Chapter 5 - The Man in the Blue Sweater
A profound, suffocating silence fell over the line, broken only by Daniel’s ragged, uneven breathing and the rhythmic thump of windshield wipers in the background.
“Clara...” Daniel whispered, his voice cracking completely. “Oh God, Clara. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I lied to you. I swore I would never bring that part of my life back into our home. When Emily showed up at my workshop on Thursday night shaking and crying, holding that drive... I thought I could handle it. I thought I could protect everyone without you ever having to feel this fear.”
“You idiot,” I cried, a mixture of overwhelming love and furious exasperation tearing through my chest. “You absolute, stubborn idiot! We’ve been partners for thirty-two years! You don't lock me in a house to protect me from the world!”
“I was terrified, Clara,” he confessed, his voice breaking into an open sob. “When you walked into the kitchen and told me Marcus was on the phone... I saw Cruz’s black sedan sitting at the end of our cul-de-sac through the kitchen window. If you had walked out the front door, they would have taken you as leverage. I panicked. I just wanted to keep you inside those walls.”
“Where are the boys, Daniel?” I asked, sudden terror gripping my throat as I remembered our twin grandsons playing with trains on our living room carpet. “Where are Leo and Toby?”
“They’re safe,” Daniel said quickly, his voice regaining a shred of investigator steel. “As soon as you drove through the garage door, I called my sister, Sarah. She came through the back fence and took the boys through the woods to her house. They’re safe, Clara. Nobody followed them.”
Detective Miller stepped forward, tapping the notepad and pointing to the phone. He whispered silently: *Ask about the flash drive.*
“Daniel,” I said into the speaker. “Where is the evidence Cruz wants? Do you have it?”
“No,” Daniel replied, his voice dropping low. “Emily had it in her backpack. When Cruz’s men ambushed Room 118, Ryan tackled the first man through the door to give Emily time to run. Ryan didn't have the drive. But Cruz’s muscle—a man named Thomas Vance—dragged Ryan into a black SUV. They told Emily that if she doesn't bring the drive to the Route 9 gravel pit in forty-five minutes, Ryan won't leave that quarry alive.”
“I’m with Detective Miller,” I told him, looking at the officer.
Miller leaned toward the phone, his expression grim. “Daniel, this is Miller. Do not go to that quarry alone. I’m calling state tactical units right now. We need twenty minutes to assemble a perimeter.”
“We don't have twenty minutes, Miller!” Daniel shouted, the engine in his car roaring as he downshifted. “Cruz knows you’re in his pocket, or at least he suspects someone in the precinct tipped him off! If Vance sees flashing lights or marked cruisers within a mile of Route 9, he’ll put a bullet in my son’s head and bury him under twenty tons of gravel!”
“Daniel, wait!” Miller ordered, but the line went dead with a sharp click.
I looked at the detective. His face was pale, his jaw set in a hard, grim line.
“He’s going to trade himself for Ryan,” I said, the horrific certainty settling into my bones like lead. “He’s going to walk into that quarry with an empty hand and try to negotiate.”
“He won't survive that,” Miller said bluntly. “Vance doesn't negotiate. He’s Cruz’s cleanup man. He was convicted of manslaughter in Atlanta ten years ago and walked on a procedural technicality. If Vance doesn't get that flash drive, he’ll execute Ryan and Daniel both.”
I grabbed Miller’s sleeve, my fingernails digging through the fabric of his suit jacket. “Then we find Emily. She has the real drive. If we have the drive, we have the leverage.”
“Marcus said she ran toward the boathouse,” Miller muttered, already moving toward the doorway. “The marina shoreline is thick with marsh and overgrown brush. If she’s panicked, she could be anywhere along a two-mile stretch.”
“She’s not anywhere,” I said, my maternal instincts cutting through the panic with sudden, crystalline clarity. “Emily grew up coming to this lake with her grandfather. When she and Ryan first started dating, she told me about a hidden storage shed beneath the old wooden pier behind the bait shop where she used to hide when summer storms rolled in. If she’s terrified, she’ll go to the only place she feels invisible.”
May you like
Without waiting for Miller’s response, I turned and sprinted out of the motel room, heading straight into the driving rain toward the dark, churning waters of Lake Oconee.
***
