Chapter 11 - The Apartment on the Third Floor
Maeve’s apartment had always been small.
That was what she told herself on bad days.
Small meant easier to clean. Small meant she could hear Piper breathing from the next room. Small meant less space for loneliness to hide.
But standing in the hallway outside the broken door, Maeve realized small also meant easy to destroy.
The lock hung splintered from the frame. A neighbor stood barefoot near the stairwell, arms crossed, whispering into her phone. Someone had written nothing on the walls, stolen nothing obvious, left no dramatic warning in red paint.
That would have been too crude for Vivienne Hale.
Instead, the apartment had been searched with care.
Drawers opened. Mattress lifted. Books shaken. Cereal boxes emptied onto the kitchen counter. Piper’s drawings scattered across the floor like fallen birds.
Maeve stepped inside and covered her mouth.
Piper was not with them. Rowan had insisted she stay in the van with Finley and two guards. For once, Maeve agreed.
She could not let her daughter see this.
Rowan entered behind her, his wheelchair moving carefully over the uneven threshold.
Maeve looked at him. “Don’t.”
He stopped.
“This is my home,” she said.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You have a townhouse and guards and rooms you forget exist. This is my home. Every ugly plate, every thrift-store chair, every blanket I washed twice because I couldn’t afford a new one.” Her voice cracked. “They touched all of it.”
Rowan said nothing.
That silence made her angrier.
“They didn’t even steal anything.”
“They weren’t here to steal.”
“I know that!”
Her shout echoed in the tiny apartment.
The neighbor at the door stepped back.
Maeve pressed her palms to her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She laughed weakly. “You people always say that right after ruining someone’s life.”
Rowan absorbed the hit.
Then he said, “Yes.”
Maeve lowered her hands.
He looked around the apartment, and for the first time she saw not a crime boss, not a wounded king, not the Frost.
A man counting the cost of his shadow.
“They came because of me,” he said. “Because of what Colm hid. Because of Vivienne. Because I failed to understand how far she would reach.”
Maeve shook her head. “Don’t make yourself noble. I don’t need guilt from you. I need my life back.”
“I cannot give you yesterday.”
“No. You can’t.”
“But I may be able to give you tomorrow.”
Maeve stared at him, exhausted. “That sounds like something a dangerous man says before asking for trust.”
“It is.”
A sound came from the bedroom.
Maeve froze.
Rowan’s hand moved to his chair controls.
A small shape emerged from beneath Piper’s bed.
A boy.
Maybe twelve.
Thin. Dark-haired. Terrified.
Maeve gasped. “Who are you?”
The boy raised both hands. “Please don’t call cops.”
Rowan’s eyes sharpened. “Name.”
The boy swallowed. “Nico.”
Maeve looked at him. “Were you here when they broke in?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“I sleep in the laundry room sometimes. Mrs. Carter gives me sandwiches.”
Maeve closed her eyes.
Nico was one of the building kids. His mother worked nights, his older brother was trouble, and Maeve had pretended not to notice when he used the basement sink to wash up before school.
“You saw them?” Rowan asked.
Nico looked at him and went pale. “I didn’t touch nothing.”
“I asked what you saw.”
The boy’s eyes darted to Maeve.
She softened her voice. “Nico, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He shook his head. “They said if anyone talked, the waitress would bury two kids instead of one.”
Maeve’s blood turned cold.
Rowan’s voice became very quiet. “Who said that?”
“The lady.”
Maeve stepped closer. “Vivienne?”
Nico shook his head. “Not old lady. Younger. Black hair. Red coat.”
Rowan’s face changed.
Finley, entering the doorway, heard the last words. “Red coat?”
Nico nodded quickly. “She had a scar here.” He touched the side of his neck. “Like a line.”
Finley looked at Rowan.
Maeve saw something pass between them.
“Who is she?” Maeve asked.
Rowan’s voice was low. “Evelyn Marsh.”
Finley added, “Vivienne’s daughter.”
Maeve stared. “Her daughter?”
“Half-sister,” Rowan said. “My father’s last mistake.”
The apartment seemed to shrink around them.
Rowan continued, “Evelyn was sent to Europe after my father died. She was never supposed to come back.”
Nico whispered, “She’s back.”
Finley crouched in front of the boy. “What did she take?”
Nico pointed toward Maeve’s closet. “A box.”
Maeve frowned. “What box?”
“The blue one. With baby stuff.”
Maeve’s heart lurched.
Piper’s hospital bracelet. First blanket. Colm’s one good photograph with her. A birthday card he had written before he vanished.
Maeve pushed past them into the bedroom.
The closet floor was empty.
The blue memory box was gone.
Maeve sank to her knees.
Not because of the items.
Because inside that box, tucked behind Piper’s baby bracelet, was the only thing Colm had ever mailed after he disappeared.
A postcard from Worcester with no message.
Only three words.
Trust the rabbit.
Rowan appeared in the doorway.
Maeve looked up at him.
“Colm left another clue,” she whispered. “And Vivienne’s daughter just took it.”
Rowan turned to Finley. “Find Evelyn Marsh.”
Finley’s phone rang before he could answer.
He listened.
His face went grim.
“What?” Rowan asked.
Finley looked at Maeve first.
May you like
Then Rowan.
“August Reed is dead.”
