Chapter 7: The Voice in the Dark
“Laura, you shouldn't have come here.””
My body forgot how to move.
For six years, I had trained myself not to expect that voice.
Not in grocery-store aisles.
Not in crowded restaurants.
Not in dreams.
My husband, Daniel, had been buried six years ago.
Yet there he was.
Behind a warehouse door.
Calling my name.
Ariana’s mother grabbed my wrist.
“Mrs. Harris, we need to leave.””
Martin stared at the open doorway.
“Daniel?””
The voice answered from inside.
“Martin. You always were terrible at following instructions.””
Martin went pale.
I stepped toward the warehouse.
“Daniel?””
“Don't come any closer.””
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“It's me.””
“I know.””
“Then let me see you.””
A long silence followed.
Then the warehouse lights flickered on.
A man stepped from behind a stack of crates.
He was older.
Thinner.
His hair was mostly gray now.
But his eyes—
I knew those eyes.
I dropped the papers.
“Daniel?””
He looked at me.
“Hello, Laura.””
A sound escaped my throat that wasn't quite a laugh and wasn't quite a sob.
“You're alive.””
Daniel nodded.
“I am.””
I stumbled backward.
“You died.””
“I had to disappear.””
“You let me bury an empty coffin?””
His face tightened.
“I had no choice.””
“You had a choice every day for six years!””
Daniel looked down.
“I know.””
I slapped him.
The crack echoed through the warehouse.
Martin closed his eyes.
Ariana’s mother stared at me.
Daniel touched his cheek.
“You deserved that.””
“You let Miles grow up without his father.””
“I watched him.””
“From where?””
“From a distance.””
“You watched?””
My voice broke.
“You watched while I cried myself to sleep?””
Daniel swallowed.
“I couldn't come back.””
“Why?””
“Because they would have killed all of you.””
I pointed toward the documents scattered across the floor.
“Who are they?””
Daniel looked at Martin.
“Tell her.””
Martin shook his head.
“You tell her.””
Daniel sighed.
“Your company wasn't just laundering money.””
He picked up one of the papers.
“They were using employees' identities to transfer property.””
I stared at my forged signature.
“My name.””
“Yes.””
“Why mine?””
“Because you were Daniel's wife.””
“That doesn't make sense.””
“It does when you understand what they needed.””
He walked toward a metal table.
On it sat dozens of folders.
“Daniel,” I whispered.
“My legal identity was supposed to disappear after the accident.””
“What accident?””
“The crash wasn't an accident.””
My knees weakened.
Martin caught my arm.
I pulled away.
“Don't touch me.””
Daniel continued.
“I discovered the scheme. David discovered I knew. Three days later, someone tampered with my car.””
I stared at him.
“You survived.””
“Barely.””
“Then why didn't you come home?””
“Because the man who caused the crash knew where you lived.””
I thought of Miles.
His school.
Ariana.
The photographs.
The threats.
“So they started using Miles?””
Daniel shook his head.
“No.””
“Then who?””
“Someone who wanted me to come out of hiding.””
He looked directly at me.
“They used your son because they knew you'd investigate if he was accused of something terrible.””
I felt sick.
“All of this was designed to bring me here?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Daniel looked toward the black case lying on the concrete.
“Because what's inside that case can destroy them.””
I stepped closer.
“What is it?””
Before he could answer, headlights swept across the warehouse windows.
Martin turned.
“Someone followed us.””
Daniel grabbed the case.
“Everyone down!””
Gunshots cracked outside.
Ariana's mother screamed.
Daniel shoved the case into my arms.
“Run!””
I held it against my chest.
“Where?””
Daniel pointed toward the rear corridor.
“There's an exit behind the old loading bay.””
“What about you?””
“I'll slow them down.””
“No!””
Daniel grabbed my hand.
For the first time in six years, his fingers were wrapped around mine.
“Laura, listen to me.””
I looked into his eyes.
“If they catch me, they will come after you.””
Another gunshot shattered a window.
Daniel released me.
“Go!””
I ran.
Behind me, I heard Martin shout.
Then Daniel yelled something I couldn't make out.
May you like
And then—
silence.
