Chapter 8 - The Shadow in the Pines
Victor was out.
The thought sent a visceral shock of adrenaline through my veins. The legal system had caught him, but men with fifty million dollars in liquid assets and private security teams don't sit quietly in holding cells awaiting trial. They buy bail. They hire former intelligence operatives.
"He’s looking for me," I said, turning to Marisol as soon as the call disconnected.
Marisol was already on her feet, shutting down the satellite terminal. "We knew this was a possibility. His passport is surrendered, but a man like Victor has private charters, offshore speedboats, and friends who owe him favors. He knows that without your testimony and the safe’s contents, the DOJ’s case rests entirely on circumstantial financial records."
"Daniel said the evidence to exonerate him and convict Victor is in the library safe at the Greenwich house," I said.
Marisol paused, looking at me with a razor-sharp squint. "The safe behind the mahogany shelving?"
"Yes. The biometric one with the backup digital keypad. I know the code. It was Lily’s birthday combined with the date of our wedding."
"That house is under twenty-four-hour surveillance by Victor’s private security firm, Anna. Walking in there would be suicide."
"He’s not in Greenwich," I realized suddenly, my intuition firing on all cylinders. "Victor wouldn't go home. He knows the feds have bugs on the perimeter. If he posted bail, where would he go?"
Before Marisol could answer, the golden retriever at the rear of the cabin suddenly sprang up from the hearth, its hackles raised, letting out a low, guttural growl directed toward the tree line behind the kitchen.
My heart vaulted into my throat.
"Lily," I whispered, lunging across the room toward my daughter.
"Get in the root cellar," Marisol ordered quietly, drawing a compact Glock 19 from a holster hidden beneath her wool cardigan. Her movements were smooth, practiced, devoid of hesitation. "Now, Anna. Take Lily and don't make a sound."
I scooped Lily into my arms. She whimpered, sensing the sudden shift in the air, but I pressed my hand firmly against her back. "Shh, baby. It’s a game. We have to be quiet as mice."
I lifted the heavy wooden trapdoor in the pantry floor, lowered Lily down the rough wooden ladder, and climbed in after her, pulling the hatch down until only a hairline sliver of light remained.
Through the floorboards above, I heard the faint, muffled crunch of boots on frozen snow.
*Crunch. Step. Crunch.*
Someone was circling the cabin.
Then came a heavy, authoritative knock at the front door.
Three slow, measured raps.
A voice drifted through the timber—not Victor’s, but smooth, cultured, and utterly chilling.
"Mrs. Hale? Ms. Reyes? I know you can hear me. We don't want any unpleasantness. Mr. Hale simply wants to discuss an amicable resolution before the court reconvenes on Monday. Open the door, and we can all walk away from this with our futures intact."
From my vantage point below the floorboards, I saw Marisol’s boots move silently toward the entryway. She didn't announce herself. She didn't negotiate. She raised her firearm, aligning the sights squarely with the center of the wooden door.
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"You have five seconds to clear this porch," Marisol said, her voice dropping into a register that was terrifyingly calm. "Or I start firing through the wood. And unlike your employer, I don't miss."
***
