Chapter 13
Emily survived.
Barely.
She had lost a lot of blood. She had multiple cuts and bruises, a broken rib, and signs of malnutrition. The doctors said it would be a long road to recovery, but she would live.
I went to see her in the hospital a few days later.
She was lying in the bed, pale and weak, her face still bruised. But when she saw me, she tried to smile.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Hey yourself," I said, sitting down beside her bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I went ten rounds with a Whitmore and lived to tell the tale." Her voice was hoarse, but there was a spark of her old humor in her eyes. "I hear you didn't give him the company."
"No," I said. "I didn't."
"Good." Emily reached out and took my hand. Her hand was cold, weak. "I wouldn't have forgiven you if you had. What he did to me... that's on him. Not you. You did the right thing."
Tears stung my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Emily. I never should have let this happen to you. You came to us for help, and we let him take you."
"You didn't let him do anything," Emily said firmly. "Daniel is a monster. He would have found me eventually. At least this way, he didn't get what he wanted. And he's still out there. Still dangerous."
She was right.
Daniel was still free. And now he was even more dangerous, because he knew we wouldn't give in to his demands. He had nothing left to lose.
The police expanded their search. The FBI got involved. Daniel was added to the Ten Most Wanted list. There were sightings reported all over the country—none confirmed.
But we all knew he was still nearby. He wouldn't leave without finishing what he started.
Life at the Bennett Group continued, but under heavy security.
We had guards at the office. Guards at our new home—we had moved again, to a more secure location. Emma had a bodyguard with her at all times, even when she was just playing in the backyard.
It was exhausting.
But we had no choice.
One evening, as Ryan and I were going through security footage from the office, I noticed something.
"Ryan," I said, pointing to the screen. "Look at this."
It was footage from the loading dock, taken two days earlier. A delivery truck had pulled up. The driver had gotten out, signed for the package, and driven away.
But something about the driver was familiar.
"Zoom in," I said.
Ryan zoomed in on the driver's face. It was partially obscured by a baseball cap, but there was no mistaking it.
Daniel.
"He was here," Ryan said, his voice tight. "At our office. Two days ago."
I felt sick. He had been so close. Right under our noses.
"We need to call Detective Alvarez," I said.
But before I could reach for the phone, the lights went out.
The entire house went dark.
"Ryan?" I said, my heart racing.
"I'm here," he said, his voice close. "Stay calm. It's probably just a power outage."
But we both knew it wasn't.
The security system started beeping—an alarm. One of the perimeter sensors had been triggered.
"Emma," I said, already moving toward her room.
Ryan was ahead of me, moving fast through the dark house. We reached Emma's room just as her nightlight flickered and died. She was sitting up in her crib, crying, scared by the sudden darkness.
Ryan picked her up, holding her close. "It's okay, baby. Daddy's here."
I grabbed the emergency flashlight from the dresser and turned it on. The beam cut through the darkness.
"We need to get to the safe room," I said.
The safe room was in the basement—reinforced steel walls, a separate ventilation system, a direct line to the police and the Marshals.
We moved quickly through the house, Ryan holding Emma, me holding the flashlight. We were halfway down the basement stairs when we heard it.
A window breaking. Upstairs.
Daniel was in the house.
"Run," Ryan said.
We ran the rest of the way down the stairs. I fumbled with the keypad on the safe room door, my hands shaking. The light from the flashlight was unsteady.
"Come on, come on," I muttered.
The door clicked open. We rushed inside, and I slammed it shut behind us, engaging the multiple locks.
Ryan set Emma down on the small bed in the corner. She was still crying, clinging to him.
I picked up the emergency phone. It was a landline, separate from the house's main system. It should still work.
I dialed 911.
No dial tone.
I tried again. Nothing.
"The line's cut," I said, my voice cold.
Daniel had cut the phone lines before breaking in. He had planned this.
We had our cell phones, but there was no signal in the safe room—the reinforced walls blocked it.
We were trapped.
"We just wait," Ryan said, trying to sound calm for Emma's sake. "The Marshals check in every hour. When they can't reach us, they'll come. They'll know something's wrong."
But I knew Daniel wouldn't give us an hour.
We heard footsteps on the basement stairs. Heavy. Deliberate.
They stopped right outside the safe room door.
"Claire?" Daniel's voice, muffled through the steel. "Ryan? I know you're in there. Come out and play."
I didn't answer. Ryan held Emma tighter.
"I know you can hear me," Daniel continued. "You think that little steel box will protect you? I have all night. I can wait. And when you get hungry, or thirsty, or when that little girl of yours can't stop crying... you'll come out."
He paused.
"Or I can come in. It might take me a while, but I'll get through that door eventually. And when I do... it won't be pretty."
I looked around the safe room. There was nothing we could use as a weapon. Nothing except the small metal flashlight I was holding.
We were completely defenseless.
Daniel started pounding on the door. A slow, rhythmic thud. Thud. Thud.
Each sound made Emma cry harder.
"Make it stop," she whimpered, burying her face in Ryan's chest.
Ryan looked at me, his eyes filled with fear and helplessness.
I thought quickly. Daniel wanted me. He had always hated me more than he hated Ryan. I was the one who had destroyed his family, who had taken his company, who had turned his own father against him.
If I gave myself up...
No. That was suicide. Daniel would kill me immediately, then come for Ryan and Emma.
But what if I could distract him? Lure him away from the safe room?
I looked at the ventilation shaft in the corner of the room. It was small—too small for an adult to fit through. But maybe...
"Ryan," I whispered, "give me Emma."
He looked at me, confused. "What?"
"Trust me," I said.
He hesitated, then carefully handed Emma to me. I held her close, whispering comforting words to her, while I used my other hand to unscrew the vent cover.
"What are you doing?" Ryan whispered.
"Daniel wants a reaction," I said. "He wants us to be scared. What if instead... we make him think we have a way out?"
I took the flashlight and shined it up the ventilation shaft. Then I started making noise—scraping the metal, coughing, making it sound like someone was trying to climb through.
Ryan caught on. He started talking, loud enough for Daniel to hear through the door.
"Hurry, Claire! Almost there!"
I made more scraping noises. "I can't fit! Ryan, help me!"
Outside, the pounding on the door stopped.
We heard Daniel's voice, closer now, confused. "What the hell..."
We heard him moving away from the door, going back up the stairs. He was going to check the other end of the ventilation shaft—on the other side of the house.
"Now," I whispered.
I quickly put the vent cover back on. Ryan picked up Emma. I unlocked the safe room door, opening it just a crack.
The basement was empty. Daniel was upstairs, searching for the other end of the vent.
We moved as quietly as we could up the basement stairs. The main floor was dark, but I could hear Daniel moving around in the kitchen, cursing as he realized the vent didn't lead anywhere.
The front door was just a few feet away.
We moved toward it, step by step, as quietly as possible. Emma was quiet now, sensing the tension, her face buried in Ryan's shoulder.
I reached out and turned the doorknob.
It was unlocked.
I opened the door just a crack. The cool night air rushed in.
We were almost free.
May you like
And then, Daniel's voice.
"Going somewhere?"
