Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD
Jack looked at the security image for so long that I wondered whether he'd forgotten how to speak.
Then he said, “That's Isabella.”
I watched his face.
Three years of grief had just collided with a single photograph.
“She's alive,” I whispered.
He nodded.
But instead of relief, I saw suspicion growing behind his eyes.
“If she's alive, why didn't she come home?”
Neither of us had an answer.
Rocco spread the facility's floor plans across the hood of a vehicle.
“Former private surgical center. Closed eighteen months ago. Three floors. Basement service tunnel. Limited security cameras.”
Jack studied the layout.
“Pierce used to own it?”
“Through a holding company.”
“What about the boy?”
“Last camera sighting, second floor.”
I touched Noah's jacket.
“We have to go.”
Jack looked at me.
“We will.”
Forty minutes later, our vehicles stopped beyond a row of bare trees outside the abandoned facility.
Rain covered the windshield.
Rocco's men moved toward the service entrance.
I remained beside Jack.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice spoke.
“Lily?”
I went still.
The voice was soft.
Familiar in a way I couldn't explain.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Isabella.”
Jack's head snapped toward me.
“Where's my son?” I demanded.
“He's safe.”
“Let me speak to him.”
A pause.
Then Noah's voice filled my ear.
“Mommy, the nice lady fixed my robot!”
I almost collapsed.
“Baby!”
“I'm okay. She gave me crackers.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
Then Isabella returned.
“Lily, listen carefully. Dr. Pierce is not the person you should fear most.”
“Then who is?”
“Someone Jack trusts.”
I looked toward Jack.
“Marco?”
“No,” Isabella whispered. “Marco is dangerous, but he's working for someone else.”
“Who?”
Before she answered, a metallic crash echoed behind her.
Isabella gasped.
“Lily, don't let Jack sign anything.”
The call ended.
Seconds later, Rocco's men entered the building.
Jack and I followed once the first rooms were secured.
On the second floor, we found Noah's robot sitting on a hospital bed.
Its silver arm had been repaired.
But Noah was gone.
A piece of paper lay beside the toy.
On it, someone had written:
ASK JACK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FATHER.
I turned toward him.
“What does that mean?”
Jack stared at the message.
His expression grew distant.
“Your father worked for mine.”
My throat tightened.
“Doing what?”
Jack looked directly into my eyes.
“Keeping records of every illegal payment the Moretti family made.”
“And what happened to him?”
Jack was silent.
May you like
Then he said the words that shattered the last pieces of my childhood.
“My father ordered Thomas Bennett killed.”
