Chapter 4
I called back.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Rachel took my phone.
“Don’t keep dialing.”
“He has my daughter.”
“I know.”
“And my mother.”
“I know.”
“Then do something.”
The words came out like an accusation.
Rachel didn’t react.
She handed my phone to an officer.
“Trace everything. Call dispatch. Units to his mother’s house now.”
I grabbed her arm.
“He said one hour.”
“And if you rush in alone, he may kill all three of you.”
“I’m going.”
“We’ll make him think you’re going alone.”
Michael stepped closer.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Daniel—”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“I don’t know what you knew. I don’t know what you hid. Right now I don’t trust you.”
The hurt in his face barely registered.
“Fine.”
He backed away.
“But don’t be stupid enough to trust Lauren either.”
Rachel’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Then looked at me.
“Your mother’s house is empty.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“Signs of forced entry?”
“No.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe she opened the door.”
“To who?”
Rachel didn’t answer.
My phone buzzed.
A text.
An address.
An abandoned warehouse outside Nashville.
Then a photo arrived.
Sophie sat in a chair.
Her hands were tied in front of her.
My mother was beside her.
There was blood on Mom’s forehead.
Beneath the photograph were three words.
FIFTY-TWO MINUTES LEFT.
I showed Rachel.
She sent it immediately to the team.
Then I saw another detail in the photograph.
Behind Sophie was a green metal door.
Paint was peeling from it.
A faded logo showed through.
Harlow Medical Storage.
“This belongs to Marcus.”
Rachel nodded.
“Probably used to.”
“I’m going now.”
“We go together.”
“He said alone.”
“And you will appear alone.”
Twenty-eight minutes later, I drove toward the warehouse with Emily’s notebook on the passenger seat.
It wasn’t the real notebook.
Rachel had insisted on swapping it with a copy.
The original was already heading to the police evidence lab.
A transmitter was taped beneath my shirt.
Officers followed far behind.
Rachel had warned me repeatedly.
Do not play hero.
Do not improvise.
Do not provoke him.
My hands still shook on the steering wheel.
All I could think about was Sophie.
Seven years old.
Still sleeping with the stuffed rabbit Emily bought her when she was a baby.
Afraid of thunderstorms.
Unable to fall asleep unless the hallway light stayed on.
And somewhere inside that warehouse, she was tied to a chair because of secrets adults had buried before she could even understand them.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered through the car speakers.
“You brought police.”
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m alone.”
“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Daniel.”
Something about the voice bothered me.
Not familiarity.
Cadence.
Like I had heard it in meetings.
At parties.
Somewhere.
“I have the notebook.”
“That’s good.”
“Let Sophie and my mother go.”
“Not yet.”
“If you hurt them, you get nothing.”
He laughed.
“You’re bargaining with the wrong person.”
The call ended.
I reached the warehouse.
No police were visible.
Exactly as planned.
I parked.
The building looked abandoned.
Broken windows.
Rusting loading docks.
Tall weeds growing through cracked asphalt.
The green door in the photograph was on the east side.
I carried the notebook.
My legs felt heavy.
The door opened before I touched it.
A man stepped out.
Not Marcus.
The man from the wedding.
Gray suit gone.
Now he wore jeans and a black shirt.
“Phone.”
I gave it to him.
He smashed it beneath his boot.
“Shirt.”
“What?”
“Take it off.”
I froze.
He smiled.
“You think we don’t know how police work?”
My stomach sank.
I pulled off my jacket and shirt.
He found the transmitter within seconds.
He crushed it.
Then punched me in the stomach.
I doubled over.
A second blow hit my jaw.
The floor rushed toward me.
He dragged me inside.
The warehouse smelled like dust, oil, and old cardboard.
“Sophie!”
No answer.
He shoved me into a chair.
Zip ties tightened around my wrists.
Then someone walked from behind a row of shelves.
Lauren.
I stared at her.
She was still wearing her wedding dress.
The bottom was dirty.
The veil was gone.
For one insane moment, it felt like some nightmare version of the ceremony.
“You.”
Lauren looked exhausted.
“Daniel.”
“Where is Sophie?”
“Safe.”
“My mother?”
“Alive.”
“Untie me.”
“I can’t.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You can’t?”
“Not yet.”
The man from the wedding stood behind her.
“Enough.”
Lauren turned.
“I told you I would handle him.”
He slapped her.
Hard.
Her head snapped sideways.
I jerked against the restraints.
“What the hell?”
Lauren slowly looked back at him.
Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth.
He said, “You’ve been handling him for three years. Look where that got us.”
I stopped struggling.
Three years.
Lauren stared at the floor.
The man walked away.
I whispered, “Who is he?”
“Evan.”
“Who is Evan?”
“My brother.”
I almost laughed.
“Another sibling you forgot to mention?”
“He’s Claire’s husband.”
“Where is Claire?”
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“Dead.”
That silenced me.
“She died four years ago.”
“You told Sophie Claire was alive.”
“No. Sophie heard me talking to someone I called Claire.”
“Who?”
Lauren looked toward the shelves.
“My mother.”
“What?”
“Claire was her middle name. I used it as a contact name.”
My head spun.
“Why?”
“Because Marcus monitors people.”
I stared at her.
“Start telling the truth.”
“I tried.”
“No. You lied from the moment I met you.”
Lauren’s face twisted.
“You think I wanted this?”
“You had a secret phone with messages about Emily’s death.”
“I kept it because it was evidence.”
“You told my mother Sophie was ruining our life.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To get Sophie away from me.”
I froze.
Lauren lowered her voice.
“I knew they were watching again.”
“Who?”
“Marcus. Evan. People who work for them.”
“You tried to keep Sophie away from the wedding because you thought she was in danger?”
“Yes.”
“You could have told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because three years ago, Emily told you something was wrong.”
My heart stopped.
“No, she didn’t.”
Lauren stared at me.
“Yes, she did.”
I shook my head.
“She never—”
“She told you Harlow was dangerous.”
A memory surfaced.
Emily in our kitchen.
Three nights before she died.
She had looked tired.
She said her company was involved in something ugly.
I had barely listened.
I had been angry about a missed dinner.
I told her to quit if she hated the job.
She started crying.
I thought she was stressed.
Lauren’s voice broke.
“She begged you to take Sophie and leave Nashville for a few weeks.”
I remembered that too.
God help me.
I remembered.
Emily had suggested visiting my sister in Florida.
I said I couldn’t leave work.
I called her paranoid.
My stomach turned.
Lauren crouched in front of me.
“She stopped telling you because she thought protecting you meant keeping you ignorant.”
I whispered, “How do you know?”
“Because I was helping her.”
I stared at Lauren.
“Then why did the message say, ‘I did what you asked. He still thinks it was an accident’?”
Lauren’s face went pale again.
“That message wasn’t sent to me.”
“It was on your phone.”
“Because it was sent from my phone.”
“To who?”
Before she answered, a slow clap came from the darkness.
A man stepped into the light.
Expensive suit.
Silver hair.
Perfect smile.
Marcus Vale.
“I really wish people would stop answering questions I haven’t authorized.”
Lauren stood.
He looked at me.
“Daniel.”
I had seen his face a hundred times on television.
He looked warmer there.
In person, his eyes were empty.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Nearby.”
“If you hurt her—”
Marcus sighed.
“Everyone threatens me with the same unfinished sentence.”
He reached out.
Evan handed him the notebook.
Marcus flipped through it.
Then smiled.
“This is a copy.”
Lauren looked at me.
Marcus closed the notebook.
“Which means Detective Monroe still has the original.”
My heart pounded.
He nodded toward Evan.
“Bring the girl.”
Lauren moved.
“No.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“You promised.”
His smile disappeared.
“You failed to retrieve the evidence.”
“I gave you three years.”
“You gave me three years of complications.”
A door opened.
Sophie was pushed forward.
“Sophie!”
She saw me.
“Daddy!”
She ran two steps before Evan grabbed her.
I fought the zip ties until they cut into my wrists.
“Let her go!”
Sophie was crying.
But then she looked behind Marcus.
Her expression changed.
“Grandma?”
Marcus turned.
My mother stood at the far end of the warehouse.
But she wasn’t tied up.
She was holding a gun.
May you like
And it was pointed directly at Marcus.
“Let my granddaughter go,” she said, “or I finally finish what Emily started.”
