Chapter 3 HIS NAME WAS JACOB

ELIZA WHITMORE'S POV

He was watching me. I could feel it, even before I turned. The glass walls of the penthouse office gave the illusion of privacy, but nothing about Dominic Blackwell's presence ever allowed you to forget you were being observed.

"I'm not used to being surveilled," I said, folding my arms as I stepped into the room.

Dominic didn't look up right away. He was seated behind a black marble desk, a sleek laptop open in front of him. His eyes lifted to mine slowly, but calculating.

"Security is standard protocol in this building." He stated not shifting his gaze from mine.

"And the security footage you were just reviewing? Also standard?"

"I wanted to make sure you settled in." I scoffed.

"That's your version of hospitality?" this is just bizarre.

He leaned back in his chair. "My version is keeping you alive." I stared at him, unsure if that was a metaphor or something much worse.

He pushed the laptop aside. "Have a seat, Eliza."

"No thank you. I prefer to stand when I'm about to be interrogated." I declined without hesitation.

"This isn't an interrogation." He stated.

"Then what is it?" I asked but he studied me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he tapped a key and spun the laptop toward me.

On the screen was a photograph. It took me exactly one second to understand what I was looking at. Three to remember where and when it had been taken. Five to feel the blood drain from my face.

"Where did you get that?" I asked, my voice turned shaky.

He didn't blink. "Someone sent it. No name. Just a warning."

My hand trembled before I pulled it into a fist. "That picture is over ten years old."

"You look the same." That isn't a compliment.

"I was nineteen." I said. What was this person up to and how did they get the photograph?

"And the man?"

I met his eyes. "His name was Jacob."

"Was." He asked further to confirm if I wasn't mistaken.

"Yes." I said, He waited, the room had drifted into silence. I dropped into the chair across from him because standing suddenly felt like too much.

"He was my first love. My first everything." I was grief took over me. If he wasn't dead, I'll still be with him.

"And he's dead." I could feel the sympathy in his tone.

"Yes."

"Did you kill him?" he asked further, was I bring framed by the caller?

I didn't flinch. "No." I said shaking my head.

"But someone did." He asked again. That was tricky as only I know he was murdered to the rest it was recorded as suicide.

I nodded. "Yes." Dominic was quiet again. I hated how calm he was. Like none of this surprised him. Like he'd already played out every version of this conversation in his mind.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

I swallowed. My throat felt too tight, like the words had to force their way out.

"I met Jacob at Idaho when I was visiting my cousin. He wasn't LDS. He had a motorcycle and bad tattoos and too many opinions. I fell in love in three weeks."

"You were a teenager." He asked again. I'm not to blame. I was in my primes, it's hormones.

"I was desperate to feel seen. He saw me." Dominic said nothing.

"I stayed longer than I should have. I had lied to my parents. And also lied to my bishop. We talked about running away. He wanted to take me to California. I believed him."

"And what happened?" He asked further. My eyes now teary. I used the back of my palm to wipe it off. He handed me wads of tissue.

"Thanks." I said as I collected the tissue. "I told my father. I thought if I confessed, he'd understand. That he'd see how different this was."

"But I was wrong. he didn't. Instead, he did what he always did. He called Mark."

Dominic's eyebrows lifted just slightly. "Your husband?"

"At the time, he was my bishop's son. Five years older than me. He was already in law school and already chosen."

"Chosen for you." He further asked.

I nodded "Yes."

"You didn't love him." He asked again, my face irritated.

"I didn't even know him."

"And Jacob?" he asked as I sobbed loudly. Mark forbade me from thinking about Jacob nor speaking. This is the first person who isn't LDS that is hearing about Jacob.

I looked away. Cleaning my teary eyes with the tissue. "He was found three days later. Dead in a drainage ditch."

Dominic's voice was low. "And what did the police say?"

"Overdose. Heroin. Except Jacob never touched drugs. He hated needles. Had a phobia of them."

"You think it was staged." He farther asked. His breathing was irrational.

"I think he was eliminated." I explained.

"And you?" he asked again.

"I was put into a bishop-led rehabilitation program for troubled girls. Kept away from phones, books and anything secular. I didn't speak to anyone from the outside for eight months. When I came back, I was engaged to Mark."

Dominic leaned forward. "And you never told anyone?"

"I was told Jacob's death was my fault. That I tempted him, corrupted him and that my silence was repentance."

His jaw flexed. "And you believed them?" He asked again, this time sounding paranoid.

"I was nineteen. Alone. And terrified."

"But you don't believe them now." Staring deep into my eyes.

"No. Now I know better." My ignorance was used against me.

Dominic closed the laptop and exhaled through his nose. "There's a man in Nevada. He runs offshore accounts. Has links to your husband. I think he's the one who sent the photo."

"Why now?" I asked confused, why would he send them now?

"Because someone wants to scare you out of this job." He stated. This must be Mark's doing.

"Why? Why now if all times?"

"Because you're safer near me than you ever were back home."

I blinked. "That's not exactly comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be." He sounded indifferent

I stood again, trying to keep my balance against the weight of the past pressing down on me. "What do I do?"

"You stay here. You work. You earn your independence. And you tell me everything you've been holding back."

"I don't even know what that is yet."

"Then start figuring it out."

He walked to the window, hands in his pockets. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. "I've had people come after me before. But this is personal. They sent that photo to make you run. You don't strike me as the running type anymore."

"I'm not." I said trying to assure myself. Yes, I'm scared but if I don't fight, I'll be back at my vomit.

"Good."

I stepped forward. "What do you want me to do tomorrow?" that's what is important for now.

"Be in this office at seven. Learn my calendar. Get familiar with my contacts. I need someone who knows how to keep things quiet."

"I can do that." I said smiling.

"I don't doubt it."

"And what about Jacob?" I asked, he acted concerned earlier which got me thinking.

Dominic turned, his expression unreadable. "We find out who buried him."

Later that night, I stood alone on the balcony of my temporary suite, staring out at the city that didn't care who I used to be.

The wind was sharp. The kind that cut straight through the skin and into the memories. My fingers curled tighter around the railing.

Behind me, my phone lit up. I turned back. A message dropped. No name, just a subject line. Like the one sent to Dominic. Stop digging, It read. Beneath it sat an attachment. It was a photo. This time it wasn't me. It was of my oldest son, taken this morning, walking to school alone. My heart sank. I dialed my sister's line but it wasn't reachable .