Chapter 7 - The Old Bennett FarmMy father bought the old Bennett farm when he was twenty-six years old.
Firefighters had already broken through the gate.
Smoke rolled above the roses my parents had planted for thirty-five years.
For one irrational second, that hurt more than the house being threatened.
Those roses were birthdays.
Anniversaries.
Apologies.
Memorials.
Dad planted a new variety after every major moment in our family.
My mother's white climbers grew nearest the shed.
My daughter Emma's yellow roses were near the fountain.
The deep-red bushes lining the stone path had been planted the year I married Nathan.
Watching those burn felt strangely appropriate.
“Owen!”
A paramedic stopped me.
“He's alive.”
They had found him outside the shed.
Smoke inhalation.
Burns to his hands.
A fractured wrist from forcing a side window.
Someone had hit him from behind, dragged him into the shed, and locked the door before starting the fire.
Cross stood near the fire chief.
“Accelerant in at least three locations.”
“Was anything stolen?”
“Too early to know.”
I looked toward the house.
Then I saw an upstairs window standing open.
Dad's office.
“Agent Cross.”
She followed my gaze.
We entered with two deputies.
The office had been searched.
Desk drawers dumped.
Cabinets open.
Mattress cushions from the adjoining study slashed.
Whoever came here thought the evidence was still on the property.
They didn't know about the train-station locker.
Dad had been right to move everything.
One thing was missing.
The old family laptop.
“Why take that?” Cross asked.
“Maybe they think Dad used it.”
“Did he?”
“Sometimes.”
Miriam called from the hospital.
Owen was stable.
Then another call came.
My daughter.
Emma was twenty-four and living in Atlanta.
“Mom?”
Her voice shook.
I stepped into the hallway.
“What happened?”
“Two police officers are at my apartment.”
Everything in me went cold.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. They said somebody tried to get into my building.”
“Stay with them.”
“Mom, what's happening?”
I had spent days trying to keep her away from this.
Suddenly that felt foolish.
“Emma, listen carefully. Nathan and Vanessa may be involved in something dangerous.”
“Nathan?”
She had never called him Dad.
Nathan wasn't her biological father, but he had helped raise her from age eight.
Their relationship had deteriorated after our divorce.
“What did he do?”
“I'll explain later.”
“I'm coming home.”
“No.”
“Grandpa died, somebody tried to break into my apartment, and your answer is no?”
“My answer is stay somewhere protected.”
“Mom—”
“Please.”
She heard something in my voice and stopped arguing.
“I'll go with the officers.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hung up.
Cross had heard enough.
“Plan B,” she said.
“Pressure me through Emma.”
“Possibly.”
I wanted to vomit.
Then one deputy called from Dad's office.
He had found a wireless camera attached beneath a bookshelf.
Not Dad's.
A small commercial surveillance unit.
Still powered.
Still transmitting.
Cross's team traced the signal.
The receiver wasn't far.
A rental property three streets away.
Officers entered forty minutes later.
Nobody was there.
But they found screens displaying live feeds from the estate.
My gate.
Dad's office.
The rose shed.
And my bedroom.
I stood in front of the monitor looking at my own bed.
Someone had been watching me sleep.
Cross disconnected the camera.
“We'll process everything.”
On the desk was a legal pad.
Most pages were blank.
One line was written near the top.
C gets 48 hours after reading. E if needed.
Emma.
I didn't need anyone to explain that initial.
I called her again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
The officers assigned to her picked up.
“She went into the bathroom at the hotel about ten minutes ago.”
“And?”
A pause.
“She's not in there.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean she's not there?”
“The restroom has a second service exit. We didn't know.”
Cross grabbed the phone.
“Lock down the building.”
I could barely breathe.
Then a text appeared on my phone.
From Emma.
Mom, I'm okay. Don't freak out. Nathan called. He says Vanessa is framing him and he has proof. I'm meeting him somewhere public.
I immediately called.
Voicemail.
Cross swore.
“Track her phone.”
Investigators worked fast.
Her device was moving north on Interstate 26.
Cross called state police.
I stared at Emma's message.
Nathan knew exactly how to reach her.
He had raised her.
Bought her first bicycle.
Taught her how to drive.
When she was thirteen and broke her arm, he slept in a hospital chair all night.
Those memories were real.
That was what made betrayal so efficient.
It used the truth as camouflage.
Twenty-three minutes later, state troopers located Emma's phone.
Not Emma.
The phone lay on the shoulder of the highway.
Cross looked at me.
“We're going to find her.”
I didn't answer.
Another text arrived.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
Emma sat inside a vehicle.
Alive.
Terrified.
Beside her was Nathan.
He wasn't smiling.
The message beneath it read:
48 HOURS. SIGN OVER WALTER'S BENNETT MARINE SHARES AND RESIDENTIAL PROPERTY TO SILVER COAST. NO POLICE.
Cross read it.
“Kidnapping just changed everything.”
Then another message.
Claire knows Nathan's old cabin. Come alone tomorrow, 6 A.M. Documents ready.
I did know the cabin.
Nathan's family owned a hunting property two hours northwest.
Cross immediately began planning.
I stared at Nathan's face in the photograph.
Something bothered me.
His left hand.
He was holding it against the seat.
Two fingers were extended.
Three folded.
Then four.
Then one.
Or maybe I was imagining it.
3-4-1.
No.
Nathan used to teach Emma emergency codes when she was young.
If they ever became separated in public, she was supposed to show three fingers and then one.
Three-one.
Need help.
But here Nathan was signaling something else.
I enlarged the image.
His fingers weren't random.
Dad's notebook contained numbered entries.
I pulled out photographs of the pages.
Entry 341 had one sentence.
N.C. says V will kill anyone who threatens exposure. Unsure whether fear is genuine or performance.
I stared at Nathan.
Maybe he was warning me.
Maybe he was manipulating me again.
Then the unknown number sent one final message.
And Claire? If you bring police, we'll bury Emma where Walter buried the truth.
I looked through the window at the blackened rose garden.
Where Walter buried the truth.
Suddenly I remembered something Owen had told me years ago.
Dad's original rose garden wasn't beside the house.
It had been somewhere else.
Before the main estate was built.
An older Bennett property.
An abandoned farmhouse.
Northwest of Charleston.
Less than ten miles from Nathan's cabin.
May you like
The kidnappers had accidentally told me where they were going.
And this time, we weren't waiting until morning.
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