Chapter 2 - THE MAN EVERYONE FEAREDThe ambulance ride should have been the moment I felt safe.
Instead, I spent twelve minutes convinced Tyler would somehow appear beside my hospital bed.
Trauma does strange things to logic.
You can know a door is locked and still stare at it.
You can hear a doctor say, “You’re safe here,” and still recognize every footstep in the hallway.
My tibia was fractured.
There was also an older crack in one rib that I had never had examined.
The emergency physician asked how it happened.
I told her.
All of it.
Not because I suddenly became brave.
Because Detective Lena Ortiz sat in the corner and said something nobody had said during the previous two years.
“We document everything.”
Everything.
The bruises Tyler called accidents.
The hole he punched beside my head.
The time he locked me outside in January wearing socks.
The time Officer Mercer came after a neighbor heard screaming and Tyler somehow ended up laughing with him beside the patrol car.
Ortiz never interrupted.
She simply took notes.
When I finished, she asked, “Did Tyler ever mention doing jobs for Mercer?”
I blinked.
“Jobs?”
“Construction. Deliveries. Anything.”
“Tyler works renovations.”
“For whom?”
“Mostly private clients.”
“Any addresses?”
I shook my head.
Then remembered something.
“A warehouse.”
Ortiz looked up.
“What warehouse?”
“I don't know where. He came home angry about six months ago because somebody hadn't paid him for work on a warehouse. He said Danny promised to handle it.”
“Danny?”
“Mercer.”
Ortiz exchanged a glance with Gideon.
He had been standing near the hospital-room door for nearly forty minutes.
It bothered me.
Everything about him bothered me.
The expensive coat.
The two men waiting outside.
The fact that nurses recognized him but pretended they didn't.
Most of all, the fact that Tyler had looked more frightened of Gideon Locke than he had ever looked of police.
“Why are you still here?” I asked.
Gideon looked surprised.
Ortiz almost smiled.
He walked closer, stopping several feet from the bed.
“Because you texted me.”
“By accident.”
“I’m aware.”
“So?”
“So I came.”
“People like you don’t just come because strangers text.”
His expression didn't change.
“People like me?”
I immediately regretted saying it.
“You know.”
“I’d rather hear what you know.”
I looked at Ortiz.
She raised one eyebrow as if to say she was interested too.
“Everyone knows your reputation.”
“Reputations are usually built from three things,” Gideon said. “Truth, exaggeration and people who benefit from keeping both confused.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“No.”
“So answer me.”
He studied me for a moment.
“Tyler recognized me because he worked security at one of my clubs eight years ago.”
That caught my attention.
“He never told me.”
“He was fired after six weeks.”
“Why?”
“He put a cocktail waitress in the hospital.”
My stomach twisted.
“The police?”
“Report disappeared.”
Ortiz swore quietly.
I stared at Gideon.
“Mercer?”
“We never proved it.”
“Why would a police officer protect Tyler for eight years?”
“That,” Ortiz said, “is becoming a very important question.”
She stood.
“Gideon, hallway.”
He followed her out.
Through the glass partition, I watched them argue.
Ortiz jabbed one finger toward his chest.
Gideon remained maddeningly calm.
After several minutes she walked away.
He returned alone.
“What was that about?”
“She dislikes me.”
“She seemed comfortable yelling at you.”
“She’s been practicing for years.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
It hurt my rib.
Gideon noticed.
“You need somewhere else to stay.”
“My apartment—”
“You cannot go back there.”
“Tyler’s being arrested.”
Gideon paused.
My stomach dropped.
“He isn’t?”
“Not yet.”
“What?”
“Ortiz detained him for questioning. But Mercer showed up.”
Cold ran through me.
“At the hospital?”
“At the precinct.”
“How?”
“Tyler called him.”
“So Mercer can just let him go?”
“Not legally.”
“That hasn't stopped him before.”
“No,” Gideon said. “It hasn't.”
Panic began crawling up my chest.
“I need to leave.”
“Emma—”
“I need my things.”
“I can send someone.”
“No.”
“I don't mean one of my men.”
“I don't care who you mean.”
My voice rose.
“I am done having men decide where I go, what I do and who touches my stuff.”
Silence.
Gideon nodded.
“Fair.”
The word surprised me.
“No argument?”
“You said no.”
Tyler had never accepted that answer.
Not once.
Gideon pulled a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table beside my bed.
“Ortiz has arranged a domestic-violence advocate and temporary housing.”
“Then why give me your number?”
“That isn't my number.”
I looked at the card.
A woman’s name.
Sarah Locke — Locke Community Legal Foundation.
“Your wife?”
“My sister.”
“What is it?”
“Legal aid.”
I gave him a skeptical look.
“A crime boss runs legal aid?”
“My sister would object strongly to the phrase ‘crime boss.’”
“And you?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
He started toward the door.
“Why help women like me?”
That stopped him.
He stood with his back to me for several seconds.
Then turned.
“Because fifteen years ago my younger sister called someone for help.”
His voice had changed.
“She called three times.”
I waited.
“Nobody came.”
He walked out before I could ask what happened.
Hours later, Ortiz returned.
Her face told me something was wrong.
“Tyler was released.”
My fingers tightened around the hospital blanket.
“How?”
“Mercer claimed Tyler had contacted him earlier about a domestic dispute and that you had been behaving erratically.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I know.”
“He broke my leg!”
“We have medical evidence. Your statement. Photographs. We are moving forward.”
“But he’s free?”
“For tonight.”
I felt sick.
Then Ortiz leaned closer.
“And that's not the worst part.”
“What could possibly be worse?”
She placed a printed document on my blanket.
It was a police report.
Dated eleven months earlier.
My address.
My name.
It stated that I had attacked Tyler with a kitchen knife.
“That never happened.”
“I know.”
“Who wrote this?”
Ortiz pointed to the signature.
Officer Daniel Mercer.
My mouth went dry.
“He created a fake report?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
Ortiz's face was grim.
“Because if Tyler ever seriously hurt you, this report made you look like the violent one.”
I couldn't breathe.
This hadn't been corruption that happened after Tyler attacked me.
Mercer had prepared for it.
Ahead of time.
Someone had been building a story around me before I even knew I needed to escape.
Ortiz gathered the papers.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression changed instantly.
“What?”
She answered.
“Ortiz.”
Silence.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“I’m coming.”
She disconnected.
“What happened?”
Ortiz looked toward me.
“The patrol car that transported Tyler from the precinct was found abandoned.”
My heart stopped.
“Where’s Tyler?”
“Gone.”
“And Mercer?”
She shook her head.
“His phone is off.”
Five minutes later, Gideon Locke returned to my doorway.
But this time he wasn't calm.
“Emma,” he said, “we have to move you now.”
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because Tyler didn't run from police.”
A terrible feeling settled inside me.
May you like
Gideon finished the sentence.
“Someone helped him disappear.”
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