The object Rachel pulled from her leather medical bag wasn’t a weapon, but to Daniel, it carried the weight of a loaded gun.

For forty-eight hours, Daniel vanished into thin air.

The police set up a security detail outside my hospital room, while Sarah and Rachel stayed by my side. With the toxic sedatives out of my system and proper nutrition finally being administered through an IV, my mind cleared at an astonishing rate. For the first time in months, I felt awake, sharp, and focused.

On the third evening, while Sarah was downstairs getting coffee and the guard officer was stepping outside for a shift change, my cell phone—which police had recovered from the house—rang from a private number.

I answered it immediately, putting it on speaker and hitting the record button Rachel had installed for me.

"Clara..."

Daniel’s voice was ragged, breathing heavily through what sounded like a storm of rain.

"Daniel," I said smoothly, keeping my voice cold and calm. "Are you cold out there?"

"You stupid bitch," he snarled, his voice trembling with unhinged rage. "You ruined everything! You ruined seven years of planning! Do you have any idea what you've done to me?!"

"I didn't do anything to you, Daniel," I replied quietly. "You did this to yourself when you pressed your finger into my flesh. You did this when you poisoned my soup. You did this when you stole my home."

"Listen to me carefully," he hissed, the sound of wind whipping through his phone receiver. "The police think they have everything, but they don't know about the offshore accounts in the Caymans. I have the encryption key. It's stored in the wall safe behind the painting in our master bedroom. If I don't get that drive, I'm going to ruin your sister. I'm going to leak the altered documents I created that show Sarah helped me steal your money."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my tone to remain steady. "Sarah had nothing to do with this, and you know it."

"The paper trail says otherwise!" he laughed, a desperate, hysterical sound. "I forged her signature on three loan documents eight months ago! If I go down, she goes down with me for conspiracy! Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you get that drive for me," he whispered. "Tell the police you made a mistake. Tell them you were delirious from the cancer. Get them to release the house from the crime scene hold. Put the drive in the mailbox behind the garage by tomorrow midnight. If you do that... I disappear forever, and I leave Sarah out of it."

The line went dead.

I sat in the quiet hospital room, holding the phone. My hands were shaking, but not from fear.

A knock sounded at the door, and Detective Miller walked in, holding two cups of tea. "Everything alright, Clara?"

I raised my phone. "I have him on tape. He just called me."

Miller’s eyes went sharp. "Did he give away his location?"

"No," I said, setting the phone down. "But he gave away his target. He’s going back to the house tomorrow night. He thinks there’s an encryption drive in the master bedroom wall safe that holds his offshore money."

Miller pulled out her radio. "I'll call SWAT. We can set up an ambush inside the perimeter."

"No," I said, leaning forward despite the dull ache in my side. "If he sees police cars or SWAT vans, he'll run again. He knows every inch of that neighborhood. He knows how to slide through the creek woods behind the property."

"What are you suggesting, Clara?" Miller asked, narrowing her eyes.

"He thinks I'm weak," I said, a dark smile touching my lips for the first time in a year. "He thinks I'm a terrified, dying cancer patient who will do whatever he says to protect my sister. Let him think the house is empty. Let him think I dropped off the drive."