What They Would Say

Dinner was takeout in Mara's small apartment, with too many cartons for the three of them.

Brielle ate sitting sideways on the sofa so she could keep looking at her sister. Mara pretended not to notice until she dropped a noodle down her shirt.

"You can check I'm still here after you swallow."

"I might not."

"Then this will be a very long dinner."

Matteo took the empty cartons to the kitchen while they argued about which childhood neighbor had owned a terrifying poodle. Brielle watched him rinsing containers beside a window full of Mara's plants.

Nothing about him belonged in this room. Yet she wanted him there with an intensity that frightened her.

Her phone rang. Martin Hanley's name appeared on the screen.

"Are you all right?" she asked immediately.

"I'm fine. A man called looking for you. Said his name was Vale. I told him I wasn't giving out your number. He left a message on the diner's voicemail afterward."

Matteo turned from the sink.

"Don't erase it," Brielle said.

Martin forwarded the recording.

Vale's voice was patient, almost pleasant.

"Miss Dawson, you've been given an incomplete account of a private matter. Your father's records belong to the businesses involved. Returning them would prevent a great deal of unnecessary distress. Your family has already suffered through one daughter's disappearance. You should consider whether you want to put the rest of it through another public ordeal."

The recording ended.

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Then Mara put her food down.

"That's him."

Brielle sent the message to Celia. Matteo was already calling Sloane, asking for someone to check on Martin and the diner.

"He doesn't know I'm here," Mara said. "He's talking about you telling the story."

"He'll know you're alive when you give your statement," Brielle said.

Her sister looked at the dark window.

For a moment Brielle saw the girl in a borrowed coat, wondering which door was safe to open.

Then Mara stood and pulled the curtain closed.

"I'm giving it anyway."

They returned to the hotel late. Matteo had been quiet since the call. At Brielle's door, he finally spoke.

"I'd like you and Mara somewhere farther from Chicago while Celia handles this."

"Farther than Minneapolis?"

"Somewhere he doesn't know to look."

"Mara has a job. A home. We just found each other."

"I'm aware of that."

"Then don't make moving her the first answer."

His eyes flashed.

"My first answer would be considerably less civilized."

She believed him. The thought made her shiver, and he noticed.

"I'm sorry," he said, more quietly. "That wasn't meant for you."

"It still reaches me."

He looked down the empty corridor, jaw working.

"I don't know how to stand here wanting to keep you safe and do nothing."

"You aren't doing nothing. You arranged protection. You brought Celia. You're helping us find out what happened."

"And it still might not be enough."

"I know."

She opened her door and stepped aside.

"Come in. We can figure out what would help."

They sat at the small table by the window. Brielle called Mara and Celia, and together they made arrangements: transport to the interview, someone to accompany Mara home, updates shared with both sisters, no contact with Vale outside counsel.

By the time they finished, Matteo had stopped gripping his phone hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

Celia stayed on the line after Mara hung up.

"There's something else," she said. "The company records show payments to a contractor linked to the attack van. We need to turn over the underlying accounts, not just Mara's copies."

Matteo leaned back.

"Then turn them over."

"Your partners are already asking what you're doing. One of them has threatened to withdraw from the riverfront project. Moretti Distribution's accounts may raise questions beyond this case."

Brielle looked at him.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, then lowered it.

"You have my authorization. In writing, tonight."

After the call, the room felt very quiet.

"How much does that cost you?" Brielle asked.

"I don't know yet."

"Your father's name?"

"Among other things."

"You don't owe me all of that."

He looked at her for a long moment.

"Those accounts were mine to examine before you ever walked onto that street."

She heard the distinction. This was a responsibility he had decided to accept, and she could not reduce it to payment for a rescue.

"I don't want to be another thing you feel guilty about," she said.

He moved his chair closer.

"You're not."

"You could have thanked me and left."

"I tried to imagine doing that. It became difficult remarkably quickly."

Her breath caught.

He touched the edge of her sleeve.

"I think about calling you when Elena says something ridiculous. I notice empty chairs. I've spent four days being jealous of a hospital because it gets to tell you when to come back. None of that is gratitude."

She laughed softly, then put her hand against his cheek.

This kiss had no interruption. He drew her onto his lap carefully, mindful of her hand, and she let herself settle against him. His mouth moved from hers to her temple, just below the healing cut.

"Stay," she whispered.

He searched her face.

"Tonight?"

"Tonight. We'll deal with tomorrow when it gets here."

He stayed.

Later, lying beside him fully clothed beneath the hotel duvet, she listened to his breathing and thought about her sister sleeping in a room across the city.

For once, the people she wanted were close enough to reach.

In the morning, she and Mara would tell the truth together.