Chapter 3 - The Ghost In The Rearview Mirror
By five in the morning, a thick gray drizzle settled over the pine forests of North Carolina.
At the corporate headquarters of Blackridge Industrial, the penthouse floor was blazing with light.
Nolan Pike stood in the middle of a vast mahogany office, his boots tracking damp mud onto the Persian rug.
Across the room, behind an enormous desk of polished black granite, sat Richard Blackridge.
Sixty-five years old, impeccably groomed, wearing an eight-thousand-dollar Brioni suit.
Blackridge’s face was purple with suppressed rage.
On the desk between them sat Emma Whitaker’s open leather purse.
Its contents were dumped out in a pathetic little pile: car keys, coupons, baby vitamins, twenty-three dollars in cash, and a sonogram photograph.
There was no encrypted flash drive.
“You shot a pregnant woman in broad daylight under security cameras?” Blackridge’s voice was a venomous whisper.
“It was midnight, Richard, not daylight,” Pike answered defensively, though his throat was dry.
“And the gas station cameras were knocked out before we pulled in.”
“You idiot!” Blackridge slammed both fists down onto the desk, rattling the crystal glasses.
“Did you find the drive?”
“It wasn’t on her.”
“Where is Mercer?”
“We’re sweeping the highway grid now.”
“Did you eliminate the witness?”
Pike hesitated for a fraction of a second.
That single hesitation was enough for Richard Blackridge.
“Pike. Tell me she is dead.”
“I put a round straight into her chest from six feet away.”
“Where is the body?”
“We had to clear the scene immediately—a civilian vehicle pulled in—”
“You left her body lying on the pavement?”
“Reeves said an SUV was parked at pump six.”
“Who owned the vehicle?”
“I didn’t run the plates!” Pike snapped, losing his temper.
“I had to get my men out before local highway patrol responded to the gunshot!”
Blackridge stood up slowly, leaning forward until his face was inches from Pike’s.
“My contacts at County Dispatch called me ten minutes ago.”
“There was no emergency call from that gas station.”
“No ambulance was dispatched.”
“No 911 report.”
Pike blinked, stunned.
“That’s impossible. The clerk was inside.”
“The clerk locked himself in the freezer until four in the morning.”
“When the state troopers finally stopped by for morning coffee, the pavement was covered in blood.”
“But there was no body.”
“And the silver Honda was still parked at the pump.”
Pike felt a cold chill run down the back of his neck.
“Somebody took her.”
“Somebody didn’t just take her, Nolan.”
“Somebody took her quietly enough that not a single local police officer heard a whisper.”
“Who in this county has the resources to move a dying woman without triggering an EMS alert?”
Blackridge walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty skyline of Bellhaven.
He knew every player in this city.
He owned the mayor.
He owned the chief of police.
He owned the zoning boards and the construction permits.
Except for one man.
One man whose family had controlled the shipping docks and the underground economy long before Blackridge built his first warehouse.
“Moretti,” Blackridge whispered, his voice laced with cold realization.
Pike scoffed.
“Gabriel Moretti is a retired gangster playing at being an angel investor.”
“Gabriel Moretti is a viper who sleeps with one eye open!” Blackridge snarled, turning around.
“If Moretti was at that gas station, he saw you shoot her.”
“If he has the girl, he has the leverage.”
“And if Mercer delivers that drive to Moretti instead of the FBI, we are completely finished.”
“Let me take a six-man squad to Moretti’s estate,” Pike said, his hand dropping toward his sidearm.
“We hit them hard before they can organize.”
Blackridge looked at Pike as if he were looking at a rabid dog that needed to be put down.
“You step one foot onto Moretti’s private grounds with weapons, and none of you come back alive.”
“Moretti hasn’t pulled a trigger in seven years!”
“Because he hasn’t needed to, you fool!”
“Find Mercer first,” Blackridge commanded, breathing heavily.
“Mercer loved that girl more than his own life.”
“He’s hiding somewhere in the county waiting for her signal.”
“If he thinks she’s dead, he’ll run to the feds.”
“Put the word out on the street.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars cash for Cole Mercer’s location before noon.”
“And if you see Emma Whitaker again... do not leave a single trace of her behind.”
Back at the warehouse recovery room, Emma Whitaker’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
The ceiling was high, vaulted brick, painted clean white.
The smell was antiseptic, mixed with the faint scent of rain from an open vent overhead.
Her left shoulder was tightly bound in heavy bandages, throbbing with a dull, heavy ache.
She gasped, her right hand instantly flying down to her stomach.
The curve was there.
Firm.
Intact.
A gentle, distinct kick pushed outward against her palm.
Emma broke down, silent tears of sheer relief streaming into her hair.
“He’s fine,” a voice said from the shadows near the corner.
Emma turned her head sharply, wincing as the muscles in her neck pulled.
Gabriel Moretti was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair beside her bed.
He had changed into a clean charcoal suit, fresh white shirt unbuttoned at the neck.
A silver thermos of black coffee sat on the small table beside him.
“You... you saved him,” Emma whispered, her voice cracked and dry.
Gabriel reached over, poured water from a glass carafe into a cup with a straw, and held it to her lips.
She drank greedily, cool water soothing her parched throat.
“You saved both of you by staying conscious at that pump,” Gabriel said calmly.
“Where is this?”
“A private medical facility owned by my logistics company.”
“Are you the police?”
“No.”
Emma looked at his tailored clothes, his calm posture, and the undeniable aura of absolute authority around him.
She had lived in Bellhaven long enough to connect the dots.
“You’re Gabriel Moretti.”
Gabriel did not deny it.
“I am.”
Emma pulled the thin hospital blanket higher up to her chin, fear flickering in her eyes.
“Cole warned me about your family.”
“Did he?”
“He said the Morettis run the docks and the back-alley loans.”
“He said you were dangerous.”
Gabriel took a slow sip of his black coffee, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Cole was right about one thing.”
“I am dangerous.”
“Then why didn’t you let them finish me?”
Gabriel set the coffee cup down with a soft, deliberate click.
“Because I don’t murder women carrying children.”
“And because Nolan Pike needs to learn that Bellhaven does not belong to Blackridge.”
Emma looked down at her hands, trembling slightly.
“They said Cole stole something.”
“Did he?”
Emma closed her eyes, remembering Monday night.
The way Cole had paced across their small kitchen floor.
The way he had checked the window blinds six times in an hour.
The way he had kissed her forehead before leaving, his hands ice-cold.
“He found something in the central depot logs,” Emma admitted, her voice trembling.
“He told me there were cargo containers listed as agricultural machinery that were leaking chemicals.”
“He said people downriver were getting sick, and Blackridge was paying off the state inspectors.”
“Did he have a flash drive?” Gabriel asked.
“He had a red USB drive,” Emma whispered.
“He told me if anything happened to him, I should take it to a lawyer in Raleigh.”
“Where is the drive, Emma?”
Emma swallowed hard, looking straight into Gabriel Moretti’s gray eyes.
“It’s not in Raleigh.”
May you like
“And it wasn’t in my purse.”
“Cole hid it inside the one place nobody in this town would ever dare to look.”
