Chapter 3 - The Safe House with Two Exits
Ruth drove us to a narrow brick house on the other side of the river. It smelled of fresh paint and coffee. The curtains were already closed. Dad sat at the kitchen table while a paramedic photographed my injuries and asked questions in a gentle, businesslike voice. I answered every one. When she asked if Adrian had hurt me before, I said yes.
Saying it aloud made my stomach turn. The first time had been a grip too tight at a restaurant. The next was a door slammed close enough to make me flinch. I'd kept moving the line in my head, telling myself it wasn't as bad as somebody else's marriage.
When the paramedic left, Dad slid a glass of water toward me.
"Eleven months," I said. "You could've sent me one sentence."
"I was told contact would put you in danger."
"By whom?"
"A federal task force."
"And Adrian?"
Dad stared at the water. "He was laundering donations through shell vendors. But the money wasn't just disappearing. Some of it was buying access to patient records from a private medical network. Those records were being sold to people who used them for blackmail."
I remembered an envelope I'd found in Adrian's study. Medical billing codes. A woman's photograph. The word NONCOMPLIANT scrawled in red.
"You knew?" I asked.
"Not soon enough. I signed the first vendor agreement without checking the owners. My signature opened the door. When I confronted Adrian, a witness was killed. I agreed to disappear so the investigation could continue."
"You agreed to leave me with him."
He didn't defend himself. "Yes. And I will have to live with that."
The honesty was almost worse than an excuse.
Ruth entered carrying a sealed manila envelope. Inside was a photograph of a young nurse and a hospital visitor badge. The name read LENA ORTIZ.
"She was supposed to testify tomorrow," Ruth said. "She went missing this afternoon."
On the back of the photograph, in a familiar sloping handwriting, were four words: CLAIRE KNOWS THE ROOM.
I read them twice. "I don't know her."
Dad looked at me as if he'd just remembered something terrible.
May you like
"You do," he said. "You met her the night your mother died."
THE DOORS SHE OPENED •
