Chapter 9
Rachel survived.
The doctors said the blow to her head looked worse than it was.
She had a concussion.
Six stitches.
A fractured wrist.
But she was alive.
Noah refused to leave her hospital room until she woke completely.
When she did, the first thing she asked was, “Did I look cool fighting the bad guy?”
Noah laughed.
A real laugh.
The first one in two days.
I cried.
Rachel looked at me.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“The crying thing.”
“You were kidnapped.”
“I know.”
“You were hit with a gun.”
“I know.”
“You could have died.”
She looked at Noah.
“But I didn’t.”
Then she squeezed my hand.
“Neither did he.”
The relief should have felt like an ending.
It didn’t.
Daniel’s final words stayed in my head.
You still don’t know who helped me.
Police found enough evidence in the warehouse to charge him with kidnapping, assault, stalking, unlawful surveillance, extortion, and several other crimes.
The investigation into Charles’s death reopened.
The medication bottle was sent for testing.
Linda was questioned for hours.
Then released.
That made me furious.
Officer Martinez explained that being a terrible person was not the same as having enough evidence for immediate arrest.
I understood the law.
I hated it anyway.
A temporary protective order barred Linda from contacting Noah.
Another barred her from contacting me.
Ryan refused to request one for himself.
I noticed.
I said nothing.
Three days after the kidnapping, we returned home.
Not because I felt safe there.
Because I wanted our life back.
Police removed every surveillance device they found.
Six total.
Kitchen.
Bedroom.
Office.
Garage.
Back patio.
Noah’s room.
The last one almost broke me.
It had been hidden inside his night-light.
Ryan took the night-light outside and smashed it with a hammer.
Noah watched from the window.
I almost stopped him.
Then I didn’t.
Maybe Ryan needed to destroy something Linda had touched.
The next morning, a security company arrived.
New locks.
New alarm.
New cameras we controlled.
Rachel joked that our house now had better security than a bank.
Nobody laughed very hard.
Noah started seeing a child therapist.
His first session lasted forty minutes.
Afterward, he got in the car and asked for ice cream.
I bought him the biggest cone they sold.
Life began trying to become normal.
Then the lab results came back.
Charles Carter’s medication bottle contained traces of a drug that had not been prescribed to him.
In the wrong dose, it could worsen cardiac problems.
Charles had died from cardiac arrest.
Ryan read the report twice.
Then sat silently for nearly an hour.
Police reopened the death investigation as a suspected homicide.
Daniel refused to speak.
Linda hired a lawyer.
That told me everything.
One evening, Ryan came home late.
I was making grilled cheese for Noah.
“Where were you?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“With my mother.”
The spatula stopped in my hand.
“What?”
“Noah wasn’t there.”
“I don’t care.”
“I needed answers.”
“You went alone?”
“Yes.”
“After everything?”
“Emily.”
I turned off the stove.
“No.”
“Listen.”
“No, you listen. Your mother abused our child. She helped spy on us. She covered for Daniel. She knew your father was in danger.”
“I know.”
“And you went to have a private conversation with her?”
“She called from her lawyer’s office.”
“That makes it better?”
“She offered evidence.”
That stopped me.
“What evidence?”
Ryan took out his phone.
A photograph.
A handwritten ledger.
Dates.
Dollar amounts.
Initials.
D.M.
L.C.
And another set.
M.B.
“Who is M.B.?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What did Linda say?”
“She said that’s Daniel’s police contact.”
My stomach tightened.
“Officer Martinez?”
“No. Initials don’t match.”
“Brooks?”
Ryan looked at me.
Michael Brooks.
The younger officer.
My blood turned cold.
“He was in our house.”
“I know.”
“He knew about the investigation.”
“I know.”
“He knew where Rachel was.”
“I know.”
I remembered something.
The night police found the hidden bedroom camera, Brooks had been upstairs with us.
When we learned Rachel and Noah were missing, he had been nearby.
When the warehouse rescue happened, had he been there?
I couldn’t remember.
“Did you tell Martinez?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because if Brooks is involved, I don’t know who else is.”
“Ryan, we cannot investigate a corrupt police officer ourselves.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out whether Mom is lying again.”
I stared at him.
“And?”
“She gave me this.”
He held up a small key.
“Safe-deposit box.”
My heart sank.
“Where?”
“Bank in downtown Dallas.”
“What’s inside?”
“She claims she doesn’t know.”
“Of course.”
“She said Charles put something there before he died.”
“Why give you the key now?”
Ryan looked exhausted.
“Because she thinks Daniel will have her killed.”
“That hasn’t stopped her from lying before.”
“No.”
“Why should we trust her?”
“We shouldn’t.”
That answer surprised me.
He continued.
“But we can verify.”
The next morning, Ryan and I went to the bank with a detective from a different unit Officer Martinez trusted.
The key matched Box 317.
Inside was a small stack of papers.
A cassette tape.
And an envelope addressed in Charles’s handwriting.
FOR RYAN.
Ryan sat down.
His hands shook as he opened it.
The letter was only three pages.
Charles wrote that biology did not matter to him.
Ryan had been his son from the moment he held him.
He apologized for keeping Daniel’s identity secret.
He apologized for staying in business with a man he despised.
Then the final paragraph changed everything.
“If Daniel ever threatens you after I am gone, remember that he has always depended on two people: Linda, because she knows what happened, and Detective Michael Brooks, because his father helped Daniel bury the first investigation.”
I looked at the detective standing with us.
He immediately stepped outside to call Martinez.
Ryan stared at the name.
“Brooks’s father?”
The cassette contained a recorded conversation between Charles and an older police officer.
The officer’s name was Harold Brooks.
Michael Brooks’s father.
Harold admitted destroying a complaint Charles had tried to file against Daniel years earlier.
In exchange, Daniel paid him.
Ryan looked sick.
“This is bigger than one cop.”
“Maybe not anymore,” I said. “Harold could be dead.”
The detective returned.
“Michael Brooks didn’t report for duty today.”
My skin prickled.
“Where is he?”
“We’re locating him.”
My phone rang.
No caller ID.
I didn’t want to answer.
The detective nodded.
“Put it on speaker.”
I did.
A man spoke.
“Emily.”
I recognized the voice immediately.
Officer Brooks.
“What do you want?”
“You found the box.”
Nobody answered.
He laughed softly.
“Charles always was sentimental.”
“Where are you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Did you help Daniel kidnap my son?”
“I helped Daniel with many things.”
Ryan lunged toward the phone as if he could reach through it.
“You son of a—”
Brooks interrupted.
“Careful, Ryan. Your mother still has secrets.”
Ryan froze.
“What secrets?”
“Ask her who actually changed Charles’s pills the final time.”
My stomach dropped.
Ryan whispered, “Daniel.”
Brooks laughed.
“That’s the story Linda likes.”
The line went dead.
Ryan stood completely still.
Then his phone buzzed.
A text from Linda.
COME NOW.
Then another.
I’M READY TO TELL THE TRUTH.
We arrived at Linda’s house with police.
The front door was unlocked.
No answer.
Officer Martinez entered first.
Then called for medical support.
Linda was in the kitchen.
Sitting at the same type of table where she had once bragged about teaching Ryan “proper discipline.”
A bottle of pills lay on the floor.
She was barely conscious.
Ryan rushed toward her.
“Mom!”
Her eyes opened.
She saw him.
Then me.
Her lips moved.
Ryan leaned closer.
“What?”
She whispered one sentence.
May you like
“I killed Charles.”
Then her eyes closed.
