Chapter 2 - The Woman Waiting in the Kitchen
Teresa was standing barefoot on the tile when I came inside.
She wore the blue robe I'd bought her on our tenth anniversary.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders.
She looked completely calm.
Too calm.
“Couldn't sleep?” she asked.
I closed the back door.
“No.”
Her eyes moved toward the yard.
“Did you see the bags?”
“Yes.”
She didn't ask what bags.
She didn't ask why I was outside.
She simply folded her arms.
“They needed to be picked up.”
“Why?”
“Because the garage is full.”
I looked at her.
“Since when do municipal workers need my father's jacket?”
Her expression barely changed.
“It's an old jacket.”
“You threw away my passport.”
“I didn't.”
“It was in the bag.”
Teresa said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“What is happening before Saturday?”
Her face changed then.
Just slightly.
A tightening around the eyes.
A tiny pause before she answered.
“You've been under stress.”
“Don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Answer a different question.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she said quietly, “You know what kind of people you've dealt with.”
I felt something cold settle into my chest.
“What kind?”
“You built your company around people who solve problems.”
“My company moves freight.”
“Your company moves more than freight.”
Silence.
She'd never spoken that way before.
Not to me.
Not in twenty years.
“What did you hear?” I asked.
She looked away.
“Go back to bed.”
“I asked you a question.”
“And I'm telling you to sleep.”
I almost laughed.
Teresa had never ordered me around.
Not once.
“You've known something.”
Her eyes returned to mine.
“I've known enough.”
“Enough for what?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she walked toward the hallway.
I followed.
“Teresa.”
She stopped.
“Where am I going?”
She slowly turned.
For the first time, I saw fear in her eyes.
Real fear.
“You should stop asking questions.”
“Why?”
“Because every answer gets someone hurt.”
Then she walked upstairs.
I stayed in the kitchen.
My wife had just admitted there was something dangerous enough to threaten our daughter.
And she was more afraid of telling me than she was of watching me walk into it.
I didn't sleep.
At 4:12 a.m., I drove to my office.
My head of security, Luis Herrera, was already there.
Luis had worked for me fourteen years.
He was the only man I trusted with every side of the business.
I put the contractor bag on his desk.
He opened it.
His face hardened.
“Where did you get this?”
“My backyard.”
He pulled out the spare phone.
Then the passport.
Then a photocopy of an old transfer document.
Luis stared at me.
“Boss…”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“You need to know something.”
“Say it.”
“Two weeks ago, somebody asked one of our drivers about your schedule.”
“Who?”
“A man using the name Daniel Crane.”
I frowned.
“Do I know him?”
“No.”
Luis reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder.
Inside were screenshots, license plates, photographs.
One photo showed a black SUV parked across from my warehouse.
Another showed the same SUV outside my daughter's school.
My hand tightened around the paper.
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
“You didn't tell me?”
“I wasn't sure who they were.”
I looked at him.
“And now?”
Luis swallowed.
“Now I think they're counting your exits.”
“What does that mean?”
He turned the folder around.
There were seven photographs.
My home.
My office.
My warehouse.
The school.
The church Teresa attended.
And one photograph taken from across the street from my house.
It showed Teresa.
Standing beside a man I'd never seen before.
Luis looked at me.
“That's Daniel Crane.”
I stared at the photo.
The man beside my wife wasn't watching her.
May you like
He was watching our house.
And in his hand was a phone pointed directly at Chloe's bedroom window.
