Z

By the time the airplane doors opened, I had called my sister seventeen times.

Every call went straight to voicemail.

“Again,” I whispered.

I pressed Elena’s name.

Voicemail.

My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone.

Ethan stood several feet away, speaking quietly with his security team while passengers were held back long enough for us to exit.

I should have hated that.

I probably would have on any normal day.

But nothing about that morning was normal.

A black SUV waited beside the aircraft.

Ethan opened the rear door.

I didn’t move.

“You said I could walk away.”

“You can.”

“Then why is there a car?”

“Because it’s thirty-eight degrees, raining, you have a baby, and your sister is missing.”

That was difficult to argue with.

“I’m not going somewhere I don’t know.”

“The Blackstone.”

I searched his face.

“You’re taking me to the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where Elena was last seen.”

I climbed inside.

Sometimes independence looked like saying no.

Sometimes it looked like accepting a ride because pride wouldn’t keep your baby warm.

Ethan sat across from me.

One guard drove.

The other sat in front.

Chicago passed beyond rain-streaked windows, enormous and gray beneath dawn.

I had grown up outside the city.

We moved to California after Mom died.

Elena returned to Chicago after college.

I stayed west.

Then three years earlier, we had fought.

The stupidest fights were always the ones that destroyed the most.

Elena had accused me of wasting my life on my boyfriend, Carlos.

I told her she was becoming exactly like our father—judgmental, controlling, always convinced she knew what was best.

Six months later, Carlos left.

Two weeks after Sophie was born.

Elena had been right.

I had been too proud to tell her.

“Why does Mason owe money?” I asked.

Ethan watched the city.

“He borrowed against properties he didn’t own.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“That isn’t an amount.”

“Six-point-eight million.”

I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because my brain refused to understand that number.

“Mason doesn’t have six million dollars.”

“That’s the problem.”

“And who does he owe?”

Ethan finally looked at me.

“A man named Victor Sloane.”

I knew that name too.

Everyone from Chicago did.

Nightclubs.

Construction companies.

A boxing promotion company.

Rumors.

Violence.

Men who vanished.

“So you and this Victor guy are enemies?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means men like Victor think fear is the same thing as respect.”

“And you don’t?”

A faint pause.

“No.”

“You’re telling me people aren’t afraid of you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

At least he was honest.

The SUV stopped behind the Blackstone twenty-seven minutes later.

Police cars were already outside.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“No.”

I reached for the handle.

Ethan caught my wrist.

Not hard.

But enough to stop me.

“Rachel.”

“My sister is in there.”

“Maybe.”

“Let go.”

He released me immediately.

That mattered.

More than I wanted it to.

A hotel manager rushed toward Ethan the second we entered through the service corridor.

“Mr. Callahan.”

“Where was Elena last seen?”

“Bridal suite. Three twenty-one this morning.”

“Cameras?”

“Security is pulling everything.”

I pushed past them.

“Where’s the suite?”

“Rachel.”

I turned.

Ethan was already following me.

The elevator ride felt endless.

Sophie slept against my chest, blissfully unaware that my entire world might be collapsing around her.

When the doors opened, I smelled roses.

Hundreds of them.

White roses lined the hallway.

A handwritten sign on an easel read:

MASON & ELENA — FOREVER STARTS TODAY.

I almost threw up.

The bridal suite door was open.

No Elena.

Her wedding dress hung beside the window.

Shoes sat beneath it.

Makeup covered the vanity.

A half-drunk glass of champagne remained on the table.

And on the bed lay her phone.

I ran toward it.

“Elena?”

As though she might somehow answer from the bathroom.

Nothing.

I checked the closet.

Bathroom.

Balcony.

Nothing.

Then I saw the envelope.

RACHEL.

My name was written across the front.

I stopped breathing.

Ethan saw it too.

“Don’t touch it.”

“It’s from my sister.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I know her handwriting.”

I opened it.

Inside was one sheet of hotel stationery.

Rachel,

If I’m not here when you arrive, take Sophie and leave Chicago.

Do not trust Mason.

Do not trust anyone who says Dad’s death was an accident.

Find the silver key in my suitcase.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

I love you.

Elena.

The room tilted.

Dad’s death.

Our father had died eleven years earlier when his car went through a guardrail outside Joliet.

Police called it an accident.

He had been drinking.

At least that was what we had been told.

I read the letter again.

Then again.

“Silver key,” Ethan said.

I looked toward Elena’s suitcase.

We found it beneath a pile of clothing.

Small.

Old.

Stamped with a number.

Ethan stared at it.

“What?”

He took the key carefully.

“What?”

His jaw tightened.

“I know what this opens.”

“How?”

Instead of answering, he walked toward the window.

For the first time since meeting him, Ethan Callahan looked unsettled.

Not frightened.

But close.

I followed.

“Tell me.”

He turned.

“Union Station.”

“A locker?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because my father used the same storage bank twenty years ago.”

My heart dropped.

“You knew my dad?”

“No.”

“But your father did?”

Ethan didn’t answer quickly enough.

My anger exploded.

“You knew who I was on that airplane.”

“No.”

“You knew my name.”

“I saw your boarding pass.”

“You knew Morales.”

“Rachel—”

“Did you know my father?”

His voice lowered.

“My father knew Gabriel Morales.”

The name hit me like a physical blow.

I hadn’t heard a stranger say Dad’s full name in years.

“What was he involved in?”

Ethan’s eyes went toward Sophie.

Then back to me.

“Your father worked for mine.”

I stepped backward.

“No.”

“He handled books for several Callahan companies.”

“No.”

“He also discovered someone stealing millions.”

“No.”

“He planned to testify.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Ethan’s voice remained painfully steady.

“Three days before he was scheduled to meet a federal investigator, his car went through that guardrail.”

The truth arrived slowly.

Then all at once.

Dad hadn’t been drunk because he was depressed.

He hadn’t made a mistake.

Maybe he hadn’t even lost control of the car.

Someone had killed him.

And Elena had known.

“How long?” I whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“How long has Elena known?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked at the silver key.

“Then we go to Union Station.”

Ethan’s phone vibrated.

He checked the screen.

His expression hardened.

“What now?”

“One of my men found Mason’s car.”

“Where?”

“Lower Wacker.”

“Was Mason inside?”

“No.”

“What did they find?”

Ethan looked at me.

“Blood.”

My stomach dropped.

Then the hotel television behind us suddenly switched on.

Static flashed across the screen.

A surveillance feed appeared.

Elena.

She was sitting in a chair in a dark room.

Her hands were tied.

My scream caught in my throat.

Then a man stepped into frame behind her.

Victor Sloane.

He smiled directly into the camera.

“Good morning, Ethan.”

Ethan became completely still.

Victor continued.

“I believe your new friend has something that belongs to me.”

My hand closed around the silver key.

On-screen, Elena lifted her face.

Her lip was bleeding.

But she was alive.

Victor smiled.

“Bring me the key.”

He paused.

“Or the bride never reaches the altar.”