Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN AT THE DOOR
I moved Sophie behind me.
Vanessa didn’t turn toward the back door.
That told me she knew exactly who was coming in.
A woman stepped into the kitchen.
Dark coat.
Wet hair.
Thin face.
For half a second, I saw a stranger.
Then she lifted her eyes.
Rachel.
My knees nearly gave out.
She looked older.
Sharper.
There was a small scar near her left eyebrow that hadn’t been there three years ago.
But it was Rachel.
Sophie whispered, “Mommy.”
Rachel’s whole face broke.
“Sophie.”
My daughter started toward her.
Vanessa grabbed Sophie’s wrist.
I reacted before I thought.
“Let go of her.”
Vanessa released her.
Sophie ran across the kitchen.
Rachel fell to her knees and wrapped both arms around our daughter.
Sophie sobbed into her shoulder.
“Mommy, why didn’t you take me?”
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut.
“I couldn’t.”
“You promised.”
“I know.”
“You kept leaving.”
“I know, baby.”
I stood there feeling like someone had cut a hole through the middle of my life.
Rachel had been dead.
I had signed documents.
I had attended a memorial.
I had held Sophie while she cried herself to sleep.
I had spent two years learning how to be both parents.
Then Vanessa came into our lives.
And now my dead wife was kneeling in my kitchen.
Alive.
I finally managed one word.
“Why?”
Rachel looked at me.
“You think I chose this?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Then start with the truth.”
Vanessa laughed.
A small, ugly sound.
Rachel stood.
“You want the truth?” Vanessa said. “Tell him why you disappeared.”
Rachel’s jaw tightened.
“Tell him why federal investigators were asking about his company.”
I looked between them.
“What investigators?”
Rachel didn’t answer.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“There it is.”
“Shut up,” Rachel said.
“Three years and you’re still pretending?”
“Shut up.”
I stepped between them.
“Both of you stop.”
Sophie jumped.
I immediately lowered my voice.
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
Rachel looked at our daughter, ashamed.
Vanessa didn’t.
That difference stayed with me.
I said, “Rachel, were you in danger?”
“Yes.”
“From who?”
She looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa smiled without humor.
“Careful.”
Rachel ignored her.
“Your business partner.”
I stared.
“Daniel Mercer?”
Sophie suddenly whispered, “The man with the red car.”
My head snapped toward her.
“What man?”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Rachel looked sick.
Sophie pointed toward the driveway.
“He comes when you travel too.”
I walked to the security panel beside the pantry.
I opened the camera history.
Nothing.
Every exterior camera had been disabled for the last six weeks.
I turned toward Vanessa.
“You said the system was malfunctioning.”
“It was.”
Rachel said, “No. She gave Mercer the access code.”
Vanessa snapped, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rachel stepped closer.
“I watched you do it.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I looked at Rachel.
“You were inside my house?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Vanessa answered for her.
“She has a key.”
I felt cold.
Rachel slowly reached into her coat pocket.
She placed a brass house key on the counter.
My old key.
The one I had reported missing two months after her “death.”
I picked it up.
“You had this the entire time?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“More times than you know.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because my brain had stopped accepting reality.
“You tried?”
“Vanessa intercepted everything.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“Oh, come on.”
Rachel pulled a phone from her coat.
Old.
Cracked.
She opened a folder.
Screenshots.
Emails addressed to me.
Dozens.
None had ever reached my inbox.
Then voice recordings.
Pictures of Sophie.
Pictures of Vanessa meeting Daniel Mercer outside restaurants.
One photograph stopped me.
Mercer and Vanessa were sitting inside his red Aston Martin.
Kissing.
I looked at Vanessa.
She didn’t deny it.
That somehow hurt worse.
Sophie tugged on my sleeve.
“Daddy?”
I forced myself to look down.
“What?”
“The red-car man has a room.”
Rachel went still.
“What room?”
Sophie pointed toward the wine cellar door.
Vanessa lunged toward her.
Rachel blocked her.
I grabbed the wine-cellar handle.
It was locked.
My house.
My cellar.
Locked from the outside with a padlock I had never seen.
Vanessa whispered, “Ethan, don’t.”
I turned.
“What’s down there?”
She looked toward Sophie.
Then Rachel.
Then me.
“Something you’re not ready to see.”
I took a fireplace poker from beside the living-room hearth.
Two strikes broke the lock.
I opened the door.
May you like
The lights below were already on.
And at the bottom of the stairs sat Daniel Mercer.
