Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Hardwood
Mark pressed a single finger to his lips, signaling Sarah into total silence. He reached behind his back, his fingers closing around the cold, textured grip of the Sig Sauer. Moving with feline grace, he eased her behind the water heater into the darkest alcove of the unfinished cellar.
Above them, the footsteps paused. A floorboard groaned near the coat closet where Mark had left his canvas duffel bag.
Mark crept toward the bottom of the wooden stairs, keeping his weight pressed against the outside stringer to prevent the wood from squeaking. His senses sharpened to an agonizing pitch; every drop of condensation hitting the concrete floor sounded like a falling pebble. He knew he hadn't left the back door unlocked, which meant whoever was upstairs had picked the lock or used a duplicate key.
Evelyn.
The name Sarah had mentioned flashed in his mind. The female private investigator she claimed to have canceled on Friday. What if Evelyn had never worked for Sarah at all? What if she was Mercer’s scout, sent to map the house and secure leverage?
A soft, metallic click echoed down the stairwell. The basement door at the top of the landing swung open another two inches. A beam of white LED light sliced through the darkness, sweeping across the concrete floor, catching the edges of the lumber stacks.
Mark flattened himself against the drywall beneath the staircase, his breath locked in his chest.
The beam moved slowly, tracking across the safe’s open door. A silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs—tall, lean, wearing a dark windbreaker and a baseball cap pulled low over the brow. The intruder took one step down, the rubber sole of their shoe finding purchase on the first tread.
One step.
Two steps.
As the intruder reached the third step, Mark lunged from the shadows.
He didn't draw his weapon to shoot; gunfire in a closed basement would alert anyone waiting outside. Instead, Mark seized the intruder’s ankle and yanked violently forward. The intruder let out a sharp gasp as their feet flew out from under them, tumbling down the flight of stairs in a chaotic tangle of limbs before slamming into the concrete floor.
The flashlight clattered away, spinning wildly and illuminating the ceiling. Mark drove his knee into the intruder’s spine, pinning them face-down, and pressed the barrel of his pistol against the base of their skull.
"Move and you die," Mark hissed.
"Mark, wait!" a woman's voice rasped, muffled against the dusty floor. "Don't shoot! I'm not with them!"
Mark gripped the back of her jacket collar and hauled her head up into the flashlight beam. It was the woman from the black sedan—sharp cheekbones, short blonde hair, and bruised lips from the fall.
"Evelyn," Sarah gasped, stepping out from behind the water heater.
"You took my daughter," Mark growled, pressing the steel harder against her neck. "Where is she?"
"I didn't take her, you idiot!" Evelyn wheezed, struggling against his immense weight. "I was trailing Mercer’s crew! I saw them lift her from the street. If you shoot me, you'll never find the warehouse they took her to."
Mark didn't lessen the pressure. "You were parked outside my house thirty minutes ago. You watched Lily leave."
"I was watching Mercer's spotter across the street!" Evelyn shot back, coughing. "Sarah hired me to dig into your finances, but the moment I pulled your company's old accounts, Mercer's shell company flagged my search. They’ve been tailing both of us for three days. The sedan that snatched Lily wasn't mine—it was theirs. Mine is parked three streets over behind the pharmacy."
Mark stared down at her, reading the micro-expressions in her eyes. There was no hesitation, no deceit, only the cold, hard adrenaline of a professional who knew she was inches from death.
"Why come down here?" Mark asked.
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"Because they left a package on your porch," Evelyn said, breathing hard. "I grabbed it before anyone else saw it. Check my right jacket pocket."
Mark kept the gun pinned with his right hand and reached his left into her pocket. His fingers closed around a digital voice recorder and a small plastic zip-lock bag. Inside the bag was Lily’s silver baptism bracelet, stained with a single drop of fresh crimson blood.
