Chapter 5 - The Woman Behind the DoorMy mother had been alive all along
The steel door shook again.
“Martha!”
My mother's voice.
I couldn't think.
Maxwell dragged me toward the far wall.
“Don't let her voice control you.”
“How do you know it's not her?”
“I don't.”
“Then let me see her.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor knows exactly what words will make you stop thinking.”
Another impact.
The door bent inward.
Maxwell checked the bolts.
“There's another exit.”
He opened a panel behind the cabinet.
A narrow tunnel appeared.
“You're going first.”
“No.”
He pushed the file into my hands.
“Take it.”
“What about you?”
“I'll slow them down.”
“You're not staying.”
He stared at me.
“You're giving me orders?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, the corner of his mouth lifted.
“That's new.”
We crawled through the tunnel.
Behind us, metal screamed.
The safe room door was giving way.
We emerged beneath the garage.
Maxwell closed the hatch.
“Wait here.”
“No.”
He moved toward the shadows.
“You're injured.”
“So are you.”
“I'll be fine.”
“You're not as invincible as you pretend.”
He looked back.
“Neither is my father.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he taught Victor everything.”
“Your father is dead.”
Maxwell stared at me.
“No.”
“He died twelve years ago.”
“That was the story.”
A car engine started outside.
Maxwell went still.
“Someone is leaving.”
We slipped behind a parked SUV.
Through the garage window, I saw Elena.
She was walking toward a waiting vehicle.
A man opened the rear door for her.
Before she entered, she looked directly toward our hiding place.
My heart stopped.
She couldn't see us.
Could she?
Then she smiled.
The SUV drove away.
Maxwell watched it disappear.
“She knew.”
“What now?”
“We leave.”
We took another vehicle through a secondary gate.
For almost twenty minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Maxwell handed me a phone.
“Call this number.”
“Whose?”
“My mother's old lawyer.”
“Why?”
“Because if Klara is alive, she left instructions.”
The lawyer answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“This is Martha Kovak.”
Silence.
Then the man's voice became unsteady.
“Where are you?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Samuel Price.”
“Do you know my mother?”
“I represented her.”
“She's alive?”
Another silence.
Then:
“You shouldn't have called this number.”
“Why?”
“Because I've been waiting fourteen years to hear your voice.”
I gripped the phone.
“Where is she?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because she made me promise.”
“What promise?”
“To protect you from Maxwell Rourke.”
I looked at Maxwell.
He had heard every word.
Samuel continued.
“There is a blue house on Harbor Street.”
“What's there?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Exactly.”
The call ended.
Maxwell stared ahead.
“Harbor Street.”
“You know it?”
“Yes.”
“What is there?”
“A house my father owned.”
We arrived twenty minutes later.
The building was abandoned.
Windows boarded.
Weeds overgrown.
Inside, the air smelled of dust.
I found children's drawings on one wall.
Houses.
Trees.
A woman holding a little girl.
I touched the paper.
“That’s me.”
Maxwell stood behind me.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You lived here for six months after the fire.”
I spun around.
“You knew me all this time?”
“I knew of you.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“I was nineteen, Martha. I was told to stay away from you.”
“By your father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed you were evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
Maxwell opened a trapdoor beneath the floorboards.
Inside was a box.
My name was written on it.
Martha Kovak.
I knelt.
My hands shook as I opened the lid.
Inside was a cassette recorder.
Several photographs.
A small silver necklace.
And a letter.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
Mom.
I opened the letter.
Martha,
If you're reading this, then Maxwell has failed to keep you safe.
My chest tightened.
The letter continued.
Do not trust the man who wears the wheelchair.
I looked at Maxwell.
He stood completely still.
Under the letter was another page.
It contained only one sentence.
The man you think is your enemy has been protecting you from the man you should fear.
At the bottom was a name.
Richard Rourke.
Maxwell's father.
Then the floor creaked above us.
Someone was inside the house.
Maxwell reached for his gun.
I whispered:
“Who's there?”
A voice answered from the darkness.
“Martha?”
May you like
My mother.
Again.
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