Chapter 7 - A Line in the Rain
The glass wall behind Adrian’s desk glittered across the carpet. The bullet had struck the frame of a photograph, leaving a neat black hole through the image of Seattle’s old waterfront.
“Is anyone hurt?” Adrian called.
“No,” Marcus answered. “Security is sweeping the floor.”
Olivia’s pulse hammered beneath Adrian’s fingers. He had not let go of her hand.
“You can release me,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He did not.
They were moved to a secure conference room while police arrived. Adrian answered questions with controlled precision. Olivia gave her statement, then watched officers photograph the office. Her promotion, her apartment, her mother’s secrets—everything that had seemed separate was now tightening into one impossible knot.
Naomi arrived before noon. “You’re leaving Northline for the day.”
“I’m not suspended again.”
“No. You’re making a safety decision.”
Adrian looked at Olivia. “Stay at my guesthouse.”
“No.”
“It has private security.”
“So does this building, and someone shot through your window.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not moving into another locked room.”
His expression went still. “The doors will not be locked.”
“That’s what you said last time?”
“I said I couldn’t open them.”
“You made the same choice for me.”
He took the criticism without defending himself. “Then choose your own place. Marcus can provide a driver.”
Olivia wanted to refuse the driver too, but Naomi’s look stopped her.
“Temporary,” Olivia said. “And I choose where I sleep.”
“Agreed.”
That night, she stayed in a hotel near the university. Adrian sent no flowers, no gifts, no message designed to remind her of the night they had shared. He sent only a secure contact number and one sentence: Call if you need anything, including distance.
She stared at it for several minutes.
Then she called.
He answered immediately. “Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I called because I wanted to hear whether you sound this calm when someone shoots at you.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You sound calm.”
“I’m practiced.”
“At what?”
“Losing things.”
Olivia sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me about your mother.”
“Evelyn Vale died when I was twelve. Cancer.”
“Did she know Claire?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“They were friends.”
Olivia’s stomach tightened. “Friends who knew about your father’s affair?”
“Probably.”
“You don’t sound angry.”
“I was angry for years. Then I realized anger is a house you build with your own hands.”
“That sounds like something from a very expensive therapist.”
“It was from a very expensive therapist.”
She smiled despite herself.
“I found another clue,” she said. “Parcel 17-B. The warehouse fire.”
“I’m looking into it.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Who else?”
“A former investigator named Daniel Rusk.”
The name struck her. “My mother mentioned him.”
Adrian went quiet. “Where?”
“In an old notebook. I found it years ago and didn’t understand the initials.”
“What did she write?”
“D.R. says the fire was staged. T.V. is afraid.”
“T.V.?”
“Thomas Vale.”
“My father.”
The silence stretched.
“Olivia,” Adrian said, “where is that notebook?”
“At my apartment.”
“Did Jake have access?”
“He used to.”
“Then we need to retrieve it.”
“I can do that.”
“Not alone.”
She ended the call before he could give another order.
At midnight, Olivia returned to her apartment. The hallway light flickered. Her key turned in the lock, but the door was already open.
She stepped inside.
The rooms looked untouched except for one detail.
On the kitchen table sat Claire’s cedar jewelry box.
The silver bracelet was gone.
May you like
Inside the empty box was a new message.
You should have stayed away from Adrian.
