Chapter 2 - The Echoes of Murphy’s Grill
Emily Harper woke to the sound of trickling water and the scent of cedar and ozone.
For a terrifying, disorienting second, her brain tried to convince her that she was back in her tiny, damp basement apartment forty miles south in the run-down outskirts of Saratoga Springs. But the air was too fresh, the steam too thick, and the stone beneath her back too solid.
When she sat up, the white towel slipped from her shoulders, revealing a heavy, dark grey robe that wasn't hers.
Her eyes snapped open. Standing twenty feet away, under the archway of an exquisite stone courtyard, was a towering man in a dark tactical jacket, his hands clasped casually in front of him.
"I'm sorry!" Emily gasped, scrambling backward into the shallow water, clutching the massive robe against her collarbone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—oh God, I fell asleep!"
Caleb immediately lifted both hands, keeping his palms open and visible. "You're okay, ma'am. Stay calm. No one is going to hurt you."
"I took the wrong path," Emily stammered, her voice shaking violently as she pushed her wet hair out of her eyes. "There were plastic tarps near the main hallway, and an iron gate was unlocked. I thought... I thought it was just an extension of the public baths. I'm so sorry."
"That appears to be what happened," Caleb said, his tone deliberately neutral and low.
Emily climbed awkwardly out of the pool, her shivering frame nearly swallowed by the heavy charcoal robe. She wrapped it tight around her waist, tying the belt with trembling fingers. "I have a guest wristband! My friend won a weekend pass at a charity raffle in town, but her kid got sick, so she gave it to me. I checked in at the main desk two hours ago. I can show you!"
"You don't need to," Caleb assured her.
"I'll pay whatever fee there is for stepping into a private area," she insisted, her brown eyes wide with panic. She was used to paying for mistakes—usually with money she didn't have or cruel lectures from people who held power over her. "I have sixty dollars in my bag. I can give you my watch."
"There isn't a fee," Caleb replied.
Emily blinked, her mind racing. "Then... am I in trouble? Are you going to call the police?"
"That depends," a new voice chimed from the shadow of the stone staircase.
Emily spun around. A man stepped out of the fog. He was broad-shouldered, wearing a dark button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms and a silver watch that caught the dim mountain light. His face was sharp, carved from harsh angles, dominated by dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to assess her entire existence in a single glance.
"You slept in hot mineral water for almost three hours," Dominic said calmly, walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
Emily stared at him, her chest heaving under the heavy robe. "How do you know that?"
"Because I sat on that bench and watched you sleep for forty minutes," Dominic replied softly. He stopped three feet away from her—close enough that she could smell the clean, crisp scent of cedar and rain on his skin.
Emily swallowed hard. "Why would you do that?"
"Because if I had woken you up while you were floating in six feet of water, you would have panicked and drowned yourself," Dominic said. He gestured toward the teak chair beneath the archway. "Ruth left dry clothes for you. Change. Then come inside."
"I should just go back to my room—"
"The clothes in your room are wet, Miss Harper," Dominic interrupted, his tone carrying an unquestionable weight. "And you haven't eaten since yesterday at noon."
Emily froze. She hadn't told anyone her name. She hadn't told anyone she was starving, or that she had skipped dinner the previous night so her younger brother could eat the last of the bread in their pantry.
Dominic didn't wait for her permission. He turned and walked up the stone steps toward the main lodge, leaving the door slightly open behind him.
Caleb motioned toward the chair. "The clothes are warm, ma'am. Take your time."
Fifteen minutes later, Emily stepped into the private living quarters of Black Pine Springs. The fleece sweatshirt was oversized, the cuffs covering her bruised wrists, and the cotton sweatpants were soft against her aching legs.
The lodge was unlike anything she had ever seen. High vaulted ceilings supported by massive hand-hewn oak beams, a double-sided stone fireplace roaring with birch wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty valley below.
Dominic was sitting at a long mahogany dining table. In front of him was a tablet displaying a stream of financial documents. In front of an empty chair across from him sat a steaming bowl of thick roasted tomato soup, a plate of grilled sourdough bread, and a glass of fresh pomegranate juice.
"Sit," Dominic said, setting his tablet aside.
Emily hesitated before pulling out the heavy leather chair and sitting on the very edge of the cushion. "Who are you?"
"My name is Dominic Carver," he said. He picked up a silver spoon and gestured toward her bowl. "Eat before it gets cold."
Emily picked up her spoon with trembling fingers. The first bite of soup was so rich, so comforting, that she had to close her eyes to keep from crying right there in front of him. For three years, her life had been a endless cycle of double shifts at Murphy’s Grill, dodging predatory debt collectors, and trying to keep a roof over her brother Noah’s head after their father died, leaving behind a mountain of gambling debts.
Dominic watched her eat. He didn't speak until she had finished half the bowl and two slices of the warm bread.
"The bruises on your arm," Dominic began, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "They aren't from an accident."
Emily’s hand froze mid-air. She quickly pulled the long fleece sleeves down over her thumbs, hiding her hands inside the fabric. "It's nothing. I bumped into a tray rack at work."
"Tray racks don't leave five distinct finger marks, Miss Harper," Dominic said softly. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "A man named Vance Miller runs a predatory lending operation out of a back room at the O’Malley Bowling Alley in Albany. Your late father took forty thousand dollars from him three years ago. With Vance's interest rates, that debt is now listed as one hundred and twelve thousand dollars."
Emily’s heart dropped into her stomach. Her breath came in short, jagged gasps. "How... how do you know that? Who are you?"
"Vance Miller came to your workplace yesterday at five o'clock," Dominic continued, ignoring her question. "He grabbed your arm in the alley behind the kitchen when you told him you didn't have the three thousand dollars he demanded for this month's interest. He told you that if you didn't pay by Monday, he would take your brother’s car and visit your house."
Emily burst into tears, dropping her face into her hands. The terror she had been carrying alone for months finally overflowed. "Please," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to trespass. I didn't know this place belonged to people like you. Please don't hurt my family. I'm working as hard as I can. I work sixteen hours a day—"
"Emily," Dominic said.
The way he spoke her name wasn't harsh or commanding. It was quiet, solid, like an anchor dropping into stormy seas.
She looked up through her wet eyelashes.
Dominic reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger, and laid it on the polished mahogany table between them.
"Vance Miller does not own your father's debt anymore," Dominic said.
May you like
Emily blinked through her tears. "What?"
"I bought it twenty minutes ago," Dominic stated smoothly. "Vance sold the paper for forty cents on the dollar the moment my lieutenant called him. He will never approach you, your brother, or your workplace again."
