Chapter 1 - The Sanctuary at Blackwood
"Because men like me do not ask questions out of casual curiosity, Ms. Whitaker," Dominic said smoothly, his voice low against the hum of the engine as the black sedan cruised along Route 1. "I ask because if you have a family, I need to know where to send my security details to ensure they remain breathing until this matter is resolved."
Mara felt her jaw tighten. She pulled her gaze away from the rain-streaked window and looked directly into Dominic Vale’s dark, calculating eyes.
"I have a younger sister, Claire," Mara said, keeping her tone flat and devoid of emotion. "She runs an antique pottery shop in Salem. And my clinic in Newburyport has six recovering rescue dogs. If a single person associated with you goes anywhere near either of them, Mr. Vale, I don't care how many bronze doors you can lock—I will personally ensure Rook never trusts a command from you again."
In the front seat, Caleb—Dominic’s massive head of security—glanced into the rearview mirror, his hand instinctively shifting toward his suit jacket.
Dominic raised one quiet finger, halting Caleb’s movement instantly.
A faint, sharp smile touched the edge of Dominic’s lips—a rare, dangerous spark of genuine respect.
"Unyielding," Dominic murmured softly, resting his hand back on Rook’s broad head. "You care more about the safety of animals and a sister than your own skin while sitting in the back of a car with a man the Boston press calls a monster."
"Monsters usually act out of pride," Mara replied, gently running her fingers over Rook’s floppy ears, easing the lingering tension in the dog's neck. "You're acting out of grief. I know the difference."
Dominic’s smile vanished. The air inside the sedan grew instantly colder, heavy with a decade of unspoken blood and memory.
He turned his head to look out into the rain. "Six years ago, my wife, Elena, was killed in a car explosion three blocks from the State House. The bomb was packed with military-grade plastic explosives and copper shrapnel. Rook was in the backseat. He survived, but the blast severed his optic nerves and destroyed his hearing in his right ear."
Mara froze, her heart catching in her throat. She looked down at the massive black dog sleeping across her shoes. The cloudy film over his eyes wasn't cataracts; it was trauma tissue from an old, devastating blast wave.
"Rook was trained as an explosive detection working dog for my private security firm before the accident," Dominic continued, his tone turning into razor-sharp steel. "He knew the scent of that bomb. For six years, he hasn't reacted to a single person, venue, or chemical signature. Until tonight at the Harrington Grand."
"The three men with the champagne," Mara realized, her medical mind immediately putting the pieces together. "They weren't just drunken aristocrats being cruel to a dog. They were hired to blind him."
"They were hired to destroy his olfactory tracking," Dominic confirmed cold-bloodedly. "Lucchesi's faction knew I brought Rook to every major public gathering. They knew Rook could smell the specific chemical compound used in the bomb that killed Elena. And tonight, the man who built that bomb was standing inside that ballroom."
The sedan turned off the main highway, pulling through a massive wrought-iron gate that opened silently into a dark, dense forest of pine and hemlock. The sign at the entrance read Blackwood Sanctuary.
The car pulled up to a magnificent stone estate set high on a granite cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Lights burned softly inside high leaded-glass windows, casting warm amber square patterns across the wet gravel drive.
"We are here," Dominic said, stepping out of the sedan as Caleb held the heavy door open.
Rook stirred, pushing himself up off Mara's shoes. He stood unsteadily, testing the air with his nose.
Mara stepped out into the crisp, cool salt air, offering her hand to the blind dog. "Come on, big guy. Step down. Easy."
Rook didn't hesitate. He placed his massive front paw onto the wet gravel, leaning his body weight against Mara's side as she guided him toward the grand stone steps of Blackwood.
Dominic stood near the portico, watching the blind beast trust a total stranger over his own shadow.
"Caleb," Dominic called out without turning around.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Put a six-man tactical detail on the sister’s pottery shop in Salem. Discreete. If anyone who isn't a customer approaches her, eliminate them." Dominic looked back at Mara. "And call the clinic in Newburyport. Fund their operating budget for the next five years. Tell them Ms. Whitaker is on high-level consultation for the Vale family."
May you like
Mara stopped on the steps, turning to face him. "I didn't ask for your money, Mr. Vale."
"It isn't a bribe, Ms. Whitaker," Dominic said, opening the heavy front door and gesturing for her to enter the warm, oak-panelled foyer. "It’s compensation. Because starting tonight... you are going to help my dog find my wife's killer."
