Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO SURVIVED
Rockford was ninety miles away.
I made it in seventy-two minutes.
Not because I drove.
Nico refused to let me.
Sophia sat beside me in the back seat.
Rebecca argued she should stay.
Sophia refused.
“Mommy.”
One word.
No adult could defeat it.
Nurse Rebecca Shaw met us behind a small free clinic near the river.
Forty-eight.
Scrubs.
Tired eyes.
She looked at Sophia first.
Then me.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“You look exactly like the picture.”
“What picture?”
“Alina had one.”
My throat tightened.
“Where is she?”
Rebecca led us into a small office.
“She came here nine months ago under the name Anna Moretti.”
“Nine?”
“Yes.”
“She’d been moving around.”
“From who?”
“She never said names.”
“Was she injured?”
“Not then.”
“Why come here?”
“Medication.”
Sophia leaned against me.
“What medication?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“For anxiety. Sleep. She had panic attacks.”
Guilt moved through me.
Six years running.
Looking over shoulders.
Protecting a child.
Then eighteen months separated from Sophia.
Alina had survived physically.
That did not mean she had escaped untouched.
Rebecca continued.
“Eventually she trusted me enough to say her daughter was somewhere safe.”
“Did she say where?”
“No.”
“She knew St. Margaret’s?”
“I don’t think so. She only said a church place.”
“Why didn’t she return?”
“She believed someone watched the children’s home.”
My jaw tightened.
“She told me that if she went back too soon, she might lead them to Lily.”
Sophia whispered, “Mommy left me to safe.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“Yes.”
My daughter absorbed that.
Not abandoned.
Protected.
Important difference.
“Why was Alina here this morning?”
Rebecca sighed.
“She comes every few months.”
“Why?”
“To use the phone.”
“Call who?”
“She never tells me.”
“Did she call today?”
“Yes.”
“Can you see the number?”
“Clinic phone logs can.”
She gave it to us after Lena Morales obtained emergency legal process.
The number belonged to a storage facility outside Elgin.
Why would Alina call storage?
We drove.
Locker registered to Anna Moretti.
Cash payments.
Inside:
Clothes.
Maps.
Fake IDs.
A backpack.
Photographs of Sophia taken from across the street at St. Margaret’s.
My stomach turned.
Had Alina been watching her?
Then I saw notes.
Dates.
Sophia outside 10:15.
New teacher.
Blue jacket too thin.
Need return when clear.
Alina had visited the orphanage secretly.
She had watched our daughter from a distance.
Never approached.
Because she believed approaching would expose her.
Sophia held one photograph.
“That me.”
“Yes.”
“Mommy saw me?”
“Yes.”
Her face crumpled.
“Why not hug?”
I crouched.
“Because she was scared bad people would see.”
“I didn’t see.”
“She was hiding.”
Sophia started crying.
I held her.
The locker also contained photographs of men.
Matteo.
Owen.
Luca.
Unknown faces.
Alina had continued investigating while hiding.
One image showed Owen outside St. Margaret’s three months earlier.
Another showed Luca speaking to a security officer near my own downtown headquarters.
She was closer to the truth than I realized.
Then Daniel found an envelope.
Not addressed.
Inside was a map.
One location circled.
St. Michael’s Retreat, near Galena.
A former monastery used for private wellness programs.
On the back:
If I disappear again, ask Daniel about Gabriel.
Daniel went pale.
“What?”
I turned.
“What does Gabriel mean?”
He looked at Sophia.
Then at me.
“Alina’s brother.”
“Dead.”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
Daniel sat on a storage box.
“I never told Alina.”
“Told her what?”
“Gabriel didn’t die in a random robbery.”
My chest hardened.
“What?”
Five years before our marriage, Alina’s brother Gabriel had been shot outside a bar.
Police called it robbery.
Wallet missing.
Watch missing.
No arrest.
Daniel had later discovered Matteo was connected to the crew responsible.
Not because Gabriel was Alina’s brother.
Because Gabriel worked briefly for a trucking company that had accidentally moved one of Matteo’s hidden shipments.
“He saw too much,” Daniel said.
“You knew?”
“Not then.”
“When?”
“After Alina disappeared.”
“And you never told her?”
“I thought it would destroy her.”
I grabbed him.
Nico moved.
“Boss.”
I released Daniel before I broke his face.
“Stop deciding what truth people can survive.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You’re right.”
That answer made anger harder.
Lena’s team checked St. Michael’s.
No Alina registered.
But a staff member recognized her photograph.
“She stayed here under Anna Carver.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why?”
“Three nights.”
“Then?”
“A man came asking.”
“What man?”
Photograph lineup.
Staff member pointed.
Owen Blake.
My captain.
Matteo’s man.
Alina left through a kitchen exit before Owen reached her room.
Again.
One step ahead.
Barely.
The staff member remembered one thing.
“She had a bus ticket.”
“Where?”
“Madison.”
Wisconsin.
We followed.
The bus company confirmed Anna Carver traveled to Madison.
Cameras showed her.
Alina.
Alive.
Two months earlier.
I watched the video twelve times.
Same walk.
Same habit of touching her hair when nervous.
Thinner.
Older.
Alive.
Sophia watched once.
“Mommy.”
She touched the screen.
My eyes burned.
“Yes.”
We traced another clinic.
A shelter.
A rented room.
Then nothing.
Again.
At midnight, I sat in a Madison hotel with Sophia asleep beside me.
She woke.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“You find Mommy?”
“Not yet.”
“She runs good.”
I laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
“She hide good too.”
“Yes.”
Then she said:
“Mommy says Daddy finds everything.”
I looked at her.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“Mommy was wrong.”
Sophia shook her head.
“No.”
Child certainty.
“Daddy finds me.”
That ended me.
I held her until she slept.
At 1:17 a.m., Lena called.
“We got something.”
“What?”
“Harbor Search Group financial records.”
Payments from Matteo.
Hundreds.
Then:
“And one newer payment.”
“How new?”
“Yesterday.”
My blood went cold.
Recipient:
OWEN BLAKE.
Amount:
$250,000.
Memo code:
A.C. MADISON.
Anna Carver.
Madison.
Matteo knew where Alina had gone.
Maybe before us.
I stood.
“Find Owen.”
“We are.”
“No.”
My voice lowered.
“Find Matteo.”
“Marco.”
“I’m not killing him.”
“Good.”
“Yet.”
“Not good.”
I almost smiled.
Then another call came through.
Nico.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Owen’s car just hit a barrier outside Schaumburg.”
“Alive?”
“Barely.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Hospital?”
“Northwest Community.”
I looked at Sophia.
Then at Daniel.
May you like
Owen Blake had spent years helping Matteo hunt my wife.
If he lived long enough to talk, he might finally tell me where she was.
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