Chapter 3

The Maybach convoy sped through the empty streets. It pulled into the private underground garage of a luxury apartment building next to Central Park. The security team had already cleared the entire area.

The car door opened. Ingram stepped out. He was still carrying Tina in his arms. Her blood had soaked completely through his expensive suit jacket, staining his white shirt underneath. He walked straight into his private elevator.

The elevator shot up to the penthouse. The doors slid open. Mrs. Wallace, the senior housekeeper, stood in the foyer. When she saw the blood, she slapped both hands over her mouth in shock.

Ingram ignored her. He walked with long, fast strides down the hallway. He kicked the door of the largest guest room open and gently laid Tina down on the massive bed.

Julian Ashford, one of the top surgeons in the country, rushed into the room carrying a heavy medical case. He was complaining about the rain, but as he pulled on his sterile gloves, he saw the girl.

Julian saw the blood on the bed and the blood covering Ingram. He stopped talking immediately. He opened his case and pulled out trauma shears.

Ingram stood rigidly by the side of the bed. He refused to step back. His eyes were glued to Tina's face. Her skin was the color of dirty snow.

Julian cut away the ruined, wet fabric of Tina's shirt. He exposed her back and stomach. Massive, dark purple bruises covered her skin. Julian's jaw tightened.

He looked up at Ingram. He said her ribs were broken. He said she had internal damage. He told Ingram that if he had brought her in ten minutes later, she would have bled to death from the inside.

Ingram heard those words. The muscles in his jaw ticked. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

The surgery took two full hours. Julian wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. He finished the last stitch. He let out a long breath and said she was stable.

Julian pulled off his surgical mask. He looked at Ingram. He asked who this girl was and why Ingram was standing there looking like he was ready to murder someone.

Ingram did not answer the question. He stared at Julian and told him he was sleeping on the couch tonight. He ordered him to monitor her vitals every hour.

Julian rolled his eyes, packed up his bloody tools, and walked out to the living room. He closed the door behind him.

Ingram was finally alone with her. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked down at the bright lights of Manhattan. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the muddy dolphin charm.

He took a clean white handkerchief from his inside pocket. He slowly wiped the mud off the plastic surface. He rubbed the dirt out of the grooves on the bottom until the letters T.T. were perfectly clear.

A soft knock came from the door. Palmer walked in. He held a thin, encrypted tablet. He handed it to Ingram.

Palmer kept his voice low. He reported that the girl's name was Tina Valenzuela. He said she had been violently kicked out of her family estate by her aunt just a few hours ago.

When Ingram heard the name Tina, his fingers clamped down hard on the small charm. The plastic dug into his skin. His knuckles turned completely white.

Memories from thirteen years ago crashed into his brain. The smell of smoke. The heat of the fire. The tiny five-year-old girl who dragged his bleeding body out of the wreckage. Her name was Tina.

Palmer kept talking. He said her mother had just died. He said her cousin broke the urn containing the ashes tonight. He confirmed the old man who died on the road was the family butler.

Ingram's breathing grew heavy. A dark, violent anger burned in his chest. The air in the room felt thick and suffocating.

Palmer asked if he should call the police and report the Valenzuela family for murder.

Ingram let out a cold, harsh laugh. He said the police were too easy. He said he was going to make them bleed for every single thing they did to her.

Ingram turned away from the window. He walked back to the bed. He stood over Tina, looking down at her sleeping face.

He reached out. His long fingers gently brushed the damp hair away from her forehead. His touch was incredibly light.

Her eyebrows were pulled together in pain. Her lips were dry and cracked. She looked so small and fragile against the white pillows.

Ingram's eyes slowly moved down. He looked at the edge of the thick white bandage taped just below her collarbone. His chest tightened.

He knew what was under there. He knew the girl who saved him had a pale pink birthmark shaped like a dolphin right on that spot.

He hovered his fingers over the edge of the medical tape. He wanted to rip it off. He wanted to see it. But he stopped. He pulled his hand back and curled it into a fist.

He would not do it while she was unconscious. He would wait for her to open her eyes.

Julian poked his head into the room. He yawned and told Ingram he smelled like a slaughterhouse and needed to change his clothes.

Ingram turned and walked toward the bathroom. Right before he closed the door, he looked back at the bed one last time.

The look in his eyes was not the look of a cold CEO. It was the look of a man who had been starving for thirteen years and finally found food.

He stepped into the shower. The hot water washed the blood down the drain, but it could not wash away the heavy feeling in his chest.