gratitude.
Rachel folded her hands.
“I had Lena when I was nineteen. Her father left before she was born. I built a life. Not a great one, but ours.”
“And Adrian?”
“We became friends.”
“Friends.”
She looked at me.
“Do not make this uglier than it was.”
“I asked one word.”
“You asked it like a Moretti.”
Fair.
“Were you together?”
“No.”
“Was Noah his?”
“No.”
The answer came fast.
Certain.
I felt something unexpected.
Relief.
Then confusion.
“Why Baby Moretti?”
“Because Adrian arranged the birth.”
“What does that mean?”
Rachel took a breath.
“Evelyn Kessler came to him.”
“Why?”
“She was pregnant.”
“With Noah.”
“Yes.”
“Charles’s son?”
“No.”
There it was.
“Whose?”
Rachel looked directly at me.
“Senator Daniel Whitmore.”
I sat back.
That name could move rooms.
Whitmore had served Illinois for twenty-six years.
Presidential committees.
National television.
Family photographs every Christmas.
Three grown children.
A wife who hosted charity galas with Evelyn Kessler.
This was no affair.
This was dynamite with a birth certificate.
“Elena,” I said.
My lawyer wrote the name without comment.
Rachel continued.
“Evelyn wanted out. Not just from the pregnancy. From Charles.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles knew.”
My eyes narrowed.
“He knew his wife was pregnant by Whitmore.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He decided the baby was leverage.”
Of course.
Men like Kessler see human beings and calculate percentages.
“He wanted to use Noah against a senator.”
“He wanted contracts, appointments, federal protection.”
“And Evelyn went to Adrian.”
“She knew he handled sensitive matters.”
I almost laughed.
Adrian had always described his job as “cleaning other people’s moral laundry.”
“What did he plan?”
“To get Evelyn and the baby somewhere safe after delivery.”
“Why register Noah as Moretti?”
“Temporary protection.”
I stared.
“He put our name on the birth record.”
“For twenty-six hours. It was supposed to be a shield.”
“How?”
“Because Charles would hesitate to take a child publicly tied to your family.”
My jaw tightened.
“He used my name without asking.”
Rachel’s expression sharpened.
“He was trying to keep a newborn alive.”
That ended my complaint.
“What happened?”
“Adrian died before the delivery.”
“No. Noah was born three days after Adrian died.”
“Exactly.”
Rachel swallowed.
“Everything collapsed.”
“Evelyn still delivered.”
“Yes. Quietly. Private floor at St. Catherine’s.”
“Dr. Grayson.”
“Yes.”
“Briggs.”
“Yes.”
“Charles?”
“He was in Springfield.”
Convenient.
“Adrian had arranged for me to pick up the baby and take Evelyn to a safe house.”
“Why you?”
“Because nobody noticed assistants.”
True.
“Did Evelyn go?”
Rachel’s eyes lowered.
“No.”
“Why?”
“She panicked. Grayson told her Charles knew everything.”
“Did he?”
“I think Briggs told him.”
“So the plan changed.”
“Yes.”
“Adrian was dead.”
“Yes.”
“Who changed Noah’s record to Parker?”
“Grayson.”
“Why Parker?”
Rachel looked sick.
“Because that was the fake identity Adrian created for the baby.”
That explained Lena’s lie.
She had been trained to use it.
“What was supposed to happen after?”
“I was supposed to take Noah, Lena, and Evelyn north.”
“Where?”
“Wisconsin first. Then Canada.”
“Evelyn refused.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said Charles would find her. She said he could not find the baby if she stayed.”
I understood.
The mother stayed inside the cage to draw attention.
Noah escaped.
“Did she give Noah to you?”
“Yes.”
So Lena’s story about finding him had been another protective lie.
“What happened at the Kessler house?”
“Briggs followed me.”
Rachel’s hands began shaking.
“I took Noah there because Evelyn said she needed to see him one last time.”
“You brought the baby back?”
“I was stupid.”
“No.”
“You can call it something else. I was stupid.”
She looked at the table.
“Evelyn held him for maybe five minutes. Then Briggs arrived with Grayson.”
“Why was Grayson there?”
“To sedate her.”
Lena had seen that.
“Briggs wanted Noah.”
“Yes.”
“Where was Charles?”
“Not there.”
“What did Briggs say?”
“That Adrian’s protection died with him.”
The sentence made me cold.
“What did you do?”
“I ran.”
“With Noah and Lena.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“We moved every few nights. Motels. Shelters. Friends.”
“Your cancer.”
“Got worse.”
“Why not come to me?”
Rachel’s eyes lifted.
“I did.”
I stared.
“What?”
“I called your office.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“I never got it.”
“I left a message with Marco.”
The room changed.
Elena’s pen stopped.
I did not move.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Adrian’s emergency plan had failed. That I needed Dominic Moretti.”
“Exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Did he call back?”
“No.”
My throat tightened.
Marco.
My head of security for twelve years.
The man outside this room.
Maybe innocent.
Maybe not.
“What number did you call?”
She gave it.
My private office line.
“Who answered?”
“A man. Said his name was Marco.”
My hands remained open on the table.
That took effort.
“What happened after?”
“Two days later, Briggs found us.”
Coincidence had just become expensive.
“What motel?”
She named it.
I knew the area.
“What happened?”
“Briggs came in while Lena and Noah were in the bathroom.”
“What did he want?”
“Noah.”
“You fought.”
“Yes.”
“He told Lena you died.”
Rachel’s face broke.
For the first time, she lost control.
“He told her what?”
I said nothing.
Her eyes filled.
“That bastard.”
“You were arrested?”
“Not that night.”
“When?”
“Three days later.”
“How?”
“I went after Charles.”
“Why?”
“Because Briggs took Lena and Noah.”
“Did you try to kill him?”
Rachel looked at Elena.
Then at me.
“No.”
“Charge says you entered his office with a gun.”
“I did.”
“Loaded?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds unfriendly.”
“I wanted him to tell me where my children were.”
“My children.”
I noticed the words.
Noah was not hers by blood.
Did not matter.
“What happened?”
“Security tackled me before I reached Charles.”
“Gun fired?”
“No.”
“Then attempted murder came from intent.”
“Manufactured intent.”
Elena wrote faster.
“Your public defender?”
“Changed twice.”
“Bail?”
“Denied.”
“Why?”
“They called me a flight risk.”
“You are.”
Rachel glared.
I almost smiled.
Then the door opened.
A corrections officer appeared.
“Time.”
I stood.
Rachel did too.
“Dominic.”
I paused.
“Do not bring Lena here.”
“She thinks you’re dead.”
“I know.”
“She deserves to see you.”
“Not here.”
“Why?”
Rachel looked toward the camera in the corner.
“Because Briggs has people inside.”
I followed her gaze.
“What people?”
“The man who took my statement after arrest.”
“Detective?”
She shook her head.
“County investigator.”
“Name.”
“Paul Nolan.”
Nolan.
One of the men downstairs last night.
I felt the room narrow.
A man working with Briggs had entered my restaurant pretending to retrieve a child.
And another piece of the system had kept Rachel silent.
I turned toward the door.
Then Rachel said, “There’s something else.”
I looked back.
“Adrian left a file.”
“Where?”
“With me.”
“You’ve been in jail eight months.”
“Not physically.”
“What does that mean?”
She smiled for the first time.
“Your brother was paranoid.”
“Yes.”
“He made me memorize a location.”
“Where?”
“Union Station.”
I stared.
“Locker?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Lost-and-found claim number.”
She recited nine digits.
“Inside is proof.”
“Of what?”
Rachel’s eyes moved toward the guard waiting outside.
“Who Noah is.”
I started to leave.
Then she added:
“And who killed Adrian.”
I stopped.
The room became silent again.
“Rachel.”
She held my gaze.
“Your brother did not have a heart attack.”
I already believed that.
But belief is cheap.
“Then what happened?”
She whispered:
May you like
“Charles Kessler had him poisoned.”
And outside the door, I heard Marco’s shoes stop moving.
