Chapter 1
Chapter One
Alicia
My phone lights up with an unrecognized number: three nines in a row.
I force myself to answer.
“This is Alicia Morgan.”
“Alicia, good. I got you.”
I glance at the screen, switch to speaker, and set the phone on my desk. The afternoon sun slants through the window in my home office, the light too bright. I should close the blinds, but I don't move.
“Dorian? Where are you calling from?”
“Colorado. Caroline was just updating me—”
“The answer is no.”
“Alicia…” He blends disappointment, censure, and warmth into one word.
“They won’t be in your way,” he insists.
“I agreed to security at my office and in select public locations. Not my home.”
“I’ve been to your home. No cameras. A gate that opens onto a public sidewalk. Anyone who wants to watch you walks right past it on their morning run.”
“I live in Georgetown, Dorian.” I square the corners of the file folders on my desk until they form a perfect ninety-degree angle. “Tell Caroline I said hello.”
“She’s the reason I’m calling. Correction. Your daughter is the reason. If someone wants to reach you, Stella is the easiest way.”
My fingers drift to my grandmother’s vintage Cartier watch on my wrist, the metal cool against my skin. “No one is coming after me.”
“The woman who claimed they would is dead. Does that not concern you?”
“She killed herself to avoid prison.”
“Or she knew what was coming.”
I lean back, press my head against the chair, and exhale through clenched teeth. “Dorian, you’re one of my best friends—”
“Really? Every time we invite you out to visit us, you decline.”
“I have a twelve-year-old. Weekends away aren’t an option.”
“Because she’s your world. Which is why I can’t believe you refused security.” His tone softens. “I nearly lost Caroline once. Don’t make the mistake I did. If something happens to Stella, you won’t recover.”
Well, now that he’s gone and said that…
“Do you even have proof this supposed network exists? Yes, my client was blackmailed. Yes, people paid. But no one has contacted me.”
“A congressional hearing is in the works. You’ll be called in. If someone doesn’t want their name exposed, they might silence you.”
A tension headache stirs behind my eyes. “I manage crises, Dorian. I’m not the crisis.”
“Then let me help you.”
“You mean let Caroline help me.”
“She has resources. Use them.”
“Your money funds them.”
“What’s mine is hers.”
“That’s generous,” I mutter.
“Alicia, please. Just a couple of weeks. For Stella.”
The doorbell chimes.
I jolt, nudging my mouse to wake the monitor. The grainy feed shows a tall man in dark clothes, collar flipped high against the wind. He scans the street—alert, methodical, controlled.
I've been in enough rooms with KOAN people to recognize him—one of their operatives, peripheral to the Crawford case. “Noah Bennett,” I say quietly.
“Yes,” Dorian confirms. “He’ll cover nights. Your day rotation will remain the same. You’ll barely notice his presence.”
“You sent him already?”
“Because I knew you’d resist.”
“I thought you said security isn’t one of KOAN’s services.”
KOAN wasn’t a traditional security firm. They handled high-risk contracts—extractions, intelligence, and discreet problem-solving for clients who didn’t want headlines. Bodyguard duty wasn’t spelled out in their mission statement.
“Caroline’s expanding—blending contracts, rescues, security. It’s her first year. The model’s evolving.”
The bell rings again.
“What exactly do you expect?”
“Noah Bennett is currently assigned night shift. He’s there at your door to touch base with you. The night shift—it’s just precautionary.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Yes, it’s in an abundance of caution, but please, for me. For Stella.”
My gaze lands on the silver frames of Stella, ranging from her as an infant in my arms, to a toddler photo with a wide, chubby-cheeked smile, to last year’s school photo in her middle school uniform where she appears to be far too old for her preteen years.
She’s my life, and if something happened to her…
“You won’t even know he’s there. He’ll stay in the car—”
“You think my neighbors won’t notice a man sitting in a car on the street all through the night?”
Even in my driveway, someone would notice. Dorian’s being ridiculous. People walk their dogs and push baby carriages up and down the sidewalks constantly, looking in windows, judging everything from flower beds to holiday décor.
“He can work from the guest room in the basement. But he’s the only one who has access inside my home.
The others…they can meet me out front, at my businesses.
I don’t want this arrangement to scare Stella.
I’ll tell Stella that he’s…” I struggle for a way to spin it that won’t alarm my daughter.
“I’ll tell her that he’s in charge of security for my business and he’s ensuring continuity.
She knows I’ve had security during the day.
I’ll tell her that he’s from out of town and so I offered him our guest room while he gets everything set up.
She doesn’t need to know that he’s working nights.
Two weeks. That’s all I’m giving you. No more than that. Understood?”
“Two weeks,” he agrees quickly.
“Caroline’s listening, isn’t she?”
Her voice chimes faintly in the background. “Thank you, Alicia. I feel so much better.”
“Not a problem,” I lie, rising from my desk.
The clock on my monitor shows the time: 3:33 p.m. I do a double-take.
Repeating numbers have always snagged my attention—numerology’s quiet language, patterns the universe uses to communicate if you’re willing to look.
Alignment. Protection. A reminder the universe is pervasive, even if I don’t want to believe in omens.