Chapter 2
1228 Words
Lena didn’t sleep.
She was crouched on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, shoes kicked off but within a close distance if she had to get them back on. The sheets were too smooth. Hotel-smooth. As if no one was really supposed to sleep here at all.
Each sound seemed magnified out of proportion.
Footsteps in the hallway. A low murmur of voices. The soft click of something electronic by the door and then a faint hum that didn’t end. She gazed at the ceiling, studying the cracks, then the dim lights, then the seconds between each breath.
At some point she realized the door hadn’t merely been locked.
It had been sealed.
She rose and put her ear to them. Nothing. No voices. No movement. Just that hum. She took a step back, heart pounding, and turned the handle.
It didn’t move.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Okay.”
She paced. Three steps to the window. Five back to the bed. There was a lingering scent of clean linen hanging in the room and something sharper beneath it. Not perfume. Something medicinal.
There was a camera in the corner of the ceiling. Small. Black. She hadn’t noticed it before.
Her stomach twisted.
She waved at it before she even realized was she was doing. The gesture was stupid, she knew it the moment she made it.
Nothing happened.
Eventually, exhaustion crept in anyway. Not sleep exactly. More like her body could not sustain another second of stiffness. She flopped back on the bed, dropped her head into her hands and tried to let her thoughts drift.
The marina.
Rain. Wind.
The splashing of water on metal.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
A knock sounded.
She flinched so much that it felt like her heart had leapt into her throat.
The knock came again. Controlled. Patient.
“Lena,” a woman’s voice called from the door. “May I come in?”
Lena hesitated. Then nodded, too late realizing the woman couldn’t see her. “Yes.”
The door unlatched with a quiet pop. Opened.
The woman who came in was older. Late forties maybe. Hair pulled back tight. No jewelry. The kind of tranquil eyes that did not pause too long on anything.
“I’m Ruth,” she said. “I handle Mr. Blackwood’s domestic matters.”
Domestic matters.
Ruth motioned toward a tray that she held. “You should eat.”
Lena glanced at it. Toast. Fruit. Tea. All carefully placed, like somebody had thought about it.
“Am I allowed to leave?” Lena asked.
Ruth set the tray down. “Not yet.”
The honesty surprised her.
“Why?”
Ruth met her gaze. “Because you’re important.”
Lena almost laughed. “I’m not.”
Ruth tilted her head slightly. “You are now.”
And with that she turned and left; before Lena could think of anything else to say..
The door locked again.
Lena perched on the bed and stared at the food. She was trembling when she reached for the tea. Her tongue got scorched, and it barely fazed her.
She had not even taken two bites when the hum near the door switched pitch.
Then the door opened again.
Ethan stepped inside.
He looked different in daylight. Less sharp. More tired. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, displaying his arms. There was a barely visible gash on one knuckle.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said.
“No,” Lena replied.
He nodded once, as if he’d been expecting that.
“I’m not going to hold you for long,” he said. “But we have a few things to go over.”
Her shoulders tensed. “I already told you. I didn’t—”
“I’m not inquiring about that,” he interrupted.
She paused.
He made his way around the room slowly, studying details. The bed. The window. The tray of food.
“You can leave the room today,” he told me. “With security.”
“That’s generous.”
“It’s practical.”
He stopped near the window. “You know why the press suspects you’re her.”
“Because you said I was.
“Yes.”
She folded her arms. “You could fix that.”
He shook his head. “Not without causing more damage.”
“To who?”
He looked at her. “You.”
Despite herself, her chest tightened at the way he said it.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” he said. “They won’t sound important.”
She didn’t like that. “And if I don’t answer?”
“You will.”
Again. Honest. No threat layered on top. That somehow made it worse.
”Where did you work last year? he asked.
She blinked. “A café. Near the docks.”
He nodded. “You liked it?”
“It paid.”
“Did you ever work nights?”
“Sometimes.”
He made a note on his phone. The soft pat of his thumb was too loud.
“Do you remember Evelyn Blackwood?” he asked.
Lena’s throat tightened. “I didn’t know who she was.”
“But you saw her.”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“When?”
She rubbed her hands down her jeans. “A few times. She came in. Ordered tea. Never stayed long.”
“Did you speak?”
“Once,” Lena said. “She wanted to know where the bathroom was.”
Ethan looked up. Studied her face. Not unkindly. Too closely.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“No.”
The silence stretched.
He pocketed his phone. “We have a board luncheon this afternoon.
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“You’ll be by my side,” he added. “You will not speak unless spoken to. You are not going to contradict anything I am going to say.”
“I’m not your—”
“I know,” he said, and now, there was something sharp beneath it. “But at the moment, you are the shape they want to see.”
She swallowed. “And if I say no?”
He let out a deep exhale. "Then you find this more difficult."
Not him. But her.
She looked away. At the camera. At the walls.
“Why me?” she asked quietly.
Ethan didn’t answer right away.
“Because you were there,” he said, at last.
The words seemed to pull weight in her stomach.
He turned to leave.
“Ethan,” she said.
He paused.
“You don’t believe me,” she told him.
“No.”
“At least you’re honest.”
He opened the door.
The door closed.
Lena sat very motionless for quite a while.
And then she rose and crossed to the window.
The grounds below lay wide and lush. Security walked their routes. Cameras turned as she moved.
She pressed her forehead against the glass.
Ethan was staring at screens somewhere in the house. Listening. Counting.
She didn’t know how to prove she was not guilty.
But she knew something else now.
He wasn’t just protecting her.
He was building a case.
And every question he asked brought them another step closer to determining what should be done with her once he was certain.
- Writer
