Chapter 7 - THE BOATHOUSE
“Elena, you are not going alone.”
Damian blocked the cottage door while Marcus strapped on a concealed holster.
“The message says alone.”
“The message was written by a felon who took your three-year-old.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t walk into a trap without help.”
Elena shoved the ledger into a canvas tote. “Then follow me where he can’t see you.”
Damian looked at Marcus.
Marcus nodded. “That’s the plan.”
The old boathouse sat beyond a line of trees at the far edge of the estate, unused since Damian’s father died. Elena walked the last two hundred yards by herself, every step feeling too slow.
“Mia?” she called.
No answer.
She opened the warped wooden door.
Owen Hale stood near the back wall.
He looked less polished than his photograph—sweat on his collar, eyes too bright, one hand gripping a burner phone.
Mia sat on an overturned crate ten feet away.
“Mama!”
Elena’s entire body moved toward her.
Owen lifted a hand. “Stop.”
Elena stopped.
“Is she hurt?”
“No.”
“Mia, baby, are you okay?”
Mia’s lower lip trembled. “He said you were busy.”
“I know. I’m here now.”
Owen pointed at the tote. “Notebook.”
Elena held it up. “First she walks to me.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is today.”
Owen laughed nervously. “My sister said you were stubborn.”
“So Vanessa sent you?”
His face tightened.
Elena saw the mistake immediately.
“She did.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Owen took one step forward. “Give me the book.”
A floorboard creaked behind the side wall.
His head snapped around.
“Who’s here?”
Elena threw the tote hard—not at Owen, but past him.
His eyes followed it.
She ran for Mia.
At the same instant Marcus came through the side door and Damian through the front.
Owen bolted.
He slammed Damian into the wall, kicked open the river door, and sprinted toward the dock. Marcus chased him.
Elena dropped to her knees and pulled Mia against her so tightly the child squeaked.
“Mama, you’re squishing me.”
“Good.” Elena sobbed into her curls. “I’m going to squish you for the next fifty years.”
Damian crouched beside them, breathing hard.
“Mia, did he hurt you?”
“No. He gave me crackers.”
“That does not make him nice,” Elena said.
“I know. They were bad crackers.”
Damian laughed once, relief breaking through panic.
Outside, Marcus shouted.
A boat engine roared to life.
Owen tore away from the dock in an old maintenance skiff before Marcus could reach him.
“Damn it!”
Police sirens approached from the main road. Damian had ignored the no-police demand from the beginning.
Marcus returned holding something black.
“He dropped his phone.”
The burner’s screen was cracked but still lit.
A message had arrived less than a minute ago from a contact saved only as V.
DO YOU HAVE THE GIRL AND THE BOOK?
Owen’s unsent reply was still typed beneath it.
YES. IF CROSS FOLLOWS, WE USE PLAN B.
Elena looked at Damian.
“What’s Plan B?”
May you like
Before anyone could answer, another message appeared.
PLAN B IS ALREADY LIVE.
