Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary in the Shadows
The basement of St. Brendan’s smelled of old wax, damp stone, and forgotten hymnals. Sloan sat on a folding chair behind the furnace, her hands wrapped around a paper cup of lukewarm tea Father Boland had brought down an hour earlier. Her fingers were still red and stiff from the November chill, but inside her father’s wooden toolcase, tucked carefully beneath the velvet lining, lay the real reason Eleanor Sheridan had dispatched private enforcers.
It was an old leather ledger, embossed with the insignia of the Sheridan Foundation from twenty years ago. Sloan’s late father had not merely tuned pianos for Boston’s elite; he had been the personal tuner and confidant to Cormack’s late father, Arthur Sheridan. Before Arthur died under suspicious circumstances in a secluded country manor, he had hidden a set of microfiche records inside the sounding board of St. Brendan’s grand piano, giving the key to his loyal craftsman. Arthur had known that his ambitious wife Eleanor was quietly laundering funds for rival syndicates and slowly poisoning his legacy from the inside.
"Sloan, you cannot stay here," Father Boland whispered, descending the wooden steps with a worried glance over his shoulder. "A black SUV has been circling the block for the last twenty minutes. They know you're in the neighborhood."
"I have nowhere else to go, Father," Sloan said, her voice shaking with exhaustion. "My mother is in Boston General's overflow unit. If I don't give Eleanor what she wants, she'll have the medical staff withdraw the specialty treatments. Birdie won't survive forty-eight hours."
"Then give it to Cormack!" Father Boland urged, stepping closer. "The boy loved you, child. Even with all the darkness in his bloodline, anyone could see he would have burned the city to the ground before letting anyone touch a hair on your head!"
"He hates me," Sloan whispered, tears burning her cold eyes. "I stood in his drawing room and ripped his pride to shreds. I told him he was disgusting, that I felt sick every time he touched me. His mother told me if I showed even a shred of hesitation, she would make sure Birdie died choking in her sleep. You don't know Eleanor, Father. She smiles while she destroys families."
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door at the top of the basement stairs groaned open. Heavy, steady footsteps descended into the damp gloom. Sloan scrambled to her feet, instinctively clutching the heavy tuning hammer in her right hand as she backed into the shadows near the boiler.
The silhouette that appeared under the single hanging bulb was not one of Eleanor’s hired thugs. It was tall, broad-shouldered, and draped in an expensive cashmere overcoat wet with winter rain.
Cormack Sheridan stepped onto the concrete floor. His dark eyes scanned the dimly lit room before locking onto Sloan. He saw her ragged clothes, her trembling hands, and the defiant fear in her gaze.
"You look remarkably poor for a woman who claimed she cleaned out my offshore accounts," Cormack said, his deep voice slicing through the humid air like a blade.
May you like
Sloan’s breath caught in her throat. She stepped back until her spine pressed against the cold brick wall. "Stay away from me, Cormack. If your mother sees you here, she’ll end my mother's life. Please... just let me leave the state."
Cormack paused five paces away, his jaw tightening as the pieces of the horrifying puzzle finally snapped into place. "My mother? Sloan... what did Eleanor do to you?"
