Chapter 7 - SOMEONE WAS IN MY HOUSE
Cole drew his weapon.
“Stay here.”
“No chance.”
“Ryan.”
“That’s my house.”
“And potentially an active crime scene.”
Two patrol cars arrived.
Officers entered through the front and back.
For three minutes, nothing happened.
Then we heard shouting upstairs.
I ran before Cole could stop me.
An officer came out of Lily’s bedroom.
“Clear!”
Nobody.
Window open.
Curtains moving.
On Lily’s bed sat her stuffed rabbit.
Except I had taken that rabbit to my parents’ house.
This was another one.
Identical.
A folded note was pinned to its chest.
YOU BROUGHT HER INTO MY HOME.
NOW I’M TAKING SOMETHING BACK.
My stomach twisted.
“What does that mean?”
Cole searched the room.
Then his radio crackled.
“Detective, basement door is open.”
We went downstairs.
The basement contained storage boxes, tools, old furniture.
Nothing seemed missing.
Then I saw the shelf.
Rachel’s belongings.
After her death, I packed away things I couldn’t bear to look at.
Photo albums.
Letters.
Her wedding dress.
A wooden box containing personal documents.
The box was gone.
“Damn it.”
“What was inside?” Cole asked.
“Birth certificates. Rachel’s journals. Old insurance paperwork.”
“Insurance?”
I stopped.
Rachel had a life insurance policy.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
I had been the beneficiary.
After her death, most of it went toward paying off our mortgage and setting up Lily’s education account.
Vanessa knew that.
But why steal paperwork now?
Cole’s phone rang.
He walked away.
When he returned, his face had changed.
“Forensics recovered more data from the prepaid device.”
“What kind?”
“Messages between Vanessa and an unknown number.”
He showed me.
The messages were three years old.
UNKNOWN: She leaves at 8:10 Thursdays.
VANESSA: I know.
UNKNOWN: You still want this?
VANESSA: More than anything.
UNKNOWN: Then don’t panic afterward.
My mouth went dry.
“Who is the other person?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Another message:
VANESSA: What if he suspects?
UNKNOWN: He won’t. Grieving husbands don’t investigate accidents.
My knees nearly buckled.
Cole kept scrolling.
Weeks after Rachel’s death:
VANESSA: He still won’t talk to me.
UNKNOWN: Give him time.
VANESSA: I’ve waited long enough.
UNKNOWN: Do not approach yet.
Then, eleven months later:
VANESSA: Tonight.
UNKNOWN: Make it look accidental.
VANESSA: Relax. I know how to meet a grieving man.
That was the night of the fundraiser.
She hadn’t met me.
She had targeted me.
Everything after that was planned.
Our coffee.
Our dates.
Our marriage.
Her becoming Lily’s stepmother.
I was breathing too fast.
“There’s something else,” Cole said.
I didn’t want there to be.
“There’s always something else.”
“The unknown number became active again yesterday.”
“After three years?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
Cole turned the phone.
One new message had been recovered from cloud data.
UNKNOWN: If Ryan finds out, finish what you started.
VANESSA: With him?
UNKNOWN: With both of them.
I stared at the screen.
Both.
Me and Lily.
Then the basement lights went out.
Total darkness.
A second later, glass shattered upstairs.
And somewhere outside...
May you like
a car engine roared to life.
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