The first gunshot came from downstairs at 12:17 in the morning. The second thing Savannah Reed heard was her three-year-old daughter laughing. That terrified her more.

The stone stairs inside the hidden wall were cold, damp, and smelled strongly of aged pine and seawater.

Evan closed the hidden panel behind them, plunging them into near-total darkness, save for the faint amber glow of an old battery-operated storm lantern he retrieved from a small niche in the stone wall.

He led the way down, step by agonizing step, using his good arm to steady himself against the rough mortar.

Savannah followed close behind, holding Lucy tightly against her shoulder. The sounds of the gun battle above gradually faded into a dull, muffled thud as they descended deeper into the bedrock beneath the estate.

“How many floors does this go down?” Savannah whispered, her heart still beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

“Just two,” Evan replied, his voice echoing softly in the narrow shaft. “It connects the old wine cellars to the natural sea caves under the cliff. My great-grandfather built them during Prohibition to move liquor off the boats.”

“And that’s where you’ve been living?” Savannah asked, piecing together the clues from the past seven weeks. “Under the floor?”

Evan paused on a narrow landing, resting his uninjured side against the wall to catch his breath. In the dim lantern light, his face looked ghostly pale, the white scar on his jaw standing out starkly.

“I haven't been living here for ten years, Savannah,” Evan said quietly, looking back at her. “I’ve been hiding in a cabin in northern Maine under a dead man’s name. I only came back three weeks ago because I found out Vance was coming for Vincent.”

“Vance said your family buried you,” Savannah pressed, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. “They put an empty coffin in the ground.”

Evan let out a dry, bitter laugh. “It wasn't an empty coffin. There was a body in it. One of Vance’s hitmen who tried to blow up my boat ten years ago. Vincent pulled me out of the burning water, hid me in a private clinic in Boston, and told the world I was dead.”

“Why?”

“Because ten years ago, my father left our family business in total ruin,” Evan explained, leaning heavy on the lantern. “He owed millions to the mob, including Vance. The only way to clear the debt and save the remaining legal assets was for one of the Marlowe heirs to take the fall... and the other to stay behind to rebuild.”

Savannah’s jaw dropped slightly. “You pretended to die so Vincent could save the family business?”

“I didn't pretend,” Evan murmured, his gaze dropping to the wet stone floor. “I chose it. Vincent was always the brilliant one—the businessman, the strategist. I was the enforcement side. If I stayed, Vance would have used me to destroy everything Vincent tried to build. So I stayed dead.”

“Until now,” Savannah said softly.

“Until Vance found proof that I survived,” Evan corrected, resuming his slow walk down the stairs. “Someone in Vincent’s inner circle sold the information. Vance realized that if he captured me alive, he could force Vincent to sign over the shipping docks to buy my freedom.”

Lucy shifted in Savannah’s arms, reaching out her tiny hand toward the dark wall.

“Mommy?” Lucy whispered. “The dark house is loud.”

“I know, baby,” Savannah soothed, kissing her forehead. “We’re almost out.”

They reached the bottom of the staircase, stepping out into a vast, cavernous space where the sound of crashing ocean waves echoed loudly against high stone ceilings.

The sea cave.

Floating in the dark, tide-swollen water near the rocky ledge was a small, high-powered motorboat tied to an iron cleat.

Beside the boat stood a figure in a dark rain slicker, holding a heavy flashlight.

The light snapped on, blinding Savannah instantly.

“Well, well,” a calm, familiar woman’s voice echoed through the cave. “You made it down faster than I expected, Evan.”