Chapter 2 - The Man She Was Supposed to RememberClaire woke beneath white sheets in a room overlooking Lake Michigan.
Not an apology.
Not the squeal of brakes.
Not her name.
Laughter.
Then the black sedan disappeared into the Chicago rain.
Claire struck the pavement shoulder-first, rolled once, and slammed against the curb hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
For several seconds, she could not move.
Cold rain beat against her face.
Her cream-colored dress was torn from hip to knee. One heel was gone. Blood ran from a cut above her eyebrow and mixed with water streaming down her cheek.
Somewhere farther down LaSalle Street, Grant Bennett’s taillights vanished around the corner.
Her husband had really done it.
He had thrown her from a moving car and left her there.
Claire tried to push herself up.
Pain exploded through her wrist.
She cried out and collapsed again.
Ten minutes earlier, she had been sitting beside Grant in the back seat while he calmly told her their marriage was over.
Not because he had stopped loving her.
Grant had never said anything that human.
Instead, he had stared out the window and said, “You’re becoming inconvenient.”
Claire had thought she misheard him.
“Inconvenient?”
“You ask questions.”
“You’ve been moving money from our joint accounts.”
“My money.”
“My name is on those accounts too.”
Grant had turned then.
His handsome face looked almost bored.
For nine years, Chicago society had seen Grant Bennett as charming, ambitious, generous.
Claire knew the other man.
The one who squeezed her wrist when she embarrassed him.
The one who controlled which friends she saw.
The one who apologized with diamonds and threatened her with silence.
Tonight, however, something had changed.
Claire had discovered documents in his office.
Shell companies.
Offshore transfers.
Payments to names she recognized from Grant’s competitors.
And one file containing photographs of men whose businesses had mysteriously collapsed after refusing Grant’s offers.
She had confronted him.
That had been her mistake.
“You went through my office?” he asked.
“I found proof you’ve been destroying people.”
Grant smiled.
Not warmly.
“Proof?”
“I copied everything.”
That wiped the smile from his face.
Claire had been bluffing.
Mostly.
She had photographed several pages with her phone, but she had not copied everything.
Grant did not know that.
He leaned forward.
“Where?”
“I’m not telling you.”
He grabbed her arm.
Claire jerked away.
“Grant, stop.”
“Where are the copies?”
“Let go of me.”
He squeezed harder.
The driver looked into the rearview mirror.
“Keep driving,” Grant snapped.
Claire’s stomach dropped.
“Pull over.”
The driver did not answer.
“Pull over!”
Grant opened the rear door.
The car was still moving.
Rain and wind exploded into the cabin.
Claire stared at him.
“You’re insane.”
“Tell me where the copies are.”
“No.”
Grant shoved her.
Claire grabbed the door frame.
For one terrifying second, half her body hung outside the moving vehicle.
“Grant!”
He smiled.
Then he peeled her fingers away.
One by one.
And pushed.
Now she lay bleeding alone in the street.
Claire forced herself onto one elbow.
Her purse was gone.
Her phone was still in the car.
No money.
No ID.
No way to call anyone.
Headlights appeared at the far end of the block.
Claire raised her good arm weakly.
“Help.”
The first vehicle slowed.
A black SUV.
Then another appeared behind it.
And another.
Three identical SUVs stopped beside her.
Claire froze.
The doors opened almost simultaneously.
Men in dark suits stepped into the rain.
Not police.
Not paramedics.
The tallest of them scanned rooftops and intersections before touching something near his ear.
Claire’s heart began pounding harder.
Had Grant sent them back?
She tried to crawl away.
“Don’t touch me.”
A rear door opened on the middle SUV.
A man stepped out.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black overcoat that immediately darkened beneath the rain.
He looked around thirty-eight.
Maybe forty.
There was a pale scar near his right temple.
Another across his knuckles.
But it was his expression that stopped Claire.
He looked at her as if he had seen a ghost.
The men around him waited.
No one moved without his permission.
He walked toward Claire slowly.
Her muscles tightened.
“Stay away.”
He stopped three feet from her.
Then, to Claire’s shock, he lowered himself onto one knee in the rain.
His eyes traveled over the bruises forming on her arm, the torn fabric, the blood on her face.
Something terrifying moved behind his calm expression.
“Who did this?”
Claire swallowed.
“Who are you?”
The man looked directly into her eyes.
And spoke two words that made every guard around him go still.
“My queen.”
Claire stared at him.
“What?”
His voice softened.
“You don’t remember me.”
“I’ve never seen you before.”
Pain crossed his face.
Not anger.
Pain.
“You have.”
Claire shook her head.
“I don’t know you.”
Behind him, one of the security men said quietly, “Mr. Vale, we need to move.”
Vale.
The name hit Claire somewhere deep in her memory.
But before she could reach it, dizziness swept over her.
The street tilted.
The scarred man caught her before her head struck the pavement.
His arms were careful.
Almost reverent.
Claire tried to fight him.
“Don’t take me back to Grant.”
His entire body went still.
“Grant?”
“My husband.”
The man looked toward his security chief.
His voice turned colder than the rain.
“Find him.”
Claire’s eyes began closing.
“He’ll kill me.”
“No.”
The stranger lifted her into his arms.
Claire heard car doors opening.
Orders being whispered.
Then his face appeared above hers.
He looked like a man who had spent years waiting for this moment.
“No one is ever going to hurt you again.”
Claire wanted to ask why.
Instead, darkness swallowed her.
May you like
The last thing she heard was the stranger’s voice.
“Take my queen home.”
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