Chapter 7 - THE TUNNEL
Daniel fired back.
The bullet struck a pipe above Thomas.
Steam exploded into the basement.
“Go!” Daniel shouted.
Margaret dragged Ruth through the steel door.
Claire pulled it shut.
They ran into darkness.
The tunnel was barely wide enough for two people.
Ruth groaned.
Blood soaked through Margaret’s sleeve.
Emily turned.
“She needs a hospital.”
Ruth grabbed her.
“No hospitals.”
“You’ve been shot!”
“He’ll know.”
Claire snapped, “Who exactly is ‘he’? Thomas? His father? The freaking CIA?”
“Charles Ashford.”
Margaret stopped.
“Charles is dead.”
Ruth shook her head.
“No.”
Margaret stared at her.
“I went to his funeral.”
“You went to a closed-casket funeral.”
Daniel caught up with them.
His face was covered in soot.
Margaret grabbed him.
“Is Thomas coming?”
“Not yet.”
Ruth began slipping.
Daniel lifted her.
“Keep moving.”
Claire looked at Margaret.
“Your father-in-law is supposed to be dead?”
“For fifteen years.”
“Great.”
Emily muttered, “This family just keeps getting better.”
They emerged behind an old warehouse several blocks away.
Daniel loaded Ruth into the SUV.
“Where?”
Ruth whispered an address.
Margaret knew it.
“The lake house?”
Ruth nodded.
Thomas’s family had owned it for generations.
It had been empty since Charles died.
Or supposedly died.
On the drive, Emily sat in the back beside Claire.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Then Claire said, “So you work at a restaurant?”
Emily looked at her.
“Yeah.”
“I repair motorcycles.”
Emily almost smiled.
“That explains the jacket.”
“That explains the attitude too.”
Emily gave a tired laugh.
It was the first normal sound anyone had made all night.
Margaret looked at them through the mirror.
Two daughters.
Maybe.
She didn’t know whether to cry or smile.
Then Claire asked, “Were you adopted?”
“Foster care.”
“Good family?”
“One good mother.”
Claire nodded.
“My dad was good.”
“Was?”
“He died last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
Claire looked out the window.
“He spent my whole life telling me my mother died during childbirth.”
Emily looked at her.
“Maybe he believed it.”
Claire didn’t answer.
At the lake house, Daniel carried Ruth inside.
The place smelled dusty but lived-in.
Fresh coffee in the kitchen.
A jacket on a chair.
Mail on the counter.
Margaret picked up an envelope.
Addressed to Charles Ashford.
Postmarked three days ago.
Claire saw it.
“Well. Dead guy gets better mail than I do.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Daniel drew his gun.
“Stay here.”
Margaret ignored him.
They moved together toward the staircase.
Daniel went first.
Then Margaret.
Emily and Claire followed.
At the top, a bedroom door stood open.
Inside, an old man sat beside the window.
Thin.
White-haired.
Breathing through an oxygen tube.
Margaret recognized him immediately.
Charles Ashford smiled.
“My dear Margaret.”
Her mouth went dry.
“You’re dead.”
He shrugged.
“Only legally.”
Emily stepped into the room.
Charles looked at her.
Then Claire.
His smile disappeared.
“No.”
Margaret frowned.
“What?”
May you like
Charles pointed at Claire.
“She was never supposed to find you.”
