Chapter 2 - The House Across the StreetI moved Emily behind the kitchen island.
“Stay down.”
“What?”
“Don't move.”
My service weapon felt cold in my hand.
The house remained dark.
The backup lights should have come on.
They didn't.
That bothered me more than the photograph.
Someone had disabled the power.
Someone who knew exactly where my breaker panel was.
I moved carefully toward the hallway.
The three knocks came again.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I raised my weapon.
“Police!”
Silence.
Then a whisper.
“Mara.”
Emily.
I turned.
She was standing behind me.
I lowered the weapon.
“Don't do that.”
“I didn't.”
Her face had gone white.
“What?”
She pointed toward the basement door.
“I heard it down there.”
I stared at the door.
My house had a basement.
Small.
Mostly storage.
Nothing unusual.
I had lived there for six years.
No secret rooms.
No hidden passages.
No reason for anyone to be down there.
Still, I approached.
At the bottom of the stairs, my flashlight beam swept over boxes, shelves, an old treadmill.
Everything normal.
Until I saw the floor.
There were wet footprints.
Bare feet.
Fresh.
I looked back at Emily.
“You came downstairs?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“I never left the kitchen.”
I crouched.
The footprints began at the basement window.
The window was locked.
From the inside.
I stood slowly.
Someone had been here.
And they were still inside my house.
I searched every corner.
Nothing.
No person.
No open door.
No broken window.
Then I found a small black object beneath the stairs.
A listening device.
Tiny.
Magnetic.
Professional.
My stomach tightened.
Someone had planted it inside my home.
Emily stared at it.
“He heard us.”
“Who?”
“Daniel.”
I pulled out my phone.
“No.”
“What?”
“This isn't Daniel.”
I looked at the device.
“This is surveillance equipment. Daniel may be behind it, but he didn't come here alone.”
My police radio was still in my patrol bag.
I pulled it out and called a fellow officer.
Within ten minutes, two units were outside.
The officers swept my property.
No suspect.
No vehicle.
No forced entry.
But they found something else.
A tire track across the alley.
A black SUV had been parked outside my house.
No license plate visible.
My brother-in-law was getting bolder.
At 4:30 a.m., I drove Emily to the station.
I was not on duty.
That mattered.
So I called Lieutenant Harris before I entered.
Harris had twenty-two years on the force and knew when to stop asking questions.
“Tell me what happened.”
I did.
He listened.
At the end, he rubbed his jaw.
“Any history of violence?”
Emily answered before I could.
“He's hit me before.”
Harris looked at her.
“Documented?”
“No.”
“Witnesses?”
“No.”
“Police reports?”
She lowered her eyes.
“No.”
Harris sighed.
“That's going to make this harder.”
I felt anger rise.
But he raised a hand.
“I'm not saying I don't believe you.”
He looked at Emily.
“I'm saying the system needs evidence.”
“I have evidence,” I said.
I placed my phone on the desk.
The recording of Daniel's call.
Harris listened.
The room became silent.
When Daniel's threat played through the speaker, Harris's expression changed.
“Good,” he said.
“Good?”
“Because now we have something.”
He turned toward the desk officer.
“Open a preliminary file.”
Then he looked at me.
“You are not assigned to this case.”
“I know.”
“Your sister cannot stay at your house.”
“She can stay with me.”
“Mara.”
I stared at him.
Harris's expression hardened.
“Someone is watching your house.”
He slid a folder across the desk.
“Your problem just stopped being domestic.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A black-and-white image of Daniel Mercer entering a courthouse.
Beside him was a man in a security uniform.
I looked at the face.
It was the same uniform Emily had described.
But I couldn't see his face.
It had been deliberately blurred.
“Where did you get this?”
“Anonymous tip.”
“When?”
“Six hours ago.”
I looked at the timestamp.
6:03 p.m.
Before Emily ever came to my house.
I lifted my eyes.
“Why would someone send this?”
Harris stared at me.
“They didn't send it for us.”
He tapped the photograph.
“They sent it for you.”
I flipped the page.
There was a handwritten note.
Three words.
ASK ABOUT LAUREN.
Emily made a strangled sound.
I turned.
She was staring at the photograph.
“Who is Lauren?”
Emily whispered:
“My friend.”
“Where is she?”
Emily's eyes filled with tears.
“She disappeared nine months ago.”
Harris leaned forward.
“Tell me everything.”
Emily shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel told me Lauren left town.”
I looked at her.
“And you believed him?”
She swallowed.
“No.”
“What changed?”
She reached into the pocket of her torn coat.
Her fingers pulled out a small silver key.
“I found this tonight.”
Harris stared at it.
“What does it open?”
Emily looked at me.
“The room behind the wine cellar.”
I reached for the key.
She pulled it back.
“There was a number engraved on it.”
I turned the key over.
Stamped into the metal was a tiny number.
214.
My heart sank.
Because 214 was not a room number at Daniel's house.
It was the number of a locker at the central train station.
And according to Harris, the station had already been closed for the night.
May you like
But one person had entered locker area 214 twelve minutes earlier.
The security footage showed a tall man carrying a woman's red handbag.
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