Chương 9
Blake shook his head.
“No.”
Not argument.
Refusal.
“My father and Natalie were never—”
“Blake.”
He stopped.
I looked directly at him.
“I have never slept with your father.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to say you know.”
His face changed.
“I believe you.”
“That’s different.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I leaned back against the pillow.
Pain pulsed through my abdomen with each breath.
“Richard may not have believed me.”
Bell tapped his notebook.
“Was there ever any circumstance that could have created suspicion?”
I almost laughed.
“You mean besides being married into a family that apparently hires private investigators to research brides?”
“Yes.”
I thought about Richard.
His formal dinners.
His habit of standing too close when he wanted to intimidate someone.
The way he treated affection like an inefficient business process.
Then a memory surfaced.
Not because I wanted it.
Because the smell of hospital antiseptic reminded me of another clinical room.
“Last year.”
Blake looked at me.
“What happened last year?”
“I had a minor outpatient procedure.”
“What procedure?”
“An ovarian cyst.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“You told me it was routine.”
“It was.”
Bell asked, “Where?”
“A private surgical center in Scottsdale.”
“Connected to Stanford Group?”
“No.”
I paused.
“At least I didn’t think so.”
Owen had already started searching the tablet.
Bell said, “Why does this matter?”
“Richard arranged the specialist.”
Blake’s expression darkened.
“He recommended Dr. Leland.”
“Yes.”
“I thought that was because he knew him.”
“Maybe.”
My mother leaned forward.
“What records would they have taken?”
Owen answered carefully.
“Blood work, imaging, possibly tissue samples, depending on the procedure.”
My skin prickled.
“Tissue?”
“Yes.”
“Could someone get genetic material from that?”
“Yes.”
Bell said, “Legally or physically?”
“Physically, yes.”
The detective rubbed his jaw.
“Was Richard ever listed as an authorized contact?”
“No.”
“Blake?”
“Yes.”
Blake looked sick.
Bell wrote that down.
My mother said, “So Blake’s access keeps opening doors for Richard.”
Blake did not defend himself.
That was almost worse.
Owen searched for the surgical center and then stopped.
“What?”
Bell asked.
“The center was acquired eight months ago.”
“By whom?”
Owen looked at Blake.
“Desert Crest Medical Holdings.”
Blake’s face remained blank.
Bell asked, “Mean anything to you?”
“No.”
I knew enough about acquisitions to recognize the next question.
“Who owns Desert Crest?”
Owen scrolled.
“Private holding structure.”
My mother sighed.
“Of course.”
Bell took out his phone.
“I’ll have someone trace it.”
Blake stood and walked toward the window.
Phoenix lights spread below us in neat orange grids.
He put both hands against the sill.
“My father knew about the surgery.”
“Yes,” I said.
“He knew about the clinic.”
“Yes.”
“He could have known about the pregnancy.”
“Yes.”
His shoulders tightened.
“And he hired Graham again.”
Bell said, “Possibly.”
Blake turned.
“No.”
His voice had changed.
“I know he did.”
Bell looked at him.
“You have proof?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you don’t know.”
Blake’s eyes flashed.
“You want to lecture me about language while Priya is tied up somewhere?”
“Yes.”
Bell stood.
“Because language becomes warrants, charges, affidavits, testimony, and reasonable doubt.”
Blake took a step toward him.
“And while you build paperwork, Graham moves her.”
Bell did not move.
“Your temper put your wife in surgery.”
The room went silent.
Blake stopped.
Bell continued.
“If you want to be useful, learn the difference between urgency and impulse.”
Blake looked away.
I watched the fight leave him.
Not because Bell had defeated him.
Because Bell had named the thing Blake could no longer pretend was strength.
My mother sat beside me.
Quietly, she reached for my hand.
This time I let her.
Bell’s phone rang.
He answered, listened for less than a minute, then walked toward the far corner.
His expression sharpened.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Send it to me.”
He hung up.
“We found the company behind the Wickenburg property.”
Blake turned.
“And?”
“Copper Ridge Agricultural LLC.”
“That means nothing.”
“Registered agent is a law firm.”
“Whose?”
“Richard Stanford’s outside counsel.”
My mother whispered, “There it is.”
Bell held up a finger.
“Still not ownership.”
His phone buzzed.
He opened an email.
“Property taxes were paid from an account associated with Stanford Family Management.”
Blake closed his eyes.
Bell looked at him.
“That’s stronger.”
“Can you go there?”
“We can.”
“Then go.”
“We are.”
I pushed myself higher despite the pain.
“Wait.”
Bell looked at me.
“If Graham has Priya there and he sees police, he could hurt her.”
“Which is why we won’t drive up with lights and sirens.”
“He said Richard has to come.”
“That may be bait.”
“It is bait.”
My voice shook.
“But he wants something.”
Bell nodded.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“We don’t know.”
Blake turned toward me.
“The pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“The ones Chloe took eleven years ago.”
Bell’s attention sharpened.
“You think Graham wants Richard to trade for evidence?”
“No.”
Blake shook his head.
“I think Graham has been protecting something ever since that night.”
“From Richard?”
“Maybe.”
“Then why work for him?”
Blake looked at the floor.
“Because my father pays people to stay close.”
My mother said, “And because Graham needed money.”
Blake nodded.
Bell asked, “What could Graham want now that he didn’t want eleven years ago?”
Nobody answered.
Then I looked at the message again.
Priya walks out when Richard walks in.
Not money.
Not files.
A person for a person.
“Revenge.”
Bell looked at me.
“Maybe.”
“Not on me.”
“No.”
“On Richard.”
My mother tightened her grip on my hand.
“Then why demand Natalie?”
That question sat in the room.
I looked at the genetic note.
Then at Blake.
“Because I’m evidence.”
Bell’s eyes narrowed.
“Evidence of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Graham thinks you are.”
“Yes.”
Owen moved closer to the bed.
“You’re not going anywhere tomorrow.”
I looked at him.
“That decision isn’t yours.”
“It is if you’re medically unstable.”
Bell said, “He’s right.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“You need Priya alive.”
“And I need you alive too.”
May you like
His voice was quiet.
“That is not negotiable.”
