Chapter 2 - The Shadow in the Hallway
The blood drained from my face so fast I thought I was going to faint. I froze, my hand still hovering over Ava’s blanket like a statue caught in mid-motion. The footsteps stopped right outside the wooden door of the supply room. A heavy shadow cut across the crack of light beneath the door frame.
“Sir, you must be mistaken,” another voice said—Tommy Ritchie. I recognized his raspy, disciplined tone instantly. “The prep crew brought in a shipment of frozen seafood an hour ago. It might have been the sound of the crates shifting.”
“I know the difference between a crate and an infant, Tommy,” Reed Callaway replied. His voice was low, smooth as aged whiskey, but carrying an unmistakable edge that could cut glass. “And someone smells like baby powder in a building that hasn’t allowed a child inside since my uncle built it.”
My heart hammered frantically against my ribs. Baby powder. I had accidentally spilled a little on my sleeve during the morning rush. How could he possibly smell that over the heavy scents of garlic, roasting meat, and industrial bleach?
Inside the dim supply room, Ava let out a tiny, inquisitive gurgle.
Panic seized me. Without thinking, I dropped to my knees, scooped Ava into my arms, and pressed her face gently against my chest, whispering, “Shh, baby girl, please, please don't make a sound.”
Outside, the doorknob turned.
The brass handle clicked, rotating halfway. My muscles locked. I braced myself for the door to swing open, for Reed Callaway to discover a broke, terrified waitress hiding a baby inside his forbidden back hallway, and for my life to end right there on the dusty floorboards.
“Mr. Callaway,” Tommy’s voice intervened, sounding slightly urgent as he stepped closer to the door. “The district attorney’s office is on line two. They’re asking about the permits for the east wing renovation. You need to take this call in your office.”
The doorknob paused. For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
Then, the handle clicked back into place.
“Handle it, Tommy,” Reed said coldly. “And find out which one of my employees thinks they can bring their personal life into my establishment. If I find anyone breaking protocol, they won’t just lose their job—they’ll lose the ability to walk out of here.”
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The heavy footsteps resumed, moving away down the corridor toward the private office. A door closed with a muffled thud.
I slumped backward against a shelf of industrial dish soap, trembling so violently that I nearly dropped my daughter. Sweat was beading at my hairline despite the biting cold draft creeping under the door. I had dodged a bullet, but the margin for error was zero. I couldn't keep Ava in this supply room for a whole dinner shift.
