Chapter 1: The Boots Under the Bed
The muddy boots were sticking out from beneath my bed.
For three full seconds, nobody moved.
Sarah stood behind me, breathing too fast.
I stared at the boots.
Then I looked at my wife.
“Ryan,” I said quietly.
“Come out.””
Nothing.
Sarah grabbed my wrist.
“James, please. You’re making this look insane.””
I turned toward her.
“I’m making it look insane?””
Her fingers slipped away.
“Ryan came upstairs because—”
“Ryan.””
My voice cracked through the room.
“Get out from under my bed.””
The mattress shifted.
A moment later, Ryan crawled out.
He was still wearing his faded gray landscaping shirt and dirt-stained jeans. His socks were damp with grass. Sweat ran down his forehead.
He wouldn’t look at me.
I actually laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because my brain couldn’t find another response.
“You came inside for water,” I said.
Ryan swallowed.
“James, man—”
“Don’t call me that.””
Sarah stepped between us.
“Nothing happened.””
I looked at her messy hair.
Then at Ryan hiding barefoot under our bed.
Then back at her.
“Of course.””
“James.””
“Completely normal.””
Ryan raised both hands.
“This isn’t what you think.””
“Then tell me what I think.””
Silence.
I stepped closer.
Ryan backed into the dresser.
“Tell me.””
Sarah suddenly shoved herself between us.
“Stop!””
Her reaction surprised me.
She wasn’t protecting herself.
She was protecting him.
That hurt more than finding him under the bed.
I looked at Ryan.
He was maybe thirty-five. I had hired him eight months earlier after our old lawn service raised its prices.
I’d given him Christmas work when he told me money was tight.
I’d even recommended him to two neighbors.
Now he was standing in my bedroom.
Sarah touched my chest.
“Please go downstairs.””
I stared at her hand.
“Take your hand off me.””
She did.
“James, I can explain.””
“Start.””
Her eyes darted toward Ryan.
That tiny glance told me they needed to coordinate their story.
“No,” I said.
“Actually, Ryan explains first.””
Sarah’s face tightened.
“That’s ridiculous.””
“Why?””
“Because this is between you and me.””
“Interesting.””
I looked at Ryan.
“What were you doing in my bedroom?””
Ryan rubbed his jaw.
“I needed to talk to Sarah privately.””
“About?””
He hesitated.
Sarah interrupted.
“His sister.””
Ryan looked at her.
Too slowly.
I caught it.
“His sister?””
Sarah nodded quickly.
“She’s having financial problems.””
I turned to Ryan.
“What’s your sister’s name?””
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Sarah snapped, “Why does that matter?””
“Because you just invented her.””
Ryan’s face changed.
Sarah’s did too.
I walked toward my desk.
The blue contract folder was exactly where I remembered leaving it.
But something else was wrong.
The bottom drawer was open.
I always kept it locked.
Inside were insurance documents, tax records, investment statements, and paperwork connected to the house.
I crouched.
“Who opened this?””
Nobody answered.
I pulled the drawer farther out.
Folders had been moved.
One envelope was upside down.
My passport case had been shifted.
This wasn’t an affair.
Or at least, it wasn’t only an affair.
I stood slowly.
“What were you looking for?””
Sarah folded her arms.
“You’re being paranoid.””
I looked at Ryan.
His face had drained of color.
“Were you searching my desk?””
“No.””
“Then why is the drawer open?””
“I don’t know.””
“You were hiding six feet away from it.””
Sarah stepped forward.
“James, stop attacking him.””
There it was again.
Protecting Ryan.
I pulled out my phone.
Sarah immediately stiffened.
“What are you doing?””
“Calling the police.””
Ryan moved.
Fast.
He reached toward my phone.
I stepped backward.
“Touch me and you’ll regret it.””
“James, wait,” Ryan said.
“Nobody needs police.””
“Then start talking.””
Sarah suddenly sounded calmer.
Too calm.
“Put the phone down.””
I looked at her.
She walked toward me slowly.
“You’re angry. I understand that.””
“You understand?””
“Yes.””
“Then explain why another man was hiding under our bed.””
“I panicked.””
“Why?””
“Because I knew what you’d assume.””
“What should I assume?””
Sarah pressed her lips together.
Ryan glanced toward the hallway.
I noticed.
“You’re not leaving.””
His jaw tightened.
“I’ve got work.””
I almost couldn’t believe it.
“Your mower is still running in my yard.””
Ryan said nothing.
I turned back to the drawer.
There was a small locked document box at the rear.
Or there should have been.
My stomach dropped.
I shoved folders aside.
Nothing.
I checked beneath the desk.
Nothing.
Then I looked at Sarah.
“Where’s the black box?””
She blinked.
“What black box?””
“The one from this drawer.””
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.””
I stared at her.
We had been married eleven years.
I knew when Sarah was lying.
Her left thumb always rubbed the side of her wedding ring.
She was doing it now.
Ryan suddenly stepped toward the bedroom door.
I blocked him.
“Where is it?””
“Move.””
“Where is my box?””
“I don’t have your box.””
“Empty your pockets.””
Ryan laughed nervously.
“You’re serious?””
“Very.””
Sarah grabbed my shoulder.
“James, enough!””
I spun toward her.
And Ryan ran.
He shoved past me, hit the hallway, and raced downstairs.
I followed.
“Ryan!””
The front door slammed.
By the time I reached the porch, he was sprinting across the lawn.
Not toward his truck.
Toward the side gate.
He left everything behind.
Mower.
Gloves.
Tools.
Even his phone.
It was sitting on the porch railing.
Buzzing.
Sarah came up behind me.
“Let him go.””
I picked up Ryan’s phone.
The screen lit.
A notification appeared.
One message.
From a contact saved as *S*.
My wife stood beside me.
May you like
And on Ryan’s screen were six words that made my blood run cold.
*Did you get James’s box open?*
