PART 11:

” “I’m not a princess,” Claire said automatically. “That’s what a princess would say if she was hiding,” Stella countered, then coughed, a wet, rattling sound that made Nate’s jaw tighten. He was beside her in an instant, pulling a small medical bag from under the table. He listened to her breathing with a stethoscope that looked well-used, checked her pulse, studied her face with the kind of attention Claire had only ever seen in emergency rooms.

“Scale of 1 to 10?” he asked quietly. “Three,” Stella said, “maybe four. I’m okay, Daddy.” “You promised you’d tell me if it got to five.” “It’s not five, I promise.” She looked at Claire and smiled, trying to be brave. “I have a broken heart, not like sad broken, actually broken. The doctors say it doesn’t pump blood right, so sometimes I get tired and cough, and Daddy worries even though I tell him not to.

” Claire felt something twist in her chest. “That sounds scary.” “Sometimes,” Stella admitted, “but Daddy says brave people are just scared people who keep going anyway, so I’m being brave.” Nate finished his examination and put the stethoscope away, but his hand stayed on Stella’s shoulder, a constant point of contact, like he needed to physically feel her there to know she was okay.

“Why don’t you show Ms. Montgomery what you’re working on?” he suggested. Stella brightened immediately. “I’m making a list of the best things in the world. Want to see?” Before Claire could answer, the little girl had pulled her workbook closer and started reading in the careful, deliberate way of children who were still learning that words on paper had sounds attached.

“Number one, Daddy. Number two, Mr. Patches. That’s my bear. Number three, chocolate ice cream. Number four, when the rain stops and you can see the sky. Number five, people who fix broken things.” She looked up at Claire. “What would be on your list?” The question was so simple, so sincere, that Claire found herself speechless.

What were the best things in her world? Her company? Her net worth? The view from her penthouse? None of those answers felt right with this child looking at her with eyes that had seen too much and still found joy in chocolate ice cream and clearing skies. “I don’t know, and” Claire admitted quietly. “I’ve never made a list like that.

” Stella looked genuinely shocked. “Never?” “Never.” “That’s sad.” The little girl tilted her head, studying Claire with an intensity that reminded her of Nate. “Maybe you should make one. Daddy says making lists helps you remember what matters when you forget.” “And when do you forget?” Claire asked. “When I’m in the hospital and I’m scared and everything hurts.

” Stella’s voice didn’t waver. “I read my list and remember there are good things waiting when I get out. It helps.” Claire had negotiated billion-dollar deals. She’d faced down hostile boards and aggressive competitors. She’d built an empire on being harder and colder and more ruthless than anyone expected a woman could be.

But this little girl with her broken heart and her list of good things made her feel more vulnerable than she’d felt in 15 years. “I think that’s very wise,” Claire managed. Stella beamed. “Daddy says I’m wise, too. He says I’m the smartest person he knows.” “That’s because you are,” Nate said, ruffling her hair.

Then he looked at Claire. “Stella, I need to talk to Ms. Montgomery for a few minutes. Grown-up stuff. Can you work on your homework?” “Is it about who tried to hurt her?” Stella asked with the kind of casual directness that made both adults freeze. “Stella.” “I heard you on the phone, Daddy. You said someone sabotaged her car and she could have been hurt bad.

” She looked at Claire with those too-old eyes. “That’s really mean. Cars are for going places, not for hurting people.” Nate crouched down so he was at eye level with his daughter. “You’re right. It was mean, but Ms. Montgomery is okay, and we’re going to make sure she stays okay. Deal?” “Deal.” Stella held out her pinky finger.

Nate hooked it with his own, and they shook solemnly, a ritual that clearly had deep history. Then Nate stood and gestured for Claire to follow him to the far side of the parking lot, out of Stella’s earshot, but still within sight. She noticed he positioned himself so he could see his daughter at all times, like a soldier keeping his back to a wall.

“I’m sorry,” he said when they were far enough away. “I probably should have warned you about Stella, but if I’d told you I was bringing my daughter, you wouldn’t have come.” “You’re right,” Claire admitted. “I wouldn’t have. I don’t do well with children.” “Why not?” “Because they’re honest. They ask questions nobody wants to answer, and they look at you like you’re supposed to have everything figured out.

” She glanced back at Stella, who was bent over her workbook, tongue poking out in concentration. “I don’t have anything figured out, Mr. Rhodes.” “Nate,” he corrected. “If we’re going to work together to figure out who’s trying to kill you, you should probably use my first name.” “Then you should probably stop calling me Ms. Montgomery.

” “What should I call you?” “Claire.” The name felt strange in her mouth, vulnerable, stripped of titles and formality and all the armor she usually wore. “Claire,” Nate repeated, testing it out. “Okay.” “So, Claire, do you know why I asked you here today?” “To meet your daughter, apparently.” “Partly, but mostly to show you something.” He nodded toward Stella.

“See how she keeps looking up from her homework? Not at us, at the fence line, the gate, the back door of the shop?” Claire watched, and he was right. Every 30 seconds or so, Stella’s eyes would flick up, scan her surroundings, then return to her work. “She’s checking escape routes,” Nate said quietly. “She’s been doing it since she was five.

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