Chapter 3 - Waking the TigerSarah Quinn opened her eyes, but there was no light—only the sterile, humming white of fluorescent tubes and the sharp, antiseptic smell of rubbing alcohol.
Her entire body felt like it had been run over by a freight train. Every time she tried to take a breath, a sharp, white-hot spike of agony lanced through her ribs. She gasped, trying to sit up, but a heavy hand pressed gently against her shoulder, pinning her to the mattress.
“Don’t move,” a voice commanded.
It was deep, gravelly, and instantly recognizable.
Sarah turned her head slowly, wincing as the muscles in her neck strained. Standing beside the bed in a shirtsleeves-and-suspenders setup, his jacket draped over a metal chair, was Vincent Calder.
The most feared man in Greyhaven. The phantom who controlled the ports, the unions, and half the city council.
“You...” Sarah’s voice rasped like sandpaper on dry wood. Her throat was bone-dry. She swallowed hard, her blue eyes locking onto his dark, unreadable gaze. “You’re supposed to be in handcuffs.”
“And you’re supposed to be bleeding out in a storm drain,” Vincent countered, pouring a small paper cup of water and holding it out to her. He didn't let go of the cup as she drank greedily, her hands trembling so badly she could barely hold it. “You took two hollow-points to the chest. Most people don't survive that in a trauma center, let alone on an old table in my basement.”
Sarah collapsed back against the pillow, her chest heaving. Memories came rushing back in jagged fragments: the rainy alley behind the laundromat, the muzzle flash in the dark, the heavy footsteps approaching her, and the voice—cold and metallic—whispering, “The detective knows too much about the 2009 files.”
She looked back up at Vincent. The fear in her eyes wasn't because she was trapped with a mafia boss. It was because she knew what she had said while losing consciousness.
“The name,” Sarah whispered, her voice barely a breath. “I said... I said her name.”
“You did,” Vincent said. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, staring straight into her eyes. “Seventeen years ago, my sister Elena was found dead in a cheap motel room on the west side. The police called it a fentanyl overdose. They closed the case in forty-eight hours. No investigation. No autopsies. Nothing.”
“Because the department was corrupt,” Sarah said bitterly.
“My department was rotten to the core,” Vincent agreed. “But you weren't even a cop back then, Sarah. You were a teenager in high school. How do you know Elena Calder?”
Sarah closed her eyes for a long moment, gathering her strength. When she opened them, the defiance had returned, fierce and unbroken.
“Because I didn’t just stumble into your shipping offices three months ago to harass you, Vincent,” she said softly. “I spent the last five years working my way up through internal affairs for one reason only.”
May you like
She paused, watching the realization dawn in Vincent’s eyes.
“I was looking into the cold cases buried by the previous police chief. And I found the file on your sister. Only… it wasn't an overdose, Vincent. Elena was murdered. And the man who pulled the trigger seventeen years ago is currently sitting in the mayor’s office.”
