Chapter 3 - Ghosts of the Hudson Valley

The silver medal lay on the parquet floor like an unexploded bomb.

The string quartet stopped playing entirely.

The first violinist let his bow drop to his side,

his eyes wide with sudden terror.

Everyone in the ballroom recognized what that medallion represented.

It was not just a trinket.

It was the badge of the Special Investigations Unit,

bearing the personal serial number of Agent David Vance—my late husband.

Gabriel knelt down on one knee.

His large,

calloused fingers hovered inches above the cold silver.

He did not touch it immediately.

It was as if touching it would summon a ghost he had tried desperately to bury.

“Where did you get this?” Gabriel asked,

his voice dropping to a harsh,

gravelly whisper.

Lucy looked up at me,

frightened by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

She retreated behind my skirt,

clutching the frayed fabric of my uniform.

“Don't touch her,

” I hissed,

stepping in front of my daughter.

“You took everything else from us,

Gabriel.

Isn't destroying a man's life enough for one lifetime?”

Gabriel stood up slowly.

His dark eyes were dilated,

reflecting a tempest of suppressed fury and shock.

“David Vance died in that fire,

” Gabriel said through clenched teeth.

“Everyone knows the official report.

The coroner identified the remains.

”

“The coroner was on your payroll,

” I spat back,

tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

“You burned the evidence,

you bought the silence of the precinct,

and you thought you had wiped us off the face of the earth.

But you forgot one thing.

”

“What?” Gabriel demanded,

taking a half-step forward.

“A husband doesn't leave his life's work in a burning building,

” I said,

my voice steady despite the trembling of my hands.

“He hides it where no syndicate boss would ever look.

Inside the lining of his daughter's favorite dress.

”

A murmur erupted among the guests.

Security guards at the perimeter of the ballroom shifted their weight,

their hands drifting toward their jackets.

Gabriel raised a single hand,

signaling them to stay back.

He looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and dark,

recalculating intelligence.

“You've been in my house for eleven months,

Elena,

” Gabriel said slowly.

“You served my wine.

You cleaned my study.

You watched me every single day.

”

“And every single day,

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I prayed for the courage to put a knife in your chest,

” I replied without blinking.