The Number on His Phone
Chapter 02 - The Number on His Phone
Elena did not believe him.
Fear made disbelief useful. It kept the mind from reaching for comfort too quickly, kept the body alert, kept a woman from mistaking a clean suit for safety.
Matthew Carranza could say he had come to buy what Isabel stole. He could say he was not with the men at the mansion. He could say rain was falling upward if he wanted.
His phone still had her stepmother’s name on it.
The SUV stayed behind them for three turns.
The driver, a broad-shouldered man with iron-gray hair and a tense silence, spoke for the first time.
“Still with us.”
Matthew looked at the side mirror. “Not for long. Luis, the service road by the old quarry.”
Elena gripped the door handle.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Away from them.”
“That’s not a place.”
“No,” Matthew said. “It’s a start.”
She hated that sentence because it sounded reasonable.
The sedan slid down a dark road cut between pines. Rainwater ran along the shoulders. The SUV followed, too fast, then hesitated when Matthew’s driver turned between two stone pillars marked PRIVATE ACCESS.
A metal gate began closing behind them.
The SUV braked hard on the other side.
Elena flinched at the sound.
Matthew saw it but still did not touch her.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did not.
“Elena.”
She looked.
“They cannot reach you here.”
“Who are they?”
His mouth tightened.
“That is one of the questions I should have asked before tonight.”
The gate locked shut behind them.
The SUV idled in the rain, headlights glaring through black iron.
Matthew’s phone rang again.
Isabel.
He answered this time but put it on speaker before speaking.
“Mrs. Vargas.”
Isabel’s voice came through warm and furious.
“Matthew, thank God. You have her?”
Elena stopped breathing.
Matthew watched her as he answered.
“Yes.”
“Good. Bring her back before she embarrasses herself further. She is confused and emotional. We have doctors waiting.”
Elena’s nails dug into her palm.
Doctors.
That was the word Isabel used when she meant signatures.
Matthew’s voice stayed smooth. “What happened?”
A pause.
“You saw enough. The girl has been unstable for months. Tonight she became dramatic in front of important guests.”
Elena laughed once.
It came out small and sharp.
Isabel heard it.
“Elena? Sweetheart, listen to me. You are not well. Come home.”
Home.
The mansion had stopped being home the night Elena found her bedroom door locked from the outside after she refused to sign a “wellness authorization.” Isabel called it a precaution. Elena called the locksmith the next morning and was told the account required Mrs. Vargas’s approval.
Matthew’s eyes moved to Elena’s face.
“Mrs. Vargas,” he said, “what exactly do you want signed tonight?”
Another pause.
Longer.
“Excuse me?”
“The transfer papers. The medical proxy. The financial release. Which one matters most before morning?”
Isabel’s voice cooled.
“You should remember why you were invited.”
“I do.”
“Then deliver her.”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
It split the call cleanly.
Isabel breathed once.
“Matthew, do not start a war over a hysterical girl you do not know.”
Elena looked out the window so neither of them would see her face.
A hysterical girl.
She was twenty-two. A college graduate. A daughter who had spent three years managing her father’s house while Isabel smiled in silk and moved accounts behind closed doors.
Matthew said, “I know enough.”
“No,” Isabel said. “You know what Marisol wanted you to know.”
Elena turned sharply.
Her mother’s name.
Marisol Vargas had been dead ten years.
The car seemed to shrink.
Matthew’s expression changed.
So did Isabel’s voice.
There was satisfaction in it now. She had hit something.
“You never told her, did you?” Isabel asked. “How sweet. Always the noble Carranza.”
Matthew ended the call.
The silence afterward felt worse.
Elena stared at him.
“What did she mean?”
Rain ran down the glass between them and the trapped headlights beyond the gate.
Matthew looked suddenly older than forty-two.
“Your mother asked me to protect something,” he said.
“Me?”
“No.” He glanced at the burgundy coat wrapped around her shoulders. “At first, not you.”
Elena looked down at the coat.
It was too large. Soft wool. Dark burgundy. The inner lining had a small tear near the pocket, stitched badly with black thread.
She had seen that stitch before.
In photographs.
Her mother wore this coat the winter before she died.
Elena’s hands went cold.
“This was my mother’s.”
“Yes.”
“How did it end up in the hallway tonight?”
Matthew did not answer fast enough.
The SUV outside the gate began backing away.
Luis watched it disappear into rain.
“They’re leaving,” he said.
Matthew looked at Elena.
“No,” he said. “They’re repositioning.”
His phone buzzed once more.
This time, not a call.
A message from an unknown number.
Matthew read it and went still.
May you like
Elena saw only five words before he lowered the screen.
She has the wrong girl.
