Chương 8
“We need to go,” she said.
Peter looked at her.
For the first time that night, he did not argue.
They gathered what they could quickly.
The incomplete file.
The note.
The recorder.
Frank took the flashlight.
Peter checked the side exit.
Linda stayed near the table where Daniel’s old documents had been hidden.
Something caught her eye.
A corner of paper sticking out beneath a box.
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then she saw the handwriting.
Not Daniel’s.
Someone else’s.
She pulled it free.
It was a printed email.
The date was six months earlier.
The sender was Daniel Mercer.
The recipient was Frank Dalton.
Linda read the first sentence.
Frank.
If you are reading this, then I was right about the first person I trusted.
Her heart stopped.
She read the next line.
Do not let Linda open the original file until you know who brought it back.
Linda looked up.
“Peter.”
He turned.
“What?”
She held out the paper.
He walked toward her.
Frank did not move.
He did not need to.
His face had already changed.
Peter read the email.
Then he looked at Frank.
“You knew about this.”
Frank’s silence answered before his words did.
“I knew Daniel wrote something.”
“You knew he mentioned Linda.”
“Yes.”
Peter stepped closer.
“What else did you know?”
Frank looked at the ground.
“I knew he was afraid of someone close to him.”
The warehouse went quiet.
Linda felt the words settle.
Someone close.
Not a stranger.
Not an outsider.
Someone they knew.
Peter looked at her.
She saw the same question forming in his eyes.
Neither of them said it.
Because saying it would make it real.
The side door suddenly slammed open.
Everyone turned.
A man stood there in the rain.
Not one of the figures from outside.
Someone older.
Someone Linda recognized.
Her breath caught.
Because she had seen him before.
At Daniel’s funeral.
Standing alone near the back.
Watching everyone leave.
Frank whispered his name.
“Martin.”
The man looked at the three of them.
Then at the recorder in Peter’s hand.
“You should have left that alone.”
Peter stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
The man ignored him.
His eyes stayed on Linda.
“I’m the person who tried to keep your husband alive.”
Linda felt the air leave her lungs.
“What did you say?”
Martin took one step inside.
And before anyone could answer, the lights in the warehouse went out.
Linda heard the sound of the warehouse lights dying one by one.
Not all at once.
That was the part that made her move.
The darkness did not fall like a power outage.
It traveled.
A row of lights near the entrance went black.
Then the middle section.
Then the far corner where Daniel’s old boxes were stacked.
Someone had control of the building.
Peter grabbed Linda’s arm and pulled her behind the nearest shelf.
She almost pulled away.
Almost.
Then she remembered the figures outside.
The message.
The warning.
The fact that every person who had entered this warehouse seemed to know more than she did.
She let him move her.
Frank disappeared into the darkness.
“Frank?” Peter whispered.
No answer.
Linda heard footsteps.
Not rushed.
Not panicked.
Careful.
Whoever was moving through the warehouse knew where they were going.
Peter leaned close.
“Stay here.”
Linda looked at him.
“No.”
“Linda.”
“No.”
Her voice was quiet but firm.
“You don’t get to leave me in the dark while everyone else decides what happens next.”
Peter stared at her.
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue.
Then he stopped.
Because he knew she was right.
A faint beam of light moved across the floor.
Not a flashlight.
A phone screen.
Someone was searching.
Linda held her breath.
The person passed their hiding place without noticing them.
Peter waited until the footsteps moved farther away.
Then he whispered.
“Move on three.”
Linda nodded.
One.
Two.
Three.
They stepped away from the shelf.
The floor creaked.
The person with the phone stopped.
Peter reacted instantly.
He pushed Linda behind him.
A figure turned toward them.
The phone light lifted.
Linda saw Martin’s face.
He looked older in the darkness.
More tired.
Not dangerous.
That somehow made him more difficult to understand.
“You scared me,” Linda whispered.
Martin gave a quiet laugh.
“I was hoping you would say something else.”
“What?”
“That you were glad to see me.”
Nobody answered.
The silence made him look away.
Peter stepped forward.
“You knew Daniel.”
Martin looked at him.
“Yes.”
“You knew about the file.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was in danger.”
Martin’s expression changed.
Not surprise.
Regret.
“Yes.”
Peter’s anger rose.
“And you did nothing?”
Martin looked at Linda.
“I did what I could.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
Martin swallowed.
“It’s the truth.”
Linda watched him carefully.
She had learned something about people since Daniel died.
Everyone had a version of the truth they wanted to protect.
The hard part was finding what they were afraid to say.
“Why were you at his funeral?” she asked.
Martin looked at her.
“Because I owed him.”
“For what?”
He looked down.
“For being wrong about him.”
The answer bothered her.
“What does that mean?”
Martin glanced toward the entrance.
“We cannot do this here.”
Peter stepped closer.
“You don’t get to show up in the middle of the night, say my friend knew something was coming, and then tell us we need to leave before explaining.”
Martin looked at him.
“Your friend?”
The words were quiet.
But they landed.
Peter’s face tightened.
Martin continued.
“You were his friend when things were easy.”
Peter looked away.
Linda noticed.
That was new.
She had never seen Peter unable to answer.
Martin looked at the recorder in Peter’s hand.
“Did you listen to it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel made that recording for one person.”
“Who?”
Martin looked at Linda.
Her stomach tightened.
“Me?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Then who?”
Martin reached into his jacket.
Peter moved instantly.
May you like
“Slowly.”
Martin stopped.
