Chapter 8
I didn’t believe him at first.
Tyler. My little brother. The kid I’d protected from bullies in middle school. The guy who’d walked me down the aisle at my wedding after Mom died. The uncle who’d taught Jake how to ride a bike, who’d brought him candy every time he came over, who’d called me the day after Michael was arrested to say he was sorry, that he’d do anything to help.
Tyler was a lot of things. A deadbeat. A loser who couldn’t hold a job for more than three months. A guy who’d borrowed money from Dad a hundred times and never paid it back. But a criminal? A ringleader of a theft ring? Working with Michael to hurt me and Jake?
It couldn’t be true.
“That’s impossible,” I said, holding Jake tighter. “Tyler would never do that. He hates Michael. He’s always hated him. He told me a hundred times Michael was no good.”
“Look at the papers,” Carter said, holding them out to me.
I took them with my free hand. Jake was still clinging to my neck, his face buried in my shoulder. Dad looked over my arm as I flipped through them.
Bank records. Large deposits going into Tyler’s account every month, for the past three years. Emails between Tyler and Michael, talking about “jobs,” “splitting the take,” “shipping parts across the border.” Text messages. Photos. A contract, signed by both of them, splitting the profits fifty-fifty.
And the last page. A text from Tyler to Michael, sent the night before Michael was arrested.
If she tries to leave, take the kid. I’ll handle the rest. No loose ends.
I dropped the papers. They fluttered to the cabin floor.
My hands were shaking.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why would he do this? To me? To Jake?”
“Money,” Carter said. “Michael told us—he talked the second we got him in the car. Said Tyler owed a lot of money to some dangerous people. Started the ring to pay it off. Brought Michael in because Michael knew cars, knew how to strip ’em fast. They made a lot of money. But Tyler got greedy. Started skimming. Michael found out. They were gonna kill each other over it. Then you tried to leave Michael. Tyler saw his chance. If Michael took Jake and ran, Michael would be out of the way. Tyler would get the whole ring for himself. And no one would ever suspect him. He’d be the grieving brother, helping you look for your son. The hero.”
I thought of Tyler.
The way he’d shown up at Dad’s house the day after the arrest, bringing beer and pizza, saying he’d do anything to help. The way he’d offered to watch Jake anytime I needed to go to court or meet with Lila. The way he’d asked me a dozen times if there was “any news” about Michael’s case, if the police had found anything else.
He wasn’t asking to help. He was asking to make sure he wasn’t gonna get caught.
“Where is he now?” Dad said, his voice like ice.
“Last known address is the trailer park on the east side of town,” Carter said. “I’ve got officers heading there now. But my guess? He’s already gone. He knew if Michael got caught, he’d talk. He’s probably halfway to Mexico by now.”
We drove back down the hills.
Jake fell asleep in my arms, exhausted. I held him the whole way, his warm breath against my neck, his small hand fisted in my shirt. I couldn’t stop looking at the cut on his neck. It was small, just a scratch, really. But it would always be there. A reminder of how close I’d come to losing him forever.
When we got back to Dad’s house, there was a police car parked in the driveway.
An officer was standing on the porch, talking to Mia. She saw us pull up and ran over to the car.
“Tyler was here,” she said, before we could even get out. “An hour ago. He banged on the door, yelling for you. Said he needed to talk. Said he was set up. I told him you weren’t here. He got mad. Said he’d be back. That he wasn’t gonna go down for something Michael did.”
“Did he have his daughter with him?” Carter asked.
Mia nodded. “Yeah. Little Lila. She was crying. Tyler looked scared. Real scared. Like he was running from something.”
Carter radioed his officers. Put out an APB on Tyler. His car, his description, his daughter’s. BOLO for armed and dangerous.
We went inside.
I took Jake up to the guest room, undressed him, and put him to bed. He didn’t wake up. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, watching him sleep, brushing the hair off his face. The cut on his neck was already starting to heal. He looked peaceful. For the first time in days, he didn’t look scared.
I went back downstairs.
Dad, Carter, and Mia were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. The papers from Michael’s duffel bag were spread out across the table.
“Michael’s talking,” Carter said. “Says Tyler has a ledger. All the records of every job, every payment, every person involved. If we get that ledger, we can take down the whole ring. A dozen guys. All of them facing federal charges. But Michael says Tyler will never let it fall into police hands. He’ll burn it first. Or run with it.”
“Where would he go?” Dad said. “He has no money. No family outside of us. No friends who’d hide him, not with the cops looking.”
“Michael mentioned a warehouse,” Carter said. “Old abandoned textile factory on the south side of town. They used it to store the stolen cars and parts. Said Tyler kept a small apartment there. Lived there sometimes when he was fighting with his ex-wife. If he’s gonna run, that’s where he’d go first. To get the ledger. To get whatever money he has stashed.”
He stood up, putting his badge back on his belt.
“I’m gonna head over there with SWAT. Now. Before he gets a chance to run.”
“I’m coming,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“Emma,” Dad said. “Jake’s asleep upstairs. He needs you here.”
“Tyler is my brother,” I said. “I know him. Better than any of you. If he’s there, if he’s scared, he might listen to me. He might surrender. If he sees SWAT, he’ll panic. He might hurt someone. He might hurt his own daughter. I have to go.”
Carter thought for a second, then nodded.
“Fine,” he said. “But you stay in the car until I say it’s safe. No running into warehouses alone. Not this time. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said.
I kissed Jake one more time, told Mia to call me if he woke up, then left with Carter and Dad.
The textile factory was on the edge of the bad part of town. It had been closed for twenty years. Broken windows, graffiti on the walls, a chain-link fence around the whole property that was cut in a dozen places. It was the kind of place people went to do things they didn’t want anyone to see.
SWAT surrounded the building. Guns up. Night vision goggles on.
Carter got on a megaphone.
“Tyler Hale!” he yelled. “This is the police. We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up. No one has to get hurt. We just want to talk.”
Silence.
Then a light went on in a window on the third floor.
Tyler’s face appeared in the broken glass. He was holding his daughter, Lila, tight against his chest. One of his arms was wrapped around her. The other was holding a gun.
“Go away!” he yelled down. “I didn’t do anything! Michael’s lying! It was all him! I’m not going to prison! I won’t let you take my daughter!”
“Tyler,” I yelled, stepping forward before Carter could stop me. “It’s me, Emma. Let me come up. Just me. No cops. No guns. We can talk. Just like we used to. Remember when we were kids? When you’d get in trouble and I’d get you out of it? Let me help you. Please.”
Tyler was quiet for a long time.
Then he yelled back.
“Alone! No cops! If I see one gun, I swear to God I’ll shoot!”
“Emma,” Carter said, grabbing my arm. “It’s too dangerous. He has a gun. He’s desperate.”
“I have to go,” I said. “He’s my brother. I can’t let him do this. I can’t let his daughter grow up without a father. Or worse.”
Carter hesitated, then nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “But we’re right behind you. One scream, and we’re coming up. No matter what.”
I walked into the factory.
It was dark, dusty. The smell of mold and old oil filled the air. Broken glass and debris covered the floor. I walked up the stairs, slow, my footsteps echoing off the walls. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.
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The third floor was one big open room. A few old looms were pushed against the walls. In the middle of the room, there was a cot, a small table, a kerosene lamp. Tyler was standing there, Lila in his arms, the gun still in his hand. He was shaking. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and tears. Lila was asleep, her head on his shoulder.
“Hey, Ty,” I said, soft, stopping a few feet away. “Long time no see.”
