Chapter 3
Inside Mateo's house was nothing like Ryan expected.
She had pictured cold marble and sterile spaces. Something to match the ice in his voice. Instead, warm wood floors stretched ahead of her. Soft lighting came from fixtures that looked hand carved. Books lined shelves along the walls, their spines worn from actual reading.
It looked lived in. Human.
That made it worse somehow.
"Are you ok?" Mateo's voice brought her back.
Ryan's face went pale thinking of how she got in,the last thing she remembered was her standing outside and now she's inside.
"Ms. Cross." Mateo called her . " Are you fine now?"
"What happened? I remembered I was outside and how did I get t in."
"Well you fainted and here we are, I thought you were strong ?." He leaned forward . "You are exhausted. In shock. Probably concussed. You need rest."
"What I need is to get out of here."
"Not happening." He stood and walked towards the door . "Here is how this works. You stay. You recover. You stay alive. In exchange, you start working on a plan to pay back what you owe me."
Ryan's laugh came out bitter. "I am a journalist. I make forty thousand a year. How exactly do you expect me to pay back ten million?"
"That is your problem." Mateo stopped a few feet away." I'm a kind man "
"Kind men do not kidnap people."
"I saved your life."
"Without asking if I wanted to be saved."
Something flickered across Mateo's face. Not anger. Something colder. "You wanted to die in that basement. Tied to a chair while a psychopath carved you up?"
The images flashed back. Hayden's calm smile. The scalpel catching light. Those shapes in the corner.
Ryan's stomach turned…
Mateo's expression shifted. The hardness faded just slightly.
"Come on." His voice was quieter now. "My chef will serve you something light to give you strength ."
"I have staff," Mateo said over his shoulder. "A cook, two housekeepers, four security guards who rotate shifts. They all know you are here. They all know not to let you leave."
"So I am a prisoner."
"You are a guest with limited options, there's a difference "
"No. There really is not."
Mateo looked at her.
"Dr. Hayden has been stalking you for eight months. Recording you. Breaking into your home. You found bodies in his basement." His voice was level. Factual. "If you walk out of here, you will be dead within a day. Maybe two if you are smart about it. Is that what you want?"
Ryan met his eyes. "I want my life back."
"Your life is gone." The bluntness of it hit like a slap. "The moment you walked into that hospital eight months ago, the moment you borrowed money from me, the moment your mother died under suspicious circumstances. Your old life ended. This is your new one. The sooner you accept that, the easier this gets."
Ryan stood up, hands clenched at her sides. Everything in her wants to walk out that door and leave. Take her chances with Hayden or the police or anyone but this man who talked about her life like it was a business transaction.
But her feet felt weak she had to rest back on the bed.
Because he was right, and she hated him for it.
The bedroom was bigger than Ryan's entire apartment had been. A massive bed dominated the center, covered in soft gray linens. A desk sat by the window. A door on the far wall probably led to a bathroom.
"There are clothes in the closet." Mateo gestured vaguely. "Maria, one of the housekeepers, guessed your size. If anything does not fit, tell her tomorrow."
She hated that she loved the bed and wished to sleep without seeing that jerk's face.
"The windows do not open," Mateo added. "Security measure. The door locks from the outside."
"Of course it does."
"You will have access to the house during the day. But at night..." He paused. "At night you stay in here. No exceptions."
"Why?"
"Because I said so." His jaw tightened. "And because if you wander around my house after midnight, my guards might shoot first and ask questions later."
Ryan turned to face him fully. "You expect me to just accept this. Lock myself in here like a good little prisoner?"
"I expect you to survive." Mateo's voice went hard again. "I expect you to use that journalist brain of yours and realize that right now, this is the safest place you could possibly be."
"Safe." Ryan laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I am locked in a stranger's house, guarded by armed men, being held against my will. That is not safe. That is insane."
"It is temporary."
"How temporary?"
Mateo was quiet for a moment. His dark eyes studied her face like he was trying to decide something.
"That depends on you," he finally said. "On what you can tell me about Dr. Hayden. About your mother's death. About what you were investigating before he took you."
Ryan's spine straightened. "I am not telling you anything."
"Yes. You will." He stepped into the room, closing the distance between them. "Because you are smart enough to know you need help. You cannot take down Hayden alone. You tried that already. Look where it got you."
"I do not need your help."
"You needed it three hours ago when I pulled you out of that basement." Mateo's voice dropped lower. "You needed it eight months ago when you came begging for money to save your mother. You have always needed help, Ms. Cross. You are just too proud to admit it."
The words stung because they were true. Ryan had been drowning for months. In debt. In grief. In the investigation that consumed her. She had been alone through all of it.
Until tonight.
"What do you want from me?" Her voice came out quieter than she intended.
"Information." Mateo did not hesitate. "Everything you know about Hayden. Everything you uncovered about the hospital. Every piece of evidence you collected before he caught you."
"And if I give you that information?"
"Then maybe we can work out a payment plan for your debt." He tilted his head slightly. "Help me understand what I am dealing with, and I will reduce what you owe. Fair trade."
Ryan's mind raced. She did not trust him. Not even a little. But he had resources she did not. Money. Connections. People who could do things journalists could not.
"How much would you reduce it?" she asked.
A smile touched the corner of Mateo's mouth. Not warm. Just satisfied that she was negotiating instead of fighting.
"That depends on how useful the information is." He moved toward the door. "We will discuss details tomorrow. Tonight, you rest."
"I am not tired."
"You are barely standing." He paused in the doorway. "There is a bathroom through that door. Everything you need is in there. Someone will bring food in an hour."
"I am not hungry."
"Eat anyway." His tone left no room for argument. "You are no good to me if you collapse again."
He started to pull the door closed, then stopped.
"One more thing, Ms. Cross." His voice was colder now. "Do not try anything stupid. No attempting to escape. No calling for help. No breaking windows or picking locks. My security system is very thorough, and my men are very loyal. You will not make it past the front gate."
"Is that a threat?"
"It is a promise." His dark eyes held hers. "I pulled you out of one hell tonight. Do not make me regret it by forcing my hand."
The door closed. A lock clicked into place from the outside.
Ryan stood in the middle of the room, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway.
Then her legs finally gave out.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, hands shaking. The adrenaline that had kept her moving was draining away, leaving exhaustion so deep she could barely think.
Hayden's face flashed through her mind. His calm smile. His gentle touches. The way he had said he loved her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ryan's stomach heaved. She barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.
Nothing came out except bile. She had not eaten in how long. A day. Two days. She had lost track of time in that basement.
Her reflection stared back from the mirror above the sink. She looked like death. Bruises bloomed along her jaw where her face had hit something during the crash months ago. Dark circles carved shadows under her eyes. Her hair was tangled, still smelling of smoke.
She looked like a victim.
Ryan gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles went white.
She was not a victim. She was a journalist. An investigator. The daughter of a detective who had taught her to never stop asking questions.
Her father had died chasing the truth about Hayden. Her mother had died because of it too.
Ryan was not going to let their deaths mean nothing.
She turned on the shower, stripped off her smoke stained clothes, and stepped under water hot enough to scald. The heat hurt her bruises but she did not care. She needed to feel something other than fear.
By the time she finished, her skin was red and her hair clean. She found towels in a cabinet. Soft and expensive. The kind she had never been able to afford. A robe hung on the back of the door.
She wrapped herself in both and returned to the bedroom.
True to Mateo's word, food had appeared on the desk. A tray with soup, bread, water. Her stomach growled despite everything.
Ryan ate mechanically, barely tasting the food. Her mind was already working through the problem.
She was trapped in Mateo's house. Guarded. Monitored. But he wanted information. That gave her leverage.
And information was the one thing she had plenty of.
Three years of investigating her father's death. Eight months of tracking Hayden's movements. Evidence hidden in places no one would think to look.
If Mateo wanted answers, she would give them to him. But on her terms.