Chapter 3 - The Rabbit in the Driveway
I reached the street in four seconds.
Rachel’s SUV was already gone.
Marcus stood frozen.
“What did she do?”
I grabbed him by the shirt.
“Where did your wife take my daughter?”
“I don’t know!”
For once, I believed him.
Warren did not look surprised.
That made him the more interesting target.
I released Marcus.
“Call Rachel.”
He did.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
The neighbors had stopped filming.
The entire barbecue had transformed from spectacle into something nobody understood.
Devon handed me Lily’s rabbit.
“There’s something inside.”
A seam along the back had been cut and resewn.
I ripped it open.
A tiny GPS transmitter dropped into my palm.
Not consumer grade.
Military.
Someone had been tracking Lily.
My daughter’s favorite stuffed animal had been bugged.
Marcus stared.
“That thing’s been in our house.”
“How long?”
“She brings it every time.”
Warren quietly started walking toward his back door.
I called after him.
“Don’t.”
He kept moving.
Devon stepped into his path.
Warren’s expression changed.
“You work for me.”
“Not anymore.”
Marcus looked between his father and me.
“What the hell is going on?”
I wanted an answer too.
Instead, my phone buzzed.
One message.
Unknown number.
A photograph of Lily inside Rachel’s SUV.
She looked frightened but unharmed.
Below it:
Bring the Blackridge file to 1418 Calder Road.
Come alone.
I had never heard of Calder Road.
Marcus read over my shoulder.
“Blackridge?”
“Not your problem.”
“My daughter’s aunt just kidnapped your kid. It’s my problem.”
He was right.
I hated that.
Warren laughed softly.
Everyone turned.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
His arrogance had returned.
Different now.
Not neighborhood bully arrogance.
The confidence of a man who believed he knew more than everyone else.
“Know what?”
He looked directly at me.
“Rachel didn’t kidnap Lily.”
“Then what did she do?”
“She finally chose which family she belongs to.”
I stepped toward him.
Marcus stepped too.
“Dad, what does that mean?”
Warren’s eyes shifted to his son.
For the first time, I saw something close to pity.
Then he said:
“You think Claire hid who she was from Rachel?”
A smile.
“She hid what she did to your mother.”
Marcus went completely still.
His mother, Anne Caldwell, had died twelve years ago.
Car accident.
Drunk driver.
That was the family story.
Warren looked at me.
“Tell him, Major.”
I said nothing.
Because I had seen Anne Caldwell once before she died.
Not at a family dinner.
Not at Rachel’s wedding.
May you like
In a classified interrogation room in Kabul.
And at the time, her name had not been Anne Caldwell.
