Chapter 1 - THE MEN AT THE CURTAIN
“Those men,” Declan said, “are why you shouldn’t leave alone.”
Meline looked toward the entrance.
Three men stood just inside the velvet curtains.
One wore a gray raincoat darkened at the shoulders. Another was broad enough to make the doorway look smaller. The third held nothing in his hands, which somehow made him the most unsettling.
The man in gray saw her.
His attention sharpened.
“Meline Hayes?”
Declan stepped between them.
It was not dramatic.
He did not reach for a weapon or raise his voice.
He simply moved one step to his left, and the entire room changed around that step.
The bartender stopped polishing a glass.
The man on the mezzanine—Liam—was already coming down.
Two other customers Meline had assumed were businessmen quietly stood from separate tables.
Not customers.
Security.
She felt suddenly stupid for thinking she had found a hidden bar where nobody knew her.
“Who are they?” she whispered.
Declan did not look at her.
“I’m waiting to hear that too.”
The man in gray gave him a careful smile.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
So they knew him.
Meline’s stomach tightened.
Declan rested one hand on the back of her stool.
“Mr. Sloane.”
“Didn’t expect to find you here.”
“That is generally why I come.”
Sloane looked past him.
“We’re only here for Miss Hayes.”
“She doesn’t appear interested.”
“It isn’t social.”
“No,” Declan said. “Men rarely arrive in threes at two in the morning for conversation.”
Meline picked up her bag.
She hated that her hand shook.
Sloane noticed.
His smile softened as if he were the reasonable person in the room.
“Miss Hayes, Bradley sent us.”
Her throat tightened.
“Where is he?”
“Concerned.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He wants to speak with you.”
“He has my number.”
Declan glanced at her.
Good answer, his expression seemed to say.
Sloane’s smile thinned.
“He also wants property returned.”
Meline’s heart stopped.
“What property?”
“You know.”
She did not.
Or she thought she did not.
Then she remembered the laptop.
Bradley’s silver laptop had been on the dining table when she left their apartment.
She had not taken it.
Her own laptop was in her bag.
Her phone.
Wallet.
A folder containing wedding vendor contracts she had grabbed without thinking.
Nothing else.
“I don’t have anything of his.”
Sloane looked toward Declan.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
Declan’s expression barely moved.
“You walked into my room.”
“Your bar.”
“My room.”
The distinction seemed to matter.
Liam arrived beside them.
Up close, he looked younger than Meline expected. Maybe thirty. Dark hair. Calm eyes. The kind of calm that came from competence, not peace.
He held up a phone to Declan.
One message on the screen.
Declan read it.
Then looked at Sloane.
“Bradley’s apartment is empty.”
Meline turned.
“What?”
Liam looked at her.
“Building staff saw him leave around twelve forty.”
“With what?”
“One suitcase.”
Her anger hit before fear.
Of course.
Bradley had spent hours calling her a liar, a thief, an ungrateful woman who would destroy both of them.
Meanwhile he had packed.
“Where did he go?”
Liam’s answer was for Declan.
“Unknown.”
Sloane said, “Then perhaps we all have the same problem.”
Declan looked at him.
“No.”
“You want Carmichael.”
“Yes.”
“We want what he took.”
“Also yes.”
Meline stepped forward.
“Then stop talking around me.”
All four men looked at her.
She hated it.
Also enjoyed it slightly.
“Bradley told me tonight that I had no idea whose money I was interfering with,” she said. “Then these men show up saying I have his property. You say he works for you. Someone is going to explain before I decide I’ve accidentally walked into the world’s worst networking event.”
Liam looked down.
The bartender bit back a smile.
Declan did not.
But something in his eyes warmed.
“Sloane works for Carmichael’s creditors,” Declan said.
Sloane’s jaw tightened.
“Independent recovery.”
“Debt collectors with tailoring,” Meline said.
“Essentially.”
Sloane said, “We are not here to threaten you.”
“You arrived after two a.m. with two men who look like they eat threats for breakfast.”
The broad man almost smiled.
Sloane didn’t.
“What did Bradley take?” Meline asked.
Silence.
Declan answered.
“Three million dollars.”
She laughed.
Nobody else did.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Bradley could not steal three million dollars.”
Declan looked at her carefully.
“Why?”
“Because Bradley checks restaurant bills for duplicate appetizer charges.”
“That does not disqualify him from theft.”
“He tracks reward points.”
“Many criminals enjoy organization.”
“Criminal?”
The word landed.
There it was.
She had known Bradley handled “private financing” for men with expensive cars and vague companies.
She had known cash entered their apartment in envelopes sometimes.
She had asked questions.
Bradley always answered with irritation until she learned questions cost peace.
But criminal was different from suspicious.
Criminal made the years behind her look foolish.
Declan’s voice softened.
“Bradley managed accounts for several Fitzpatrick businesses.”
“Legal businesses?”
“Yes.”
“Only legal?”
A pause.
“That is a different conversation.”
She laughed again.
This time bitterly.
“Of course.”
Sloane stepped forward.
“Miss Hayes, if Bradley gave you anything tonight, we need it.”
“He gave me an apology at six, an excuse at seven, blame at eight, and by eleven he was threatening me. You’re welcome to all four.”
“What started the argument?”
Meline’s face heated.
None of them deserved this.
Then she realized privacy had already left the building.
“I found another woman’s hotel receipt in his jacket.”
Sloane frowned.
Declan did not react.
“I confronted him. He told me it was business. I called the hotel. It was a reservation for two. He admitted he’d been seeing someone.”
Liam’s eyes shifted to Declan.
That meant something.
“What?” Meline asked.
Declan said, “Which hotel?”
“The Langham.”
“Date?”
“Last Thursday.”
Liam checked his tablet.
His expression changed.
Declan noticed.
“Say it.”
“Carmichael met someone there Thursday.”
“Who?”
Liam looked at Meline.
Then Declan.
“Eleanor Price.”
Meline knew the name.
Every Chicago financial newspaper knew it.
Eleanor Price was chief compliance officer at Great Lakes Union Bank.
She was also married.
Not to Bradley.
Meline’s humiliation changed shape.
“Was he sleeping with her?”
Liam answered carefully.
“We don’t know.”
“Great. Love ambiguity.”
Declan said, “Price had access to transfer controls.”
Sloane went still.
So did Meline.
“Three million,” she said.
Declan nodded.
“The theft was not a bag of cash.”
“Wire transfers.”
“Yes.”
“You think Bradley and Eleanor did it together.”
“We think Bradley moved money through accounts Price could authorize.”
“And now he’s gone.”
“Yes.”
Meline looked at her engagement ring still sitting in tequila.
Suddenly it seemed less like heartbreak jewelry and more like evidence of a life she had not understood.
Sloane said, “Then perhaps Miss Hayes has access codes.”
“No.”
“Documents.”
“No.”
“Devices.”
“My laptop is mine.”
He looked toward her bag.
Declan moved before she did.
One small step.
Sloane stopped.
“I am not taking her bag.”
“Good.”
Meline grabbed it herself.
“Actually, I’m checking.”
She pulled it onto the bar.
Wallet.
Makeup pouch.
Wedding folder.
Laptop.
Phone charger.
A paperback she had been pretending to read for three weeks.
She opened the wedding folder.
Florist contract.
Drake deposit paperwork.
Catering samples.
Invitation proofs.
Then something white slid out.
A bank envelope.
She froze.
“That isn’t mine.”
Nobody moved.
Declan looked at it.
“Don’t open it yet.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone in the room suddenly wants you to.”
She looked at Sloane.
He did.
Very much.
Meline picked up the envelope anyway.
Her name was written on the front.
Not handwriting.
Printed label.
MELINE HAYES.
Inside was a flash drive.
And a key.
Small brass safety-deposit key.
No note.
Her stomach dropped.
“He put this in my folder.”
“Likely,” Liam said.
“When?”
She thought.
Bradley had helped carry boxes from the wedding planner’s office two days earlier.
He had taken this folder into his office to “check final numbers.”
She had kissed him while he complained about flowers.
Twelve hours later she found the hotel receipt.
Now this.
Sloane extended his hand.
“I’ll take it.”
Meline laughed.
“No.”
His face hardened.
“Miss Hayes.”
“No.”
Declan looked at her.
“Good instinct.”
“You want it too.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Occasionally.”
Sloane stepped closer.
Liam stepped between them.
The broad man near the curtain moved.
Then every light in the Obsidian Room went out.
Meline’s breath caught.
Emergency lighting came on red.
Someone shouted near the stairs.
Glass broke.
Declan’s hand closed around her wrist.
Not hard.
“Behind the bar.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t Sloane.”
A sharp pop sounded from the entrance.
Not a gunshot.
A breaker or a lamp.
Then another.
Smoke began rolling beneath the curtain.
Liam shouted:
“Service exit.”
Declan pulled Meline behind the bar.
The bartender already had a hidden door open.
She stared.
“Of course there’s a secret door.”
“Not the time.”
They moved into a narrow corridor.
Meline clutched the flash drive.
The ring remained behind in tequila.
For some reason, she thought about it.
Declan noticed.
“What?”
“My ring.”
He stared at her.
“Leave it.”
The answer was immediate.
Something inside her agreed.
They climbed a steel staircase to an alley behind the building.
Rain hit her face.
A black SUV waited with the engine running.
Liam appeared behind them.
“Sloane’s people are contained. Two unknown men entered through the kitchen.”
“For who?” Declan asked.
“Not sure.”
Meline held up the envelope.
“For this.”
Declan looked at her.
“Probably.”
A phone vibrated.
Not hers.
Declan checked his.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Liam read over his shoulder.
Meline waited.
Declan finally turned the screen toward her.
A photograph.
Bradley.
Standing in an airport terminal.
Timestamp twenty minutes earlier.
O’Hare.
Board behind him:
DUBLIN.
Meline stared.
“He’s leaving the country.”
“Yes.”
Then another message arrived.
From an unknown number.
One line:
DON’T LET MELINE OPEN THE DRIVE.
She read it twice.
“Who sent that?”
Declan looked toward the wet alley.
“I don’t know.”
Her phone buzzed inside her coat.
Bradley.
This time she answered.
“Where are you?”
His breath came fast.
“Meline, listen to me.”
“You’re at O’Hare.”
Silence.
“How do you know that?”
She looked at Declan.
“Apparently I’ve made interesting friends.”
Bradley swore.
“Meline, whatever Fitzpatrick tells you, do not trust him.”
Declan’s expression did not change.
She said, “You stole three million dollars.”
“I moved it.”
“Oh, that is much better.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand you cheated on me and hid something in my wedding folder.”
“Eleanor was not an affair.”
“Then congratulations. You destroyed our engagement with accounting.”
“Meline.”
His voice broke.
For the first time, he sounded afraid.
“The drive is insurance.”
“Against who?”
A boarding announcement sounded behind him.
Bradley whispered:
“Declan Fitzpatrick.”
The alley became very quiet.
Meline looked at the man standing three feet away.
Declan heard.
Bradley continued.
“If he gets that drive, people die.”
Then the line cut.
Meline lowered the phone.
Rain slid down her face.
May you like
Declan’s eyes held hers.
“Now,” she said, “I think you owe me the different conversation.”
