Chapter 2 - THE CHAIR THAT SAVED HIS LIFE
The man in the black suit did not remove his hand from inside his jacket.
Nathaniel noticed first.
So did I.
Maisie was still holding a purple crayon.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Nathaniel’s entire expression changed.
The tired birthday stranger disappeared.
In his place sat the man Boston whispered about.
Controlled.
Cold.
Alert.
“Evan,” he said.
The man swallowed.
“Boss, we have a problem.”
Nathaniel looked around the restaurant.
Nobody else appeared to understand that anything had changed.
A couple near the fireplace clinked champagne glasses.
A waiter grated Parmesan over handmade pasta.
The string quartet near the bar moved into another quiet song.
Nathaniel spoke softly.
“What problem?”
Evan’s eyes moved toward me.
Then Maisie.
“Not here.”
Nathaniel didn’t move.
“If it concerns this table, say it.”
Evan lowered his voice.
“Your original table was set up.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Neither man answered.
Nathaniel looked toward a secluded booth near the back of the restaurant.
A small brass sign rested on it.
RESERVED.
One place setting.
A bottle of bourbon.
A dark chocolate cake.
Birthday decorations so restrained they looked almost lonely.
“That was your table?” I asked.
Nathaniel nodded once.
Evan leaned closer.
“Security found something under the chair.”
Maisie’s eyes widened.
“A bug?”
I almost laughed despite the tension.
Nathaniel did not.
“What kind of something?” he asked.
Evan looked at him.
“Enough to kill anyone sitting there.”
Everything inside me went cold.
Nathaniel didn’t react visibly.
“Explosive?”
“Directional charge.”
I stared at the reserved booth.
Less than thirty feet away.
People were walking past it.
Eating.
Laughing.
Alive only because Nathaniel hadn’t sat down.
“Why isn’t everyone leaving?” I whispered.
“Because if we announce it now, whoever planted it knows we found it,” Nathaniel said.
His eyes moved across the room.
“Evan?”
“Bomb squad has a man coming through the service entrance. Staff thinks there’s a gas-line inspection.”
Nathaniel glanced at Maisie.
Then at me.
“Emma, I need you to listen carefully.”
The fact that he knew my name after one introduction somehow frightened me.
“Yes?”
“You and Maisie are leaving.”
Maisie frowned.
“But he didn’t eat cake.”
“Maisie.”
Nathaniel almost smiled.
“Another time.”
The tenderness vanished when he looked toward Evan again.
“Take them through the kitchen.”
“No,” I said.
Both men turned.
I surprised myself.
“If somebody wanted you sitting at that specific table, and they see us leave with your security, don’t we become interesting?”
Evan’s eyebrows rose.
Nathaniel stared at me for a moment.
“Yes.”
I wished he had said no.
“So we stay?”
“No.”
“What’s safer?”
Nathaniel looked around.
Then he reached for his water glass.
The answer came slowly.
“Acting normal.”
My heart started pounding.
Maisie leaned toward him.
“Are bad guys here?”
I looked at Nathaniel sharply.
He answered before I could.
“I don’t know.”
She considered that.
Then whispered, “Mommy says when we don’t know where danger is, we hold hands in parking lots.”
Nathaniel looked at me.
I wanted to disappear.
“That is slightly different.”
“It’s still good advice.”
Something strange flickered in his eyes.
Then he held out his hand.
Maisie put hers in it.
My chest did something deeply inconvenient.
We remained at the table.
Nathaniel ordered dinner.
Actually ordered it.
As if there were not explosives being quietly removed from his original birthday seat.
Maisie requested macaroni with “the fancy cheese but not green stuff.”
Nathaniel ordered steak.
I ordered nothing because my stomach had apparently resigned.
“You should eat,” he said.
“Someone tried to blow you up.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re hungry?”
“It’s my birthday.”
Maisie nodded approvingly.
“See?”
I stared at both of them.
“This is absurd.”
Nathaniel’s mouth almost curved.
Then a waiter arrived with bread.
Maisie immediately reached for a roll.
Nathaniel caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Instantly.
The motion was so fast I barely saw it.
“Wait.”
The waiter froze.
Nathaniel looked at the bread basket.
Then at Evan, standing fifteen feet away.
Evan approached.
“What?”
“New server?”
The waiter’s face changed.
“I’ve worked here six months.”
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed.
The restaurant manager rushed over.
“Mr. Caldwell, is everything all right?”
“Who assigned this waiter?”
The manager looked confused.
“Mr. Brennan changed sections tonight.”
“Brennan?”
“My floor manager.”
Evan took the bread basket.
The waiter stepped backward.
Nathaniel saw it.
“Don’t move.”
The waiter ran.
Everything happened at once.
Evan chased him toward the kitchen.
A chair crashed.
Someone screamed.
Nathaniel stood and moved between Maisie and the room.
I pulled her against me.
“Mommy?”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t.
Nathaniel’s hand went beneath his jacket.
A second later, three men who had looked like ordinary diners stood from different tables.
Security.
I had not noticed any of them.
The restaurant doors were locked.
Evan returned five minutes later.
Alone.
“He got out through the loading dock.”
Nathaniel looked at the bread.
“Test it.”
The bomb squad found no poison.
But they did find a tiny black tracking device beneath the basket.
Not meant for Nathaniel.
The basket had been placed in front of Maisie.
The device was close enough to slip beneath her coat when she reached.
I felt sick.
Nathaniel looked at me.
His face had become frighteningly still.
“They were marking you.”
“Why?”
“Because you sat with me.”
Maisie looked between us.
“Did I do something bad?”
“No.”
Nathaniel answered immediately.
He crouched until he was eye level with her.
“You did something kind.”
“But now Mommy’s scared.”
“That isn’t your fault.”
She looked at him seriously.
“Are you scared?”
Nathaniel hesitated.
I expected a lie.
“No.”
Then he glanced at me.
“But I should have been more careful.”
Evan returned carrying a tablet.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We checked who canceled your reservation.”
Nathaniel stood.
“My office?”
“That’s what the hostess was told.”
“And?”
“No cancellation came from your office.”
The room seemed to tighten.
Evan continued.
“The restaurant received an email from your assistant’s account at 3:12 this afternoon.”
Nathaniel’s jaw hardened.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“She left work at five.”
“Call her.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“No answer.”
Nathaniel looked toward the reserved booth.
A bomb hidden beneath his chair.
A fake cancellation.
A waiter with a tracker intended for us.
This had not been a random attack.
Somebody knew his birthday plans.
Somebody knew his assistant’s login.
Somebody expected Nathaniel to arrive alone.
And somebody had adjusted when Maisie gave him another seat.
Nathaniel looked at me.
“You can’t go home tonight.”
I laughed once.
It sounded almost hysterical.
“Excuse me?”
“Whoever did this saw your face.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“They tried to tag your daughter.”
My argument died.
Maisie pressed against my side.
Nathaniel softened slightly.
“I have a secure house nearby.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“No.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Exactly.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You’re asking me to take my six-year-old daughter to a mafia boss’s secure house.”
Maisie whispered, “You said mafia.”
I closed my eyes.
Nathaniel looked like he almost laughed.
Almost.
Then Evan’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed within seconds.
“Boss.”
Nathaniel looked at him.
Evan lowered the phone.
“It’s Claire.”
“Put her through.”
“No.”
Evan swallowed.
“She’s at Massachusetts General.”
Nathaniel went still.
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
That was shortly after Nathaniel arrived at the restaurant.
“Condition?”
“Critical.”
Nathaniel’s eyes darkened.
Evan continued.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Police say someone cut her brake line.”
Nathaniel looked at me.
No one had to explain the implication.
Whoever canceled his birthday reservation had not only used his assistant’s account.
They were cleaning up the person they intended to blame.
And if they were willing to kill Claire—
There was no reason to believe Maisie and I were safe simply because we had been strangers an hour earlier.
Nathaniel crouched in front of my daughter again.
“Maisie.”
“Yes?”
“Remember what your mother said about strangers asking you to keep secrets?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to tell you exactly where we’re going, why we’re going there, and your mother can call anyone she wants from the car.”
He looked at me.
“No secrets.”
For some reason, those two words mattered.
I picked up Maisie’s coat.
“All right.”
Nathaniel nodded once.
We left through the kitchen.
May you like
The bomb beneath his original chair was still being dismantled when we disappeared into the Boston rain.
And somewhere behind us, a man who had expected Nathaniel Caldwell to die alone on his birthday realized the wrong mother and daughter had just become part of his problem.
