Chapter 8
"Hannah, where are you?"
The line crackled.
"I can't stay on."
"No. Don't hang up."
"Ryan—"
"I've spent five years not knowing you were trying to reach me. I'm not losing you again."
Silence.
Then:
"Are police with you?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Why not?"
"You don't know who Diane paid."
My stomach tightened.
"Detective Bell is helping."
"Marcus Bell?"
I froze.
"You know him?"
"He investigated when I disappeared."
"Then trust him."
"I did."
The line went quiet.
"What happened?"
"I gave him a statement."
"When?"
"Five years ago."
That made no sense.
Bell had said Hannah vanished.
"You spoke to him after the car was found?"
"Yes."
"Then why does everyone think you disappeared?"
"Because the next morning my statement was gone."
Cold swept through me.
"Hannah."
"And Bell said he had never met me."
I stopped breathing.
The hotel room suddenly felt dangerous.
"Are you sure?"
"Ryan, I looked him in the face."
"Maybe—"
"I know who I spoke to."
My mind raced.
Could Bell be involved?
Or had someone impersonated him?
"What did you tell him?"
"About Diane. Claire. The baby. Everything."
"Where are you now?"
"Safe."
"That's not enough."
"It's all I can give you."
"Ellie needs you."
"I know."
"She thinks you were locked in Diane's basement."
Hannah began crying.
"She saw me?"
"Yes."
"God."
"What happened?"
"After I tried to leave Diane's house, Scott stopped me."
My hand clenched.
"Did he hurt you?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Hannah—"
"I got away once. That's when I took my car."
"The car by Lake Mercer?"
"Yes."
"Claire was in it."
"I know."
"What happened?"
"She followed me."
Hannah's breathing became uneven.
"She blocked the road with Diane's SUV. I tried to turn around. Scott came from behind."
"And the blood?"
"He hit me."
I gripped the dresser.
"Claire watched?"
"She was screaming."
"At him?"
"At me."
Rage rose through me.
"What did she want?"
"Ellie."
"Why?"
"Because your father knew."
"Knew what?"
Hannah went silent.
I remembered what she'd said.
Claire believed my life should have been hers.
"Hannah."
"Your father wasn't supposed to marry your mother."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Diane's family had an arrangement with him."
"An arrangement?"
"Business. Property. Marriage. Old families trying to keep control of land."
"This is insane."
"I know."
"My father married my mother because he loved her."
"Yes. And Diane never forgave him."
I sat slowly.
"Diane wanted to marry my father?"
"Yes."
My stomach turned.
"So Claire—"
"Claire grew up hearing that your family stole everything from hers."
"How?"
"When your grandmother's trust passed to your father, Diane's side lost control of the land."
I thought about the Prescott name.
My grandmother Eleanor Prescott.
Diane Bennett, born Diane Prescott.
"What does Claire have to do with me?"
"Diane raised her to believe marrying you would put the property back where it belonged."
My skin crawled.
"So she stalked me because her mother told her to?"
"At first."
"At first?"
"Claire became obsessed with you."
I stared into the dark hotel window.
"How do you know?"
"Because she told me."
"When?"
"After I got pregnant."
Hannah's voice shook.
"She came to my apartment and said I had ruined everything."
"What did you ruin?"
"Her plan."
I closed my eyes.
The coffee shop.
The chance meetings.
The house.
Everything.
"Why didn't you tell me immediately?"
"I tried."
"I mean before."
"I didn't understand how serious she was. I thought she was jealous. Weird. Maybe unstable."
"Then you got pregnant."
"Yes."
"And my father found out."
"He already knew about Claire."
"What?"
"Your father had been watching Diane for years."
I rubbed my forehead.
"He knew she was after the property?"
"He suspected."
"Why didn't he tell me?"
"He was sick. Then he died."
My father had died of a heart attack.
Sudden.
At sixty-one.
Another thought entered my mind.
I didn't want it.
"Hannah."
"What?"
"Was my father's death natural?"
Silence.
"Hannah."
"I don't know."
That was worse than no.
"What did he tell you?"
"He told me if I ever had a child with you, I needed to protect her."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"Because the trust structure changed if there was another heir."
"The second will."
"You found it."
"Yes."
"I was supposed to have a copy."
"What happened?"
"Claire took it."
I heard movement on Hannah's end.
She gasped.
"What?"
"I have to go."
"No."
"Someone's here."
"Hannah!"
The call ended.
I immediately dialed back.
Disconnected.
I stood frozen.
Then opened the connecting door.
Megan sat up from the sofa.
"What happened?"
"Get the girls ready."
"Why?"
"We're leaving."
"Ryan, police told us—"
"I don't know if we can trust everyone."
Her face changed.
"What does that mean?"
Before I could answer, someone knocked.
Three sharp taps.
"Mr. Miller?"
Bell.
I stared at the door.
"Ryan?" Megan whispered.
Another knock.
"It's Detective Bell."
I didn't move.
He called my phone.
I watched it ring.
Then answered.
"What?"
"I'm outside."
"Why?"
"We found Scott Mercer."
My attention sharpened.
"Where?"
"Dead."
Megan covered her mouth.
"How?"
"Gunshot."
"Who killed him?"
"We don't know."
I looked at the hotel door.
"Prove you're Bell."
Silence.
Then, "Ryan, what happened?"
"Answer."
"You've been sitting across from me for three days."
"Hannah says she gave you a statement five years ago."
Bell went silent.
That silence terrified me.
Finally:
"Open the door."
"No."
"Then look through the peephole."
I did.
Bell stood outside.
Two uniformed officers were farther down the hall.
"Talk."
His expression had changed.
"Hannah Cole came to a police station five years ago."
"You said she disappeared."
"Because I didn't know it was her until tonight."
"What?"
"A woman came in using the name Sarah Reed."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You spoke to her?"
"For twenty minutes."
"And her statement disappeared?"
Bell looked stunned.
"I filed it."
"She says the next morning you denied ever meeting her."
"That never happened."
"She looked you in the face."
Bell shook his head.
"Ryan, after my shift that night I was involved in a car accident."
I frowned.
"What?"
"I spent two days in the hospital."
The timeline clicked.
"Then who did she speak to the next morning?"
"I don't know."
I opened the door but kept the security chain attached.
Bell lowered his voice.
"Where did you hear this?"
"She called."
His eyes widened.
"Hannah?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Twenty minutes ago."
"From what number?"
"Blocked."
"We can trace—"
"She says someone inside the department was helping Diane."
Bell's expression went hard.
"I've suspected that since we reopened this."
"You never told me."
"Because I didn't know how high it went."
I stared at him.
"Do you believe Hannah is alive?"
"I do now."
I closed the door, removed the chain, and let him in.
Bell showed me a photograph of Scott Mercer inside an abandoned warehouse.
He had been shot once in the chest.
Beside his body, police found a note.
Three words.
SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING.
"Hannah?" Megan whispered.
"Possibly," Bell said.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
Not Hannah.
A photograph.
The image showed Claire sitting in the back of a car.
Her wrists appeared bound.
Her face was bruised.
Under the photograph was one sentence.
YOU WANT THE TRUTH? BRING ELEANOR TO THE FARMHOUSE.
I stared at it.
Bell cursed.
Megan whispered, "Who sent that?"
I didn't answer.
Another message arrived.
COME ALONE.
Then another.
MIDNIGHT.
Bell looked at me.
"You're not going."
"I know."
"We'll secure the farmhouse."
"That's exactly what they expect."
"They're asking you to bring a five-year-old child."
"I'm not bringing Ellie."
"Good."
"But I'm going."
"Ryan."
"If Claire is really there—"
"Claire may be part of this."
"I know."
"Then why risk it?"
Because despite everything, she was still my wife.
Because somewhere beneath the rage, there were five years of memories.
Because I needed to look into her eyes and hear the truth.
Because if she was tied up in that photograph, I couldn't simply ignore it.
"I need this to end."
Bell studied me.
Then nodded once.
"Fine."
Megan stared at him.
"Fine?"
"He isn't going alone."
At 11:42 p.m., I was wearing a wire.
Police surrounded the farmhouse from a distance.
Bell sat in an unmarked vehicle half a mile away.
I drove the final stretch alone.
The farmhouse emerged from the darkness.
Old white siding.
Black windows.
Dozens of bird feeders moving in the wind.
The front door stood open.
I stepped inside.
"Claire?"
No answer.
"Claire!"
A light turned on in the basement.
I heard a woman crying.
I followed the sound.
Every stair felt like a mistake.
At the bottom, I found Claire tied to a chair.
She looked at me.
"Ryan!"
I ran toward her.
"Where is everyone?"
"Untie me."
"Who did this?"
"Please!"
I reached for the rope.
Then stopped.
Because behind her, on a wooden shelf, sat a familiar blue box.
The police had supposedly taken it into evidence.
Claire saw me looking.
Her face changed.
I stepped backward.
"How did that get here?"
"Ryan—"
"How?"
She stopped crying.
That terrified me more than the tears.
A slow clap came from the darkness behind me.
I turned.
Diane stepped into the light.
May you like
In her hand was a gun.
"Because," she said quietly, "the police never found the real box."
