Ghosts Of The Past

The letter sat on the counter like a bomb ready to explode. Louisa's eyes lingered above the words, her breathing even and calm, though her pulse thudded against her skull. I know the truth. Four words. No return address. No sign of who had written it. Just a message penned with purpose—to shatter everything into pieces. She forced herself to breathe. To think. Whoever had sent this had done so on purpose. The vagueness wasn't an error. It was a threat. A smile. An insult. She flipped the envelope over. No return address. The card was glossy, high-grade—not the sort you grabbed at a corner deli. This wasn't some hastily written threat on a diner placemat. This was deliberate. Louisa canvassed the kitchen. The front door had been closed when she'd come home. No forced entry. No break-in. Which left only one thing that made sense. Someone who'd left this behind had been in her house. Her stomach knotted itself up. Her hand gripped the note as she retreated towards the couch, not wanting to hear anything out of place. Gabriel slept peacefully, his small body curled up in his Spider-Man blanket, completely oblivious to the tempest brewing in her. Then, suddenly, awareness hit her like cold water down her back. Someone had been at the house today. By her son's girlfriend. The awareness sent a chill of angry rage down her back. She wanted to grab her gun, to stalk. But stalking without game was madness. She had to be cautious. She had to think. Instead of standing up and approaching, she picked up the phone and called the only person who could possibly provide her with answers. Two rings and a voice picked up. "Something on your mind, Moreau?" Lorenzo Ricci was as silky as ever, but she picked up on the undercurrent of interest. He was not used to voicing anything over the phone from her other than business. "I need a favor," she said, holding her ground. A silence. Then, "And I thought you didn't order those." "Make an exception." She heard the soft clinking of glass against wood. He was drinking. "What do you want?" "Security tape," she said. "Someone broke into my house." Another silence. This cold one. "Gabriel?" "He's fine," she said quickly. "But I want to know who left this behind." She was looking for a wisecrack, some joking about how she never let people get close enough to shake her. Instead, his voice darkened. "Send me the information. I’ll take care of it." Louisa paused. She wasn’t used to sharing her problems. But Lorenzo possessed what she needed. And time was something she could ill afford to waste. She sent him the necessary details, then tucked her phone into her pocket. Now, all she could do was wait. And Louisa Moreau hated waiting. Memories That Never Faded Louisa sat in the kitchen table chair, her cold, untouched coffee warming to room temperature. Her thoughts transported her back over the years, to a night she had buried so far into the past that it felt like another life. The night things were changed forever. She was younger then. Not fragile, just. less jaded than she was now. Believing the wrong man had destroyed all of her possibilities. Leonardo Costa. His name churned her stomach. She did not know his name when she met him. He'd been smooth. Smooth-talking. A predator in a suit. Too late when she figured out he was manipulating her. A shiver of memory hit—steel clamping around wrists, agony, helplessness. The sickness washed over her. She put the coffee mug down on the counter, fighting through the tide of bile churning in her stomach. She'd hidden that night. Under a veneer of iced pain. But now someone was digging it up. And she wanted to know why. The Call That Changed Everything Her phone an hour later. Ricci. She answered straight away. "Tell me you have something." There was a pause before he spoke. "Your security footage was wiped." Louisa's hold on the phone tightened. "Wiped?" "Clean work. Not amateur. Whoever did it knew what they were doing." His tone became gritty, with something she couldn't quite identify. Frustration? Concern? "It was professional. Someone with clearance." Louisa struggled past the anger building. Wiped footage meant that this wasn't some deranged stalker. This was someone who had resources. Someone who was smart. She drew a deep breath. "So no face. No lead." "I didn't say that." Something in the way he'd phrased it made her sit up straighter. "I had my team run street cams near your building," he went on. "We did find something." A file landed in her inbox. She opened it. Her breath snagged. A man stood outside her building, half-hidden by shadows. She zoomed in. Dark coat, low hood. But the build. The stance. It was him. Leonardo Costa. Her stomach dropped away. He was supposed to be in Spain. She had chased him for years, keeping him out of her life. So why was he here now? Lorenzo's voice broke into her spinning head. "Tell me what this is, Moreau." She stalled. Saying it out loud made it too real. "It means," she eventually panted, grip on the phone tight, "the past just came into my backyard."