Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN IN THE STAIRWELL
Roman Callaway had watched men beg with guns pressed to their heads.
But nothing had ever stopped him cold like the sight of a newborn sleeping on concrete.
He found them at 1:13 in the morning.
A young woman was curled against the wall on the third-floor landing of one of his private Manhattan buildings, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms locked around a baby that looked barely a week old.
A silver emergency blanket covered them.
Her shoes were soaked.
A hospital bracelet still circled her wrist.
Roman stared.
“What the hell is this?”
Marcus, the night security guard, stood two steps behind him.
“She’s been here four nights.”
Roman turned slowly.
“Four?”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“She comes after midnight. Leaves before sunrise. Every time I get close, she panics.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I thought about calling the cops.”
Roman looked at the infant.
Marcus swallowed.
“Then I saw the baby.”
The woman shifted in her sleep.
Instantly, even unconscious, she tightened her arms around the child.
Roman felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
“Open apartment nine-oh-three.”
Marcus blinked.
“The furnished unit?”
“Yes.”
“For her?”
Roman gave him a look.
Marcus stopped asking questions.
Within thirty minutes, the apartment had heat, groceries, bottled water, formula, diapers, blankets, clean clothes, and a crib delivered from a twenty-four-hour baby supply store Roman partly owned.
Roman stayed downstairs.
He told himself it was because he wanted answers.
It wasn’t.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the way the woman had curled around that baby like the world had teeth.
When Marcus finally woke her, Roman heard the scream from the hallway.
“No! Don’t touch him!”
Roman stepped inside.
The woman backed against the wall, holding the baby against her chest.
Her face was pale from exhaustion.
Her dark hair was tangled.
Then she saw Roman.
And everything changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Pure panic.
“Please,” she whispered.
Roman stopped.
“Please what?”
Her grip tightened around the newborn.
“Don’t take him.”
“I’m not taking your child.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
Her eyes moved toward the door.
Roman noticed.
“You came here on purpose.”
She said nothing.
Something slipped from inside her coat.
A thick brown envelope hit the floor.
Photographs spilled across the hardwood.
The woman lunged.
“No!”
Roman reached one first.
It showed her leaving a hospital.
Another showed her standing outside his building.
The third stopped him cold.
It was Roman himself.
Standing inside his private office.
Photographed through the window from another tower.
Across the back, someone had written four words in black ink.
HE DOESN’T KNOW YET.
Roman looked at the terrified mother.
“What don’t I know?”
She stared at him.
Then the baby began to cry.
And she whispered something that made Roman’s blood run cold.
“They’re not following me.”
Roman’s voice dropped.
“Then who are they following?”
May you like
Her eyes fell to the child.
“My son.”
