Chapter 2 — A Name I Buried

I didn’t sleep.

By six in the morning, I had packed a bag, unpacked it, and called the number on Jericho Blackwood’s card.

A man answered on the second ring.

“Miss Pierce.”

Not a question.

“I’d like to discuss the offer.”

“Ten o’clock. A car can collect you.”

“I’ll arrange my own transportation.”

A pause.

“Bring identification.”

I looked at the photograph on my kitchen table.

“Of course.”

Before leaving, I moved the metal box to a different hiding place. I took the photograph with me.

Running was still an option.

But Jericho already knew where I worked and lived. Leaving without knowing what he wanted would only trade one kind of fear for another.

And there was Rosie.

I kept seeing her face when she asked whether I would come back.

The taxi stopped outside iron gates overlooking the bay.

A guard checked my name. Another watched the driver.

Beyond them stood a white mansion with broad terraces and windows facing the water.

I counted cameras on the way to the front door.

Six that I could see.

Mrs. Alden opened it.

“Good morning, Miss Pierce.”

“Lennox is fine.”

She glanced at my overnight bag.

“You’ve decided to accept?”

“I’ve decided to ask questions.”

Something approving passed across her face.

“Mr. Blackwood is in his office.”

Before she could lead me there, footsteps sounded overhead.

Rosie appeared at the top of the stairs.

“You came!”

She hurried down, clutching the banister, and wrapped both arms around my waist.

I looked at Mrs. Alden.

She looked away, giving us the moment.

“I said I would.”

Rosie leaned back.

“People say that.”

“I know.”

“Are you staying?”

“I need to talk to your father first.”

Her grip loosened.

I crouched so we were eye to eye.

“That means we’re talking about a job. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

She nodded, but not as though she believed me.

“Will you draw with me afterward?”

“Yes.”

Only then did she let go.

Jericho waited in an office overlooking the bay.

Without his suit jacket, he looked less formal and no less dangerous. His white shirt was open at the throat, sleeves folded above his forearms.

He stood when I entered.

I noticed the gesture because I hadn’t expected it.

“Three minutes early.”

“The taxi driver was enthusiastic.”

“Sit.”

“I’d rather start with the terms.”

He remained standing.

“All right.”

“If I take this job, Rosie gets consistency. You don’t dismiss me in front of her because we disagree.”

His expression changed slightly.

“What else?”

“I won’t photograph your house or discuss your family. I understand privacy. But if something affects her safety, you tell me.”

“You would receive the information you need.”

“I’ll need more than instructions to obey.”

His eyes held mine.

“Anything else?”

“No one searches my belongings without telling me.”

He glanced at the bag.

“Have you brought something I should worry about?”

“Yes. A very bad understanding of wealthy people.”

Silence.

Then he gestured toward the chair again.

This time, I sat.

He took a folder from his desk but didn’t open it.

“Why did you come?”

“To find out why you offered a stranger that much money.”

“Rosie likes you.”

“She liked me before you knew my surname. That doesn’t explain the offer.”

“You made her laugh.”

“You could have thanked me.”

“Yes,” he said. “I could have.”

He opened the folder.

A photograph slid across the desk.

Two women outside a university library.

My stomach dropped.

I had carried the same picture into his house, believing it was something I might choose to reveal.

His version had a crease through the center.

“Where did you get that?”

“My wife left it in a safe-deposit box.”

I kept my hands in my lap.

“Then you know we were friends.”

“I know there is no record of Lennox Pierce before March seventeenth, five years ago.”

“I’ve worked. Paid rent. Paid taxes.”

“For five years.”

“That should count for something.”

“It counts as an effort.”

He turned the photograph over.

Below the line about rabbits, Celeste had written three more words.

Find Nora Vale.

Jericho watched me read them.

“Nora.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He went still.

It was the first thing I had said that wasn’t a denial, a joke, or a defense.

I hated that he knew it.

“I didn’t steal your money,” I said.

His expression hardened.

“Twelve million dollars disappeared from a foundation account. An auditor was found dead. Your access credentials were used, and your fingerprints were in his apartment.”

“I went there to speak to him.”

“About what?”

“Someone was using authorizations I hadn’t issued.”

“Then you disappeared.”

“Your wife told me you were sending men after me.”

“I sent men to find the missing money.”

“That distinction wouldn’t have mattered if they found me first.”

He leaned forward, palms against the desk.

“Did Celeste tell you I wanted you dead?”

“Yes.”

“Did she show you proof?”

“A message. Your name. Your company seal.”

“A seal can be copied.”

“So can a photograph. Yet here we are.”

For a moment, I thought I had gone too far.

Instead, he straightened.

“Why didn’t you contact the police?”

“Because Paul Raines was dead on his kitchen floor, my fingerprints were everywhere, and your wife told me the person waiting to arrest me was on your payroll.”

Saying it aloud made the room feel smaller.

“She had documents ready,” I continued. “Cash. Somewhere to go. I didn’t stop to wonder why. I was scared.”

Jericho looked toward the window.

Not away from me exactly.

Away from something he didn’t want me to see.

“She helped you disappear.”

“Yes.”

“And never told me.”

“She told me never to call her.”

He turned back.

For the first time, I could see that he was learning something too.

The discovery didn’t make me feel safe.

It made him feel less certain.

“I came here because I need to know what she left you,” I said. “And because your daughter asked me to come back. I won’t pretend those are separate things.”

His gaze moved to the door.

“She’s had four companions in eleven months.”

“Why did they leave?”

“One couldn’t tolerate the security. One wanted publicity. Two were frightened of me.”

“Were they right to be?”

“Yes.”

The answer was quiet and immediate.

I preferred it to a lie.

“But not frightened for Rosie,” he added.

“That will be my decision.”

He nodded once.

We agreed to a two-week trial. I would keep my apartment. I would have private time off, and any disagreement about the investigation would take place away from his daughter.

He wrote the changes into the offer himself.

When I stood, he said, “I haven’t cleared you, Lennox.”

It was the first time he had used my chosen name.

“I haven’t cleared you either.”

Outside, Rosie waited on the bottom stair with a notebook open on her knees.

“Well?”

“I’m staying for a little while.”

Her smile came slowly, as though she didn’t want to waste it.

“Can we draw now?”

“Yes.”

She moved over to make room.

Behind us, Jericho opened his office door.

“There’s something else you should see.”

He handed me a copy of a message Celeste had left before the explosion.

Only one sentence was underlined.

Find the woman who draws ugly rabbits.

Rosie leaned against my arm.

I looked at the words, then at the child’s notebook.

Celeste had been dead for eleven months.

Somehow, she had still brought me to her husband’s door.