Chapter 4: The Director Calls

The house in Beverly was brick and old, with a slate roof, an iron gate and a lawn gone brown for winter.

I woke in a bed that smelled of cedar and clean sheets.

For a full minute I lay there, certain I had dreamed the whole day.

Then I put my hand on my stomach.

Down the hall, a door was painted yellow.

It was the only door on that floor with a brass lock, and it was shut.

I did not ask about it.

In the kitchen, Gwen sat at a long wooden table in her overalls, eating eggs the housekeeper had made her.

"That woman fed me three times before you woke up," she whispered. "I think I live here now."

"You don't live here."

"There's a pantry the size of my apartment, Tabby."

My phone buzzed on the table.

The screen said UNKNOWN.

I answered, and a thin, careful voice said my name.

"Ms. Fitzgerald. Please don't hang up."

I knew that smooth voice, though it wasn't smooth now.

"You've got a lot of nerve," I said.

"I know where your embryo went."

Gwen stopped chewing.

"Then tell me," I said.

"Not on the phone. And not for free."

He was breathing fast.

"I need to leave the city. Someone tried to take my car at a light this morning."

"I've said too much to too many people."

"Why should I help you?"

"Because the man you're living with has the money and the men to move me. I'm asking you to ask him."

"Ask him yourself."

"He'd kill me."

I looked at the doorway.

Orazio stood there in his shirtsleeves, with his vest unbuttoned and the gold ring swinging on its chain.

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