Chapter 7 - PIER SEVEN
Pier Seven had been abandoned for nine years.
At least officially.
The road leading to it ran behind warehouses that wore rust like skin. Rain had started again by the time Roman’s convoy stopped three blocks away.
He had ignored the instruction to come alone.
Technically.
Six of his people were positioned out of sight before we arrived. Detective Harris had officers farther back, under orders not to move unless Roman signaled.
I sat beside Roman in a dark SUV and stared at the old pier through rain-streaked glass.
“My sister is in there.”
“We don’t know that.”
“The photograph was taken recently.”
“Yes.”
“Then she was there recently.”
“Yes.”
I turned.
“You are infuriating when you’re calm.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You look calm.”
“That is different.”
He checked his watch.
I watched his hands.
Still.
Of course.
“You told them you were bringing me?”
“Yes.”
“And if they want proof?”
“They’ll see you.”
My stomach tightened.
Roman noticed.
“You remain in the car.”
“No.”
“Eleanor.”
“We discussed this.”
“We discussed visible security. We did not discuss walking into a kidnapping.”
“My sister.”
“I know.”
“Then stop saying her name like that ends the argument.”
He looked at me.
“I am trying not to imagine what happens if I lose you while retrieving her.”
The words silenced me.
Not because they were romantic.
They weren’t.
They were too raw for that.
He looked away first.
“I should not have said that.”
“Why?”
“Because you have enough pressure without my feelings becoming another obligation.”
My heart shifted.
“Your feelings?”
Roman closed his eyes briefly.
“Bad timing.”
“Very.”
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“Eleanor.”
I almost smiled.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Roman put the call through the vehicle speakers.
“Hello?”
A distorted male voice answered.
“Get out.”
I looked at Roman.
He shook his head.
The voice continued.
“Eleanor gets out. Roman stays.”
“No,” Roman said.
A laugh.
“You don’t make the rules here.”
Roman’s tone did not change.
“I always make rules where my people are concerned.”
My people.
I felt that phrase more than I should have.
The voice said, “Your brother thought that too.”
Roman’s face went still.
“Where is Chloe?”
A pause.
Then my sister screamed.
“Eleanor!”
I opened the door.
Roman caught my wrist.
“Wait.”
“Let go.”
“Listen.”
The voice on the phone was silent.
Then I heard Chloe again.
Not screaming.
Talking.
“Stop touching me!”
Behind her voice came a metallic echo.
Then a horn.
Low.
Long.
I looked toward the harbor.
A cargo ship horn sounded in the distance.
Roman’s eyes sharpened.
“Not Pier Seven.”
I understood.
“They’re somewhere else.”
He nodded.
The call ended.
Roman immediately contacted Harris.
“Trace ambient audio. Compare harbor traffic.”
Then he looked at me.
“They wanted us focused here.”
“Why?”
A flash appeared inside the abandoned warehouse.
Roman saw it.
“Down!”
He pulled me below the dashboard.
The explosion was not enormous.
But it was enough.
Windows shattered outward from the Pier Seven warehouse. Flames climbed from a doorway.
Roman covered me as glass struck the SUV.
His security moved.
Harris’s officers rushed forward.
I pushed against Roman.
“Chloe isn’t there.”
“I know.”
“They wanted us here for the explosion.”
“Or for something else.”
His phone rang.
One of his men.
Roman answered.
“Speak.”
His face changed.
“What office?”
Pause.
“When?”
He cursed.
“What?” I demanded.
He ended the call.
“While we were diverted, someone broke into DuPont headquarters.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did they take?”
“Your father.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“No.”
“They took Frank from the conference room.”
“How?”
“Fire alarm.”
Of course.
Again.
Chaos.
Diversion.
“They have Dad and Chloe?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Roman looked toward the burning warehouse.
“The ledger.”
“But he doesn’t have it.”
“They may think he does.”
I remembered my father’s confession.
The old house.
The empty cavity.
Maybe he had held something back.
“Call him.”
“Phone was left behind.”
“Track Chloe’s.”
“Off.”
I pressed both hands to my face.
Roman touched my shoulder.
I flinched before I meant to.
He removed his hand immediately.
“Sorry.”
I looked at him.
“No. I just…”
“I know.”
He did not touch me again.
That mattered.
Detective Harris opened the passenger door.
“Everyone okay?”
“Yes,” Roman said.
Harris looked at me.
“Ms. DuPont?”
“I’m fine. My father isn’t.”
“We know.”
“You already know?”
“Dispatch just got the report.”
Roman stepped out.
“Can you identify the ship horn?”
“Working on it.”
I got out too.
Rain hit my face.
Harris looked toward the flames.
“This place was empty.”
“Then why blow it up?” I asked.
He studied the building.
Roman answered.
“Because someone wanted a public story.”
“What story?”
“That violence follows me.”
Harris looked at him.
“It does.”
Roman ignored that.
“Tomorrow’s headlines will say DeLuca linked to another port explosion.”
I understood.
“They want police focused on you.”
“Yes.”
“And media.”
“Yes.”
“And my family frightened of you.”
Roman looked at me.
“Yes.”
The pattern became clearer.
Every event pushed me toward the same conclusion.
Roman was dangerous.
Roman brought chaos.
Roman could not be trusted.
Maybe some of that was true.
But someone wanted me to believe it too badly.
I looked at Harris.
“Who benefits if Roman gets arrested?”
“Long list.”
“Who benefits if DuPont collapses?”
“Shorter.”
“Who benefits from both?”
Harris and Roman looked at each other.
“Kensington,” I said.
Roman nodded.
“But this is too elaborate for Preston alone.”
His father.
His mother.
Walter Kincaid.
Arthur Halpern.
Maybe others.
My phone buzzed.
This time the message came from Chloe’s number.
A photograph.
My father sat beside her at a metal table.
Both alive.
Dad looked furious.
Chloe looked terrified.
Behind them was a wall painted blue.
On it hung an old maritime clock.
I zoomed in.
The clock logo read MERIDIAN FREIGHT.
My heart pounded.
“I know that place.”
Roman leaned closer.
“Where?”
“Meridian Cold Storage.”
“Still operating?”
“Closed three years ago.”
“Location?”
“Across the harbor.”
Harris was already calling it in.
I grabbed Roman’s arm.
“Let’s go.”
“No.”
I stared.
“Not this again.”
“This time, absolutely.”
“Roman.”
“They sent the photograph from Chloe’s phone. They may expect you to recognize the location.”
“So?”
“So it may be another diversion.”
“Or they made a mistake.”
“People this organized don’t make obvious mistakes.”
I looked at the image again.
Something was wrong.
Chloe’s hands.
She had one hand flat on the table.
Her fingers formed a shape.
Three fingers extended.
Two folded.
Then I saw Dad.
His left hand pointed downward.
Three.
Down.
“Wait.”
Roman followed my gaze.
“What?”
“Chloe and Dad are signaling.”
Harris leaned in.
“Meaning?”
“Family game.”
I enlarged the photo.
“When we were kids, Dad used numbers and directions when we got separated in crowds.”
“Three down?” Roman asked.
“Third floor? Basement level three?”
“Meridian has how many floors?”
“Four above. Two below.”
Roman stared at the photo.
“Maybe not Meridian.”
I looked at the maritime clock.
It was old.
Older than the cold-storage company.
“Dad collects those clocks.”
My breath caught.
“That clock used to hang in our headquarters before renovation.”
Roman’s eyes sharpened.
“Where did it go?”
I thought.
Storage inventory.
Furniture transfers.
“South Annex.”
“What is that?”
“Our old customs building.”
“Location?”
“Terminal Three.”
Three.
Down.
Basement.
I looked at Roman.
“They’re at Terminal Three.”
Harris was already moving.
“Address.”
I gave it.
Cars turned.
Roman grabbed my hand before I could get into his SUV.
“You stay with Harris.”
“No.”
“Eleanor.”
“You said they may be expecting me.”
“That’s exactly why.”
“My family knows my voice. If there’s a standoff—”
“No.”
“You cannot solve every danger by putting me behind glass.”
“And you cannot solve every danger by walking toward it.”
We stared at each other in the rain.
Then Harris interrupted.
“We’re wasting time.”
Roman looked at him.
Harris continued.
“She rides with me. She stays behind the entry team. If we need her voice, we use it.”
Roman hated it.
I could see that.
But he nodded.
Terminal Three was fifteen minutes away.
Police entered first.
No explosion.
No gunfire.
Just a locked basement door.
Inside, they found my father and Chloe tied to chairs.
Alive.
I ran to them once Harris cleared the room.
Chloe threw her arms around me.
“Never get married again.”
I laughed and cried at the same time.
“Deal.”
Dad hugged us both.
Roman stood near the doorway.
Watching.
Relieved.
I could see it even though he tried to hide it.
Harris searched the room.
“No kidnappers.”
“Of course,” Roman said.
“They left twenty minutes ago,” Dad told us.
“Who?” I asked.
“Two men. Masks.”
“Did they ask about the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That it was gone.”
Dad looked at Roman.
“They didn’t believe me.”
Chloe pulled away.
“One of them made a call.”
“To whom?”
“I couldn’t hear everything.”
“What did you hear?”
She looked at Roman.
“Something about ‘the mother.’”
Roman’s face changed.
“My mother?”
Chloe shook her head.
“No. He said, ‘Mrs. Kensington says the mother is ready.’”
Preston’s mother.
I felt cold.
Dad looked at me.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“One of them showed me a photograph.”
“Of what?”
“A woman.”
He swallowed.
“She was standing beside Daniel DeLuca the night he died.”
Roman stepped closer.
“Sofia?”
“No.”
Dad looked at him.
“Your mother.”
Roman stopped breathing.
“My mother died when I was fourteen.”
Dad shook his head.
“The woman in the photograph looked exactly like her.”
Roman’s face emptied.
Harris frowned.
May you like
“Could it have been an old photo?”
Dad whispered, “It was dated three months after her funeral.”
