Then the pendant slipped free.
A small oval locket.
Silver.
Scratched along one edge.
Two initials engraved across the front.
R.M.
Everything inside me stopped.
The towel fell from my hand.
He closed his eyes.
I moved closer.
“Who are you?”
His eyes opened again.
“You already know my name.”
“Christopher Bennett.”
“That’s right.”
“No.”
I pointed toward his chest.
“I know who Christopher Bennett is. Everybody in Chicago does. Billionaire real-estate investor. Hotels. Construction. Finance. But Ryan had that locket before Christopher Bennett’s name ever appeared in a newspaper.”
His fingers curled around the pendant.
“Leave, Rachel.”
“What happened to my brother?”
His wheelchair suddenly moved backward.
“Get out!”
The shout brought Mrs. Alvarez running.
She stopped in the doorway.
“Christopher?”
He pointed toward me.
“Take her home.”
Mrs. Alvarez looked between us.
“What happened?”
“Now.”
I didn’t move.
“Rachel,” she said softly.
“Ask him about the necklace.”
Her expression changed.
That was all I needed to see.
She knew.
My stomach dropped.
“You know too.”
Mrs. Alvarez looked away.
“Oh my God.”
I backed toward the doorway.
“You both know.”
“Rachel,” she said.
“Don’t.”
I held up my hand.
“If you knew my brother, if you knew anything about what happened to him—”
Christopher slammed his palm against the chair control.
“Enough!”
I stared at him through tears.
Then I picked up my coat.
“I need this job,” I said quietly. “More than you could possibly understand.”
His eyes met mine.
“But if that necklace came from my brother, I will find out how.”
I walked out.
Mrs. Alvarez followed me downstairs.
“Rachel.”
I kept walking.
“Please.”
I stopped near the front door.
She lowered her voice.
“You should go home tonight.”
“Was Ryan here?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation answered everything.
My eyes filled.
“When?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Cannot or will not?”
“Both.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My son is sick. My daughter is hungry. I came here because I had nothing left. And now I find the one object that belonged to my dead brother hanging around your employer’s neck.”
Mrs. Alvarez looked genuinely shaken.
“I am sorry.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“No.”
She reached into her pocket.
“Take this.”
She handed me an envelope.
I didn’t open it.
“What is it?”
“Your first week’s salary.”
“I worked two hours.”
“Mr. Bennett pays caregivers weekly in advance.”
