Chapter 2: The Lion’s Den
“We have no physical evidence,” Margaret explained, her voice cutting through my panic as we sat in the back of a black SUV idling on the shoulder of the highway. The neon lights of Seattle blurred past the tinted windows. “A twenty-year-old newspaper and a digital DNA match aren’t enough to get a warrant against a Deputy Chief. A judge will laugh us out of the room before Martin even finishes his morning coffee.”
“So what do I do?” My hands were shaking so violently I had to tuck them under my thighs. “I can’t go home. I can’t look at them.”
“You have to,” Luis said from the front passenger seat, turning to face me. “You are the only one who can get inside that house without triggering his alarm systems or his suspicion. We need the proof he kept. Criminals like him, they always keep a trophy. A token. Aunt Rebecca told us the hospital secured a customized silver ID bracelet on your wrist when you were born. If he took you from that crash, he took the bracelet too.”
“You have forty-eight hours,” Margaret added. “You go in. You act like your trip ended early because you got a sunburn. You smile. You eat dinner. And when he sleeps, you find that bracelet. We will have a surveillance van parked two blocks away. You leave your phone line open in your pocket at all times.”
The SUV dropped me off three houses down from my childhood home. It was a beautiful, two-story craftsman house with a perfectly manicured lawn. The porch light was on. It looked like a sanctuary. It looked like a lie.
I dragged my suitcase up the driveway, every footstep feeling like I was walking to the gallows. I unlocked the front door.
The smell hit me first. Roast chicken and rosemary. My favorite.
“Claire?” Elaine’s voice drifted from the kitchen. My mother. The woman who kidnapped me.
She came around the corner, wiping her hands on an apron, her face lighting up with genuine, overwhelming joy. “Oh my god, honey! You’re home early! Your cousins said you wouldn’t be back until Sunday!”
She threw her arms around me. She smelled of vanilla and laundry detergent. For a fraction of a second, my body betrayed me, sinking into the familiar comfort of her embrace. Then the reality of what she had done slammed into my chest. I stiffened, forcing a weak laugh. “Yeah, I… I got a terrible sunburn. I just wanted my own bed.”
Heavy footsteps thumped down the hardwood stairs.
Martin.
He was a large man, broad-shouldered and imposing, with eyes that missed absolutely nothing. He wore his reading glasses, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence.”
“Hi, Dad,” I whispered.
He walked over and kissed the top of my head. His beard scratched my forehead, just like it always did. But this time, I felt the cold, hard lump of his service weapon holstered at his waist.
“We’re glad you’re here, sweetheart,” Martin said, his voice deep and smooth. “Actually, your mother and I were just talking about you. We’ve decided to take a spontaneous family vacation. We’re flying out to South America tomorrow. I already packed a bag for you.”
My blood ran cold. The tickets. Margaret was right.
“Wow,” I feigned surprise, forcing my lips to curl upward. “Tomorrow? That’s so sudden.”
“Life is short, Claire,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. There was a dark, calculating intensity in his gaze that I had never noticed before. He was scanning me. Searching for a crack in my armor. “By the way, did you ever get the results of that silly spit-test you and Emma mailed off?”
I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep them from trembling. “No. Emma said they backed up the processing. Probably another month.”
Martin held my gaze for three agonizing seconds. Then, the tension broke. He smiled warmly. “Shame. Well, sit down. Let’s eat. Oh, and Claire?”
He reached out his hand, palm up.
“Let me take your phone. Family rule for this trip. Total disconnection. We don’t want any distractions, do we?”
