Chapter 1 - THE SECOND SLAP
The slap cracked through the marble foyer.
Nicholas Valenti hit the floor before anyone could catch him.
His wheelchair rolled backward, struck the bottom stair, and tipped onto its side.
Claire Whitmore stood over him in a silver evening gown, breathing hard.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Nicholas lifted his head.
Blood touched the corner of his mouth.
Eight months ago, half of Chicago would have crossed the street rather than stand in his path.
Now his legs were useless.
His left arm shook from the effort of holding himself up.
Claire raised her hand again.
A smaller hand caught her wrist.
Hard.
Claire turned.
Hannah Reed stood behind her in pale blue scrubs.
The medication tray Hannah had been carrying spun across the floor, orange bottles rolling under an antique table.
“Let go of me,” Claire hissed.
“No.”
“You work here.”
“I work for him.”
Claire’s face twisted.
“You’re a nurse.”
“Yes.”
“Then act like one.”
“I am.”
Hannah stepped between Claire and Nicholas.
“You’re done touching him.”
For two seconds, the mansion went completely silent.
The engagement party had ended less than fifteen minutes earlier.
There were still flowers along the staircase.
Half-empty champagne glasses glittered on tables.
A photographer’s lighting rig remained near the front doors.
Outside, caterers loaded equipment into vans.
Inside, the woman newspapers called Nicholas Valenti’s devoted fiancée stared at his private nurse like she wanted to tear her apart.
Nicholas wiped blood from his lip.
“Hannah.”
She didn’t look back.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
Claire laughed.
“See? Even he knows his place.”
Hannah finally glanced at Nicholas.
Something in his eyes stopped her.
Not fear.
Not surrender.
Recognition.
He knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Hannah’s pulse jumped.
For three weeks she had been watching his symptoms.
Sudden confusion.
Sweating.
Nausea.
Weakness that made no sense for his spinal injury.
Changes in blood pressure.
Memory gaps.
Episodes that happened most often at night.
Then she had found two tablets that didn’t match the prescription bottle.
Different coating.
Different markings.
She had hidden them in a plastic evidence bag inside the locked drawer of her nursing station.
Yesterday, she photographed a bottle that was supposed to contain a nerve medication.
The label was genuine.
The pills inside were not.
Someone had been switching them.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Claire yanked her wrist free.
“This woman is fired.”
Nicholas looked up from the floor.
“No.”
Claire froze.
He spoke again.
“She stays.”
“Nicholas, she just put her hands on me.”
“You hit me.”
Her expression changed instantly.
The anger disappeared.
In its place came something soft.
Injured.
Almost loving.
“Baby, you grabbed me first.”
Hannah stared at her.
The performance was frightening because it happened so easily.
Claire knelt.
“Nicky, you’ve been confused lately. You know that.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“By knocking me out of my chair?”
Claire’s eyes flicked toward Hannah.
Then toward the hallway.
Walter Bell was standing there.
Nobody had heard him enter.
The sixty-eight-year-old family adviser looked at Nicholas on the floor.
Then Claire.
Then Hannah.
“What happened?”
Claire answered first.
“He fell.”
Hannah felt something cold move through her chest.
Claire looked directly at her.
“He became aggressive. I tried to help him. He lost his balance.”
Walter’s eyes moved to the blood on Nicholas’s mouth.
“Hannah?”
Claire smiled faintly.
It was a warning.
Hannah crouched beside Nicholas.
“She slapped him.”
Walter’s face hardened.
Claire stood.
“That is a lie.”
“No,” Hannah said. “It isn’t.”
Claire took one step closer.
“You should be very careful about accusing me of things you don’t understand.”
Hannah met her eyes.
“I understand more than you think.”
That stopped Claire.
Only for a second.
But Hannah saw it.
Nicholas saw it too.
Walter moved to lift the wheelchair.
Hannah helped Nicholas transfer back into it.
His weight had dropped again.
Too much.
Too fast.
When he settled into the chair, he whispered so quietly only Hannah could hear.
“Rebecca.”
Her hands stopped.
That was the second time he had said that name.
Three nights ago, Nicholas had awakened confused at two in the morning.
He had stared at Hannah and whispered, “Rebecca?”
When she asked who Rebecca was, he had fallen asleep.
The next morning, he claimed he knew nobody by that name.
Now his eyes were clearer.
And terrified.
Hannah leaned closer.
“Who is Rebecca?”
Nicholas looked past her.
Claire was standing ten feet away.
Watching.
His fingers closed around Hannah’s wrist.
“Don’t ask me here.”
Then he slipped something into her palm.
A tiny brass key.
Hannah stared at it.
May you like
Nicholas whispered one final sentence.
“Find out what happened to the nurse before you.”
