Chapter 7 - THE HOUSE THAT WAS WAITING
The federal van sped through the underground exit.
Emma lay strapped to a medical transport stretcher.
A paramedic monitored her pulse.
Grant sat across from me.
He avoided my eyes.
“Where are we going?”
I asked.
“A secure location.”
“Which means what?”
“A federal medical facility.”
“Where?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“You told me Daniel was a protected witness.”
“He was.”
“You told me Northbridge wanted to silence him.”
“They do.”
“You did not tell me he helped create whatever they were doing.”
Grant leaned forward.
“Daniel’s involvement is complicated.”
“That is what people say when the truth sounds terrible.”
He looked toward Emma.
“I cannot discuss classified evidence in front of your daughter.”
I laughed without humor.
“She wore a recording device in her sock.”
Grant said nothing.
“She was locked in a pantry.”
Still nothing.
“She was injured over and over while adults photographed the bruises.”
His jaw tightened.
“Do not tell me she needs protection from information.”
“I am trying to protect her from the people involved.”
“Then tell me who they are.”
“Gerald is one of them.”
“Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“Patricia?”
“We believe so.”
“And Daniel?”
Grant looked away.
I felt the answer before he spoke.
“We do not know.”
“You are lying.”
“I am not.”
“You know enough to be afraid of him.”
Grant stayed silent.
The paramedic looked toward the front.
“We are being followed.”
The driver checked the mirror.
“Black SUV.”
Grant turned.
“How long?”
“Three blocks.”
The agent in the passenger seat reached for his radio.
Static.
The SUV moved closer.
Emma opened her eyes.
“Mommy?”
I squeezed her hand.
“I’m right here.”
The van turned sharply.
The SUV stayed behind us.
Grant spoke to the driver.
“Take Route Nine.”
“That leads toward the river.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“What is at the river?”
“A secure garage.”
The driver accelerated.
The SUV moved beside us.
Its passenger window lowered.
The agent shouted.
“Get down.”
I leaned over Emma.
A sharp crack hit the side of the van.
Then another.
The vehicle swerved.
Emma cried out.
The paramedic shielded her head.
The driver pushed through an intersection.
Cars honked and scattered.
The SUV fell behind for a moment.
Grant pulled out his phone.
“No network.”
The agent beside him checked his weapon.
“They blocked communications.”
“How?”
I asked.
“Portable jammer.”
The SUV returned.
This time it rammed the rear corner of the van.
The impact threw Grant against the wall.
The paramedic nearly fell across Emma.
I held the stretcher rail.
“Stop them.”
I shouted.
The driver turned toward an industrial district.
The SUV followed.
Grant opened a metal case under the seat.
Inside were several tracking units.
He picked one up and stared at it.
Then he looked toward the stretcher.
“What?”
I asked.
He moved closer to Emma.
“Someone is tracking us.”
He searched the stretcher frame.
Nothing.
Then he checked the sling around Emma’s shoulder.
His fingers stopped.
A small silver disk was hidden under the fabric.
The paramedic stared at it.
“That was not placed by us.”
Grant removed it.
“When was the sling fitted?”
“At the hospital.”
The answer came from me.
Grant crushed the device beneath his shoe.
The SUV suddenly slowed.
Then it turned away.
The van became silent.
Someone at the hospital had marked Emma.
Not me.
Not Grant.
Emma.
Grant looked toward the paramedic.
“Check everything.”
The paramedic searched Emma’s blanket, gown, IV line, and pillow.
He found nothing else.
I watched Grant.
“You knew there was a leak.”
“We suspected one.”
“And you still moved her through the hospital.”
“We had no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
The van entered a concrete garage near the river.
Steel doors closed behind us.
Armed agents surrounded the vehicle.
A doctor waited with a mobile bed.
Emma was transferred immediately.
I stayed beside her until Grant blocked my path.
“You need to come with me.”
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“I am not leaving her again.”
“The doctor will stay with her.”
“I do not care.”
Grant lowered his voice.
“We found Daniel.”
I stopped.
“Where?”
“At Gerald’s house.”
The same house where the breakfast room still smelled like grease.
The same house where photographs of Emma’s bruises had been locked away.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Was he kidnapped?”
Grant hesitated.
“No.”
The answer hollowed me out.
“What was he doing there?”
“We do not know.”
“You have cameras.”
“We lost the interior feed.”
“You had a feed inside the house?”
“Daniel installed it.”
I stared at him.
“He installed federal surveillance?”
“Part of his agreement.”
“So he was working with you.”
“Yes.”
“And with them?”
Grant looked toward the concrete floor.
“That is what we are trying to determine.”
A screen on the wall flickered on.
The image showed Gerald’s house.
The driveway.
The front porch.
The breakfast room windows.
A man stepped outside.
Daniel.
He wore the same dark coat he had taken to Chicago.
He looked calm.
Uninjured.
He stopped beneath the porch light and looked directly toward the hidden camera.
Then he raised one hand.
He held a white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Grant leaned toward the monitor.
“What is he doing?”
Daniel slowly opened the envelope.
He removed a photograph.
Then he held it up to the camera.
The image was blurred at first.
The feed sharpened.
It showed Emma asleep in the hospital bed.
Taken less than an hour earlier.
My breath stopped.
Daniel turned the photograph over.
Words were written on the back.
Grant zoomed in.
Bring Sarah home.
No police.
No agents.
Midnight.
Daniel lowered the photograph.
Then Vanessa stepped onto the porch behind him.
She placed one hand on his shoulder.
He did not move away.
She smiled toward the camera.
Daniel looked into the lens.
Then he spoke.
There was no sound.
May you like
But I read his lips.
She belongs to us.
