Chapter 2: Terms of Help
Claire locked the apartment door, then checked it twice.
The deadbolt held. The chain was in place. Through the narrow peephole, the hallway looked empty, its dim light reflecting off the polished brass numbers across from her.
She waited anyway.
Nothing moved. No footsteps approached. No one tried the handle.
Only then did she set her grocery bags down.
The photo on her phone showed her beneath the grocery store awning, Gabriel close beside her. It didn’t show the person who had taken it. It didn’t show the dark sedan Claire had noticed on the ride home. And it didn’t prove that the stranger outside her building had sent it.
Three separate things, she reminded herself. Maybe three strangers. Maybe one.
She wouldn’t let fear turn a guess into a fact.
The milk went into the refrigerator. The eggs followed. Claire placed the prenatal vitamins on the counter, still in their pharmacy bag, and stared at them while rain tapped the window. Her hands were steadier now, but the image remained on her screen.
The warning beneath it had sounded almost considerate.
You should know someone was watching.
Whoever had sent it knew she might care that the photo existed. Knew enough to send it to her phone. That didn’t mean they knew who she was—or where she lived.
Claire picked up Gabriel’s card.
His number was handwritten in black ink, nothing else. No title. No address. No promise that the number would make her safe.
She had told him not to contact her unless she contacted him first.
This was her choice. She could hang up whenever she wanted.
The call rang once.
“Claire?”
His voice came through low and alert. Not surprised, exactly. More like he’d been holding his breath and had finally heard it released.
“I’m calling about the photograph,” she said. “Not anything else.”
“I understand.”
“You don’t know where I am.”
“No.”
“And you don’t get to find out because I called.”
“I won’t ask.”
That answer didn’t erase the tension in his voice. It did keep her from ending the call.
“Someone sent me a picture of us outside the grocery store. It came from an unfamiliar number. There was a message with it.”
“Did they threaten you?”
“Not directly. They said I should know someone was watching.”
A pause.
“Can you send it to me?”
Claire glanced at the screen. “I can send the screenshot. That doesn’t mean you can trace me or send anyone to my door.”
“I won’t send anyone to your door.”
“Or follow me.”
“I won’t.”
She wanted to believe him. She also remembered the way people had gone quiet when he entered the store, the way his security men seemed to see every exit without turning their heads. His world had rules she didn’t know. Rules that might not include asking permission.
“What can you do without crossing those lines?” she asked.
“I can give you a direct security contact. Someone you can call if you need information or want help. No team at your building. No one watching you unless you ask for it.”
“Who is this person?”
“One of the men who came into the store with me. Eli Mercer. He handles security logistics.”
“His purpose?”
“To answer your questions and offer options. Not to make decisions for you.”
Claire looked through the peephole again, though she had heard no sound.
“And he won’t ask for my address?”
“Not unless you choose to give it to him.”
“I won’t.”
“I understand.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I’m trying to listen.”
The words were quiet. They didn’t sound like a defense. That made them harder to dismiss and easier to distrust.
Claire rested a hand against the counter. “You can give me his number. I’ll decide whether to call him.”
“I can connect you now, if you want.”
“Is that necessary?”
“No.”
“Then don’t connect us. Give me the number.”
Gabriel read it out slowly. Claire wrote it on the back of his card, beneath his own. The two numbers looked too close together, as if they belonged to a life she had never agreed to enter.
“I want to ask you one more thing,” she said.
“Ask.”
“Did you know someone was photographing us?”
“No.”
“Did you know someone was watching the taxi?”
“No.”
“Did you send anyone after me?”
“No, Claire. I gave you my word, and I did not follow you.”
She couldn’t tell whether the quickness of his answer comforted her. It could mean he was telling the truth. It could mean he’d practiced being convincing.
“I’m going to speak to the security contact,” she said. “On the phone. That’s all.”
“Your choice.”
“And if I find out you’ve sent someone to my home or followed me after I said not to, this call will be the last time you hear from me.”
“I understand.”
She didn’t soften the boundary for the silence that followed it.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll send you the screenshot. You can tell me what you recognize. If you learn anything, call me back about this. Only this.”
“Understood.”
Claire ended the call.
For a moment, the apartment felt quiet enough to hear her pulse. She sent the screenshot to Gabriel, then set the phone facedown on the counter. Her groceries sat in neat rows beside her, ordinary and harmless. She tried to return to them—to put away the bread, rinse an apple, do anything that belonged to her evening instead of his world.
The phone buzzed.
The stranger’s number.
Claire turned it over. The incoming message was short.
Who is this?
She typed, deleted, then tried again.
You sent me the photograph. Who took it?
A reply arrived less than a minute later.
Tell DeLuca his enemies noticed.
Claire stopped breathing for one beat.
Then she read it again.
Enemies could mean a criminal rival. It could mean a business competitor using a theatrical threat. It could mean someone trying to frighten Gabriel through her. Or it could mean nothing more than a stranger enjoying the power of making her wonder.
The message did not identify the sender. It didn’t prove the photograph had anything to do with the sedan. It didn’t even say what the “enemies” had noticed.
She called the number Gabriel had given her.
Eli Mercer answered on the second ring.
“Ms. Hayes.”
His voice was calm, almost formal. Claire recognized it as belonging to one of the men from the store, though she couldn’t remember which one.
“Mr. Mercer. Gabriel gave me your number.”
“Yes. He told me you might call.”
“Did he tell you where I live?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m not giving you my address.”
“I won’t ask for it.”
“What do you actually do for him?”
“I coordinate security. I’m not here to make choices for you.”
“That’s what he said.”
“It’s still true.”
Claire looked at the message on her phone. “Were you assigned to follow my taxi last night?”
“No.”
The answer was quick, but not sharp.
“Were you assigned to follow me anywhere?”
“No.”
“Were you aware someone was taking pictures?”
“Not at the time.”
“Are you aware now?”
“I’ve been told you received a photograph. I don’t know who took it.”
“Could someone on your team have taken it?”
“I can’t honestly tell you no one connected to Gabriel has ever taken a public photograph. But I was not assigned to photograph you, and I know of no instruction to follow you.”
It wasn’t the clean reassurance Claire wanted. Maybe there was no clean answer.
“What happened after I got into the taxi?”
“I stayed with Mr. DeLuca.”
“And the other man?”
“He stayed with him too.”
“So neither of you followed me.”
“Correct.”
“Then someone else could have.”
“That’s possible.”
Claire closed her eyes briefly. Eli hadn’t filled the gap with a comforting lie. That counted for something, though not enough to settle her fear.
“Did Gabriel know someone was following me?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Do you know who sent the message?”
“No.”
“Can you find out?”
“I can look at what you choose to share. I won’t try to identify or locate you.”
“I didn’t ask you to look yet.”
“Then I won’t.”
She had expected the men around Gabriel to treat every question as a challenge. Eli had treated hers as a boundary. It was a small distinction, but a meaningful one.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Claire ended the call and sent Gabriel a screenshot of the second message. Beneath it, she wrote: This is all I know. Don’t come here. If you recognize the wording, call me back about that.
Then she put the phone down and carried the groceries to the kitchen.
She had just placed the prenatal vitamins beside the fruit bowl when her phone rang.
Gabriel.
Claire answered without sitting down.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m not telling you.”
“I won’t ask again. I’m looking at the message.”
“Do you recognize it?”
“Yes.”
The fear in her tightened, turning from a loose suspicion into something with an edge.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know who sent it, or whether they’re telling the truth. But I recognize the wording.”
“From where?”
“I need to explain that in person.”
“You need to explain it now.”
“Claire, listen to me. I’m not asking to come to your home.”
“Then say it over the phone.”
A pause. Somewhere on his end, a door closed.
“I don’t want you alone with this.”
“I didn’t ask what you want.”
“No. You didn’t.”
His voice had changed. The controlled certainty was still there, but now something rough pressed through it.
“Meet me somewhere public,” he said. “You choose the place. Bring someone if you want. I won’t approach until you agree.”
May you like
“Gabriel—”
“I recognize the wording, Claire. And we need to talk immediately.”
