Chapter 8 - WHAT MY FATHER BURIEDPolice tore Trailer 417 apart.
Not the FBI.
Not because I distrusted Agent Hale, but because someone inside law enforcement had protected Richard Vale for years.
Ruiz had saved Maisie.
That was enough.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she said, “Do not go inside alone.”
“He'll see police.”
“He probably expects you to bring police.”
“Then what?”
“We give him exactly what he expects.”
Thirty minutes later, I drove toward the abandoned school by myself.
At least it looked that way.
Ruiz coordinated surveillance from far outside Connor's likely perimeter.
No marked vehicles.
No nearby agents.
I wore no obvious wire.
My phone transmitted audio from inside my pocket.
The school had closed after a flood six years earlier.
Broken windows stared across an overgrown parking lot.
Behind the gymnasium sat three rusting trailers.
One number remained visible beneath layers of dirt.
The door stood open.
“Connor?”
Nothing.
I entered.
The smell hit first.
Oil.
Rust.
Old wood.
Dad's world.
Inside, wooden crates lined both walls.
At the far end sat Michael.
Tied to a chair.
Alive.
“Daniel.”
I moved toward him.
“Stop.”
Connor stepped from behind a crate.
He held a pistol.
His face looked worse than before.
Bruised.
Exhausted.
“Where's your father?” I asked.
“Not here.”
“Untie Michael.”
“Notebook.”
I held it up.
“You get it when he walks out.”
Connor laughed without humor.
“You've become brave.”
“No.”
I looked at Michael.
“I'm terrified.”
That seemed to surprise him.
“Good.”
Connor gestured toward a steel workbench.
“Put it there.”
I did.
He walked toward the notebook.
Michael suddenly shouted.
“Daniel, behind you!”
I turned.
Walter Briggs swung a metal bar.
It struck my shoulder.
Pain exploded down my arm.
I crashed into a crate.
Connor spun.
“Briggs!”
Briggs fired.
Connor dropped.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then Briggs pointed the gun at me.
“You Mercers cause extraordinary inconvenience.”
“Michael—”
“Will die.”
Briggs grabbed Dad's notebook.
“Richard waited a long time for this.”
Sirens didn't come.
Ruiz was waiting for my signal.
I couldn't reach my phone.
Briggs dragged Michael upright.
“Move.”
Michael struggled.
I lunged.
Briggs kicked me in the ribs.
The room blurred.
Then Connor moved.
He was bleeding heavily from his side, but he grabbed Briggs' ankle.
Briggs fell.
The gun skidded away.
Michael slammed his chair backward.
Chaos erupted.
I crawled toward the pistol.
Briggs saw me.
We reached it simultaneously.
A shot exploded.
For half a second, I believed I had been hit.
Then Briggs collapsed.
Connor held another pistol.
He had fired.
Outside, vehicles roared toward the school.
Ruiz had heard the shot.
Connor leaned against the wall.
“You weren't supposed to survive,” Briggs groaned.
Connor looked down at him.
“Neither was Rachel.”
Police stormed the trailer.
Briggs was arrested.
Michael was freed.
Connor surrendered.
As paramedics treated him, I demanded answers.
“Where is Richard?”
Connor stared at Dad's notebook.
“He'll know Briggs failed.”
“Where will he go?”
“Somewhere you've already been.”
My stomach tightened.
“Rachel?”
Connor nodded.
Hospital lockdown began immediately.
But Richard didn't go to Rachel's floor.
He went to pediatric care.
To Maisie.
A man dressed as a hospital maintenance worker entered the service corridor minutes before security closed the building.
Security footage showed him pushing a cleaning cart.
Then cameras on the pediatric floor went black.
I called Rachel.
No answer.
Michael called.
No answer.
We raced toward the hospital with police escort.
When we arrived, Rachel's room was empty.
A nurse lay unconscious near the doorway.
Maisie's bed was empty too.
On the pillow sat one object.
Her white stuffed rabbit.
Someone had stitched the torn seam closed.
Inside, Detective Ruiz found a note.
BRING TRAILER 417 TO THE RIVER.
No signature.
None needed.
May you like
Richard had Rachel and Maisie.
And whatever Dad had hidden in Trailer 417 mattered enough that he was willing to trade for them.
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