Chapter 8
The fake documents changed everything.
Until then, police believed Rachel and Cal intended to kill me for insurance money.
Now the question became worse.
What had they planned for Ethan and Lily?
The fake birth certificates gave both children different last names.
Different parents.
Different birthplaces.
Ethan became “Eric Reeves.”
Lily became “Lucy Reeves.”
Cal’s last name.
I stared at copies on Harris’s desk.
“They were going to take them.”
“It appears possible.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“They didn’t even like my kids.”
“Rachel may have believed keeping them gave her access to benefits, property, or reduced suspicion.”
I hated how clinical the explanation sounded.
“Or leverage,” I said.
Harris nodded.
“Possibly.”
They also found passports.
Counterfeit.
Two for the children.
Two adults.
Rachel and Cal under false names.
The destination planning was worse.
Printed maps.
Mexico.
Belize.
Panama.
Lists of rental properties.
Schools.
Cash exchange locations.
They had not been improvising.
This was years of preparation.
“What was supposed to happen to Melissa?”
I asked.
Harris looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“Rachel told me Melissa would take the kids.”
“That appears to have been a lie.”
“No. Why name Melissa at all?”
He understood.
“If police believed she expected Melissa to take custody, then there would be less reason to think Rachel planned to disappear with them.”
“Exactly.”
Harris made a note.
My phone buzzed.
Mike.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Daniel, you need to hear this.”
“What?”
“I found Cal on older site footage.”
My pulse jumped.
“Older?”
“Four months.”
“How?”
“One of the foremen remembered him.”
“But he wasn’t hired then.”
“No. He was delivering supplies under another company.”
I stood.
“So he had access to the site months before the beam.”
“Looks that way.”
“Send everything to Harris.”
“I already did.”
Mike hesitated.
“Daniel, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“You remember the scaffolding accident in March?”
I did.
A worker named Luis fell twelve feet.
Broken wrist.
Two cracked ribs.
We thought a clamp had failed.
“Cal was there?”
“On camera.”
My mouth dried.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Harris took the phone.
“Mike, send me exact timestamps.”
He hung up.
“Could they have been testing methods?” I asked.
“We don’t know.”
I hated those three words.
But evidence kept filling the blanks.
That afternoon, forensic technicians recovered data from another prepaid phone.
A conversation from six months earlier.
Cal: Height better.
Rachel: Too many witnesses.
Cal: Vehicle?
Rachel: Kids in car.
Cal: Then site.
My hands trembled.
They had discussed killing me more than once.
Every time normal life continued.
I came home.
I kissed Rachel.
I ate dinner.
I helped Ethan with homework.
I tucked Lily into bed.
And somewhere nearby, two people were deciding which version of my death would be most believable.
Then the case took another turn.
Carol requested to speak with me.
I refused.
Harris encouraged me to reconsider.
“She says she has information.”
“She can tell you.”
“She says she’ll only tell you.”
“Why?”
“She may be trying to manipulate you.”
“Then why encourage me?”
“Because she also may know where Rachel is.”
We met inside the police station.
Harris stayed in the room.
Carol entered looking ten years older than she had two days earlier.
No makeup.
Hair messy.
She sat across from me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I’m sorry.”
I felt nothing.
“For what?”
“For believing her.”
“You helped her.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You came to Melissa’s door accusing me.”
“Rachel told me you tried to kill her.”
“And you believed her.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“So are Ethan and Lily my children.”
Carol looked down.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
She began crying.
I did not comfort her.
After a minute, she wiped her eyes.
“Rachel has always been difficult.”
I laughed without humor.
“Difficult?”
“She lies.”
“That would have been useful information before I married her.”
Carol flinched.
“I thought she changed.”
“Did you know about Cal?”
Silence.
That was my answer.
“You knew.”
“I knew they had history.”
“History?”
“I didn’t know they were still together.”
“Did you know Rachel targeted me before we met?”
Carol looked confused.
“No.”
“Did you know she was abusing the kids?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was forging documents?”
“No.”
“Did you know she planned to murder me?”
“No!”
Her voice cracked.
Harris spoke.
“Then why did you request this meeting?”
Carol looked toward him.
Then at me.
“Because Rachel called me.”
My body stiffened.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did she say?”
“She wanted money.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand.”
“For what?”
“She said she needed to get away from Cal.”
I leaned forward.
“Why?”
“She said he was out of control.”
“Did she sound scared?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel can sound however she wants.”
Carol looked down.
“I know that now.”
“What else?”
“She asked me to bring money to a place.”
Harris leaned forward.
“What place?”
Carol hesitated.
“An old motel outside Waxahachie.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
My pulse jumped.
Harris said, “You should have told us immediately.”
“I was scared.”
“Did you agree?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Nine.”
Harris stood.
The entire station shifted into motion.
I knew he would tell me not to come.
So before he could, I said, “I’ll stay away.”
He looked relieved.
“Good.”
Carol reached for my hand.
I pulled it back.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“If we find her…”
I stared.
“What?”
“She’s still my daughter.”
I understood the question she couldn’t say.
“Then hope she surrenders.”
Carol’s eyes filled.
I stood.
“Because I’m done protecting her from consequences.”
At the safe house, I tried not to watch the clock.
Eight thirty.
Eight forty.
Eight fifty.
Police had wired Carol.
Teams surrounded the motel area.
At nine twelve, Harris texted.
NO SHOW YET.
At nine twenty-seven, another message.
WAITING.
At nine forty, my phone rang.
Harris.
I answered.
“What happened?”
“Carol got a call.”
“Rachel?”
“Supposedly.”
“What did she say?”
“The meeting location changed.”
“Where?”
“A gas station four miles west.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
I paced.
Twenty minutes.
Nothing.
Then another twenty.
At ten thirty, Harris called again.
His voice was sharp.
“It was a trap.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“Someone fired at an unmarked vehicle from a distance.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“Rachel?”
“Not there.”
“Cal?”
“Unknown.”
“Carol?”
“Safe.”
I closed my eyes.
They had predicted police involvement.
Then Ethan walked into the kitchen.
He held something.
A small folded piece of paper.
“What’s that?”
“I found it in my backpack.”
My body went cold.
“Give it to me.”
I opened it carefully.
Handwriting.
Rachel’s.
YOU WERE ALWAYS THE SMART ONE.
My hands began shaking.
“When did you find this?”
“Just now.”
“Was it there before we left Melissa’s?”
“I don’t know.”
I called Harris.
He told me to put it down and not touch anything else.
A crime-scene tech came.
They searched Ethan’s backpack.
Inside a hidden inner pocket, they found a tiny electronic tracker.
My blood ran cold.
Rachel had known where the children were.
Maybe not because she followed us.
Because she had tagged Ethan’s bag.
The safe house was compromised.
Police moved us again before midnight.
This time to a secured facility.
No personal vehicles.
No phones except controlled devices.
Ethan watched officers carry our bags.
“Is this because of me?”
“No.”
“The tracker was in my backpack.”
“You didn’t put it there.”
He looked toward me.
“Rachel did?”
“Probably.”
He suddenly became angry.
Not afraid.
Angry.
“I hate her.”
I crouched.
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
“I want her to go to jail.”
I looked him in the eye.
“So do I.”
He seemed surprised.
Maybe adults weren’t supposed to admit that.
But I wasn’t going to lie anymore.
At one in the morning, Harris arrived.
“We got forensic results from the blood in Cal’s SUV.”
“And?”
“It belongs to Rachel.”
My chest tightened.
“How much?”
“Not enough by itself to suggest fatal injury.”
“Could she have put it there?”
“Yes.”
“Could Cal have hurt her?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where either of them are?”
“Not yet.”
Then Harris put down a photograph.
A traffic camera image.
Taken three hours earlier.
Rachel.
Alive.
Sitting in the passenger seat of a pickup truck.
The driver’s face was partially visible.
Cal.
“So they’re still together.”
“Yes.”
“Then the blood was fake.”
“Likely staged.”
I stared at the photo.
“They’re not running from each other.”
“No.”
“What are they doing?”
Harris slid another photograph toward me.
It showed the truck entering a road I recognized.
My heart stopped.
“That’s near Sarah’s cemetery.”
“Yes.”
“Why would they go there?”
Harris watched my face.
“We don’t know.”
I was already standing.
“You’re not going,” he said.
“My wife is buried there.”
“I know.”
“Rachel kept Sarah’s pictures. She hated Lily because she looks like her. Now they’re driving toward the cemetery?”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Harris stood too.
“Daniel, going there puts you exactly where they may want you.”
That stopped me.
A trap.
Of course.
I sat back down.
Police reached the cemetery twenty minutes later.
Rachel and Cal were gone.
But Sarah’s grave had been disturbed.
Not dug up.
Something had been placed on it.
A photograph.
Me and Sarah on our wedding day.
My face had been cut out.
Behind the photograph was a message.
May you like
HE SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH YOU.
And beneath it was tomorrow’s date.
