Chapter 6 - The Cost of Being Seen

Maya wanted to go home.

Luca refused.

The argument lasted eleven minutes and moved from the foyer to the library because neither of them was willing to stop.

“It’s my apartment.”

“It’s compromised.”

“My roommate lives there.”

“Not tonight.”

“You don’t get to relocate people because you’re uncomfortable.”

“I get to relocate people when someone connected to the abduction of my daughter searches their home.”

Janelle sat on a sofa, watching them like a tennis match.

Maya pointed toward her. “She has work tomorrow.”

Janelle raised a hand. “For accuracy, I would happily miss work if the alternative is being murdered by organized criminals.”

Maya turned. “Not helping.”

“Helping myself.”

Luca said, “A driver will take her to collect essentials with security. She can stay in the guest wing.”

Maya folded her arms. “And me?”

“You’re already in the guest wing.”

“I did not agree to that.”

“You fell asleep in a chair beside my daughter.”

“That is not a lease.”

Marco entered carrying an evidence bag. “Can I interrupt the housing dispute?”

“No,” Maya and Luca said together.

Janelle laughed.

Marco held up a small black object. “This was found behind a bookshelf in Maya’s apartment.”

Maya’s irritation disappeared. “What is it?”

“Audio transmitter.”

Luca looked at her. “Still going home?”

She hated the question because he had earned it.

“No.”

The transmitter was cheap but effective. It had likely been placed within the last twenty-four hours. Whoever searched the apartment had not simply wanted documents. They wanted to know what Maya knew.

“I don’t know anything,” she said.

Marco looked at her. “You found the key card.”

“I noticed bad stitching.”

“You opened the red door.”

“The song opened the red door.”

“You identified the possibility that the dress was changed by an ally.”

Maya frowned. “That’s basic inference.”

“Not to the person watching this family.”

Luca said, “From their perspective, you are a variable they did not plan for.”

Maya looked through the windows at the security lights outside. “Great. I always wanted to become statistically inconvenient.”

Janelle leaned close. “Put that on your résumé.”

Marco’s team examined the transmitter while Maya returned to Isabella’s records.

One spreadsheet bothered her.

It listed grants to youth centers, housing programs, food banks, and legal clinics. Most amounts varied. One payment repeated exactly every quarter: $240,000 to an organization called Harbor Bridge Consulting.

“What does Harbor Bridge do?” she asked.

Luca, standing near the fireplace, answered without looking. “I don’t know.”

“You fund it.”

“The foundation funds hundreds of programs.”

“Exactly two hundred forty thousand dollars every quarter for three years.”

Now he looked.

Marco searched the database. “Harbor Bridge dissolved last month.”

“Owner?”

“Registered agent is a law office.”

“Address?”

He read it aloud.

Maya felt recognition before she knew why.

“That’s near the warehouse.”

Marco checked a map. “Four blocks.”

Luca was already moving.

Maya said, “Stop.”

He turned.

“Every time we find something, your first instinct is to put yourself in a car and drive directly at it.”

“It has worked for me.”

“Your daughter was kidnapped.”

Silence filled the room.

Maya immediately regretted the cruelty, but not the point.

Luca’s face went cold.

Janelle whispered, “Oh, wow.”

Maya held his gaze. “I’m sorry. But whoever did this knows how you react. They count on it.”

Marco slowly said, “We send a surveillance team first.”

Luca looked away. “Fine.”

Two hours later, the team found Harbor Bridge’s address empty.

Except for one thing.

A child’s shoe.

Small. Black patent leather. Scuffed at the toe.

Luca recognized it immediately from a school photograph.

Alessia’s.

The office had been cleaned, but luminol revealed traces of blood near a utility sink. Lab confirmation would take time.

Maya felt sick.

Then Marco’s investigator found a partial print on the inside of a cabinet.

It belonged to Dr. Evelyn Hart.

“That proves she was there,” Luca said.

“It doesn’t prove she was part of the kidnapping willingly,” Maya replied.

His patience snapped. “Why are you defending her?”

“I’m not.”

“You keep giving her exits.”

“I keep refusing to convict a woman because you’re angry.”

Luca stepped closer.

Janelle stood.

Marco shifted between them without making it obvious.

Maya did not move.

Finally Luca said, “You think I’m the problem.”

“No. I think your anger is useful to whoever wants you to make mistakes.”

He stared at her.

Then Alessia’s voice came from the hallway.

“Papa?”

Every hard line in Luca’s body changed.

He turned.

Alessia stood with Rosa, clutching Maya’s denim jacket even though it had been washed and dried.

“I remembered something.”

Luca crossed to her. “Tell me.”

“The crying lady said her brother died because he found the numbers.”

Maya looked at Marco.

Samuel Hart.

Alessia continued.

“She said Papa’s brother knows why.”

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Maya looked down at Alessia’s washed denim jacket and realized the child still carried it everywhere. The fabric was cheap, the cuff frayed, but to Alessia it had become proof that someone had stayed.

That kind of evidence, Maya thought, mattered too.