Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN IN RED
Dylan moved in front of Molly.
Conrad laughed.
“Still trying to save people who don’t belong in our world?”
Dylan didn’t answer.
Libby’s gun remained pointed at Molly.
That told her everything.
The ledger mattered.
But she mattered more.
“Why me?” Molly asked.
Libby looked at her.
“Oh, please.”
“You watched me for years. Why?”
“Because Patrick never trusted anyone completely.”
Conrad stepped into the chamber.
He was sixty-three, silver-haired, elegant, and disturbingly calm.
Molly had seen photographs of him at charity dinners.
Children’s hospitals.
Fundraisers.
He looked like someone’s favorite grandfather.
Patrick’s note had named him as a murderer.
“We searched Patrick’s house after his death,” Conrad said. “Nothing. Raymond watched your mother. Nothing. We watched you.”
Molly’s hands curled.
“You used Raymond.”
“Raymond volunteered.”
That somehow hurt more.
Libby smiled.
“Your father caused a great deal of inconvenience.”
“He died because he knew what you were.”
Conrad’s expression didn’t change.
“He died because he forgot what loyalty required.”
Atlas growled.
Libby flinched.
Molly noticed.
“You’re afraid of him.”
“I hate him.”
“No. You’re afraid.”
Libby lifted the gun slightly.
“He attacked me.”
“You kidnapped and poisoned him.”
“I was trying to find the collar.”
Dylan’s eyes hardened.
“You knew about Patrick’s key.”
Libby shrugged.
“Raymond remembered Patrick always touching the dog’s collar. We assumed he hid something in it.”
“So you took Atlas from my house.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Libby smiled.
“Your head of domestic security likes gambling.”
Dylan absorbed the betrayal.
“Ellis.”
“Four hundred thousand dollars in debt. People become wonderfully flexible.”
Molly thought of Atlas being dragged into the Blackwoods basement.
“You couldn’t find the key.”
“No.”
“Because it was in his old collar.”
Libby’s smile disappeared.
“Apparently.”
“Then why keep him alive?”
“We thought he might lead us somewhere.”
“And when he didn’t?”
Libby glanced at Atlas.
“He became unnecessary.”
Molly felt fury move through her body.
“You injected him.”
“Someone did.”
“You kicked him.”
“He bit my shoe.”
“You kicked me too.”
Libby stared.
“That was the moment you should have stayed on the floor.”
Dylan moved.
Conrad raised his weapon.
“Don’t.”
Dylan stopped.
“Give me the ledger.”
“No.”
Conrad smiled.
“You always were dramatic.”
“You murdered Patrick.”
“I ordered a car stopped.”
“You ran him off a bridge.”
“He refused to pull over.”
Molly suddenly couldn’t breathe.
For eleven years she had imagined her father dying instantly.
Maybe unconscious.
Maybe unaware.
Now she saw a dark road.
Headlights.
Fear.
Her father knowing someone was coming.
“Was he alone?” she asked.
Conrad looked at her.
“What?”
“My father. Was he alone?”
“Molly,” Dylan said quietly.
She ignored him.
“Was he alone?”
Conrad considered.
“No.”
Her heart stopped.
Dylan looked at his uncle.
“Who was with him?”
Conrad smiled.
“Now we’re asking useful questions.”
Molly stepped closer.
“Who?”
“Give me the records.”
“Tell me.”
Conrad looked at the case.
“Patrick had someone in the passenger seat.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
Molly’s mind raced.
“My mother?”
“No.”
Relief and terror arrived together.
“Who?”
Conrad shrugged.
“I never knew.”
Dylan looked at the ledgers.
“Then she may have survived.”
“No body was recovered except Patrick’s.”
Molly stared.
The police report had never mentioned a passenger.
Another lie.
“Give me the records,” Conrad repeated.
Dylan looked at Molly.
Something passed between them.
She understood.
The ledgers were evidence.
If Conrad took them, Patrick’s death meant nothing.
Molly slid one hand behind her.
Her fingers reached the old wooden desk.
A metal lamp.
Conrad noticed.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
Atlas growled louder.
Libby aimed at the dog.
“If that thing moves, I shoot it.”
Molly’s eyes snapped to her.
“Don’t.”
Libby smiled.
Finally, she had found something that frightened Molly.
Dylan slowly set the case on the floor.
“Fine.”
Conrad watched him.
“Kick it over.”
Dylan did.
The case slid across the stone.
Conrad bent slightly.
At that exact second Atlas lunged.
Not at Libby.
At the lights.
His enormous body hit a portable work lamp.
Darkness swallowed the chamber.
Libby screamed.
A gunshot exploded.
Molly dropped.
Dylan shouted her name.
Another shot.
Then Atlas barked.
Someone crashed into the desk.
Molly crawled toward the wall.
A hand found hers.
Dylan.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Stay behind me.”
Emergency flashlights appeared from the stairwell.
Dylan’s security team.
Conrad swore.
He hadn’t known they were coming.
Dylan had expected a trap.
Libby fired toward the stairs.
Security returned fire.
Stone chipped beside her.
She dropped the gun.
Conrad grabbed the metal case.
He ran toward a second passage Molly hadn’t seen.
Libby followed.
“Stop!” Dylan shouted.
They disappeared through the tunnel.
Atlas tried to chase.
His legs gave out.
Molly caught him.
“No. No, stay.”
Dylan started after Conrad.
Then looked back.
Molly was on the floor holding Atlas.
Blood covered her hand.
“Dylan!”
He abandoned the chase instantly.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
They checked Atlas.
The bullet had grazed his side.
Kessler would later call it miraculous.
Molly didn’t believe in miracles anymore.
She believed in bad people missing by inches.
Dylan’s men searched the passage.
Conrad and Libby were gone.
And they had taken the original ledgers.
But not everything.
Molly had seen Patrick’s notebook inside the case before Dylan kicked it away.
Now it lay beneath the desk.
Conrad had missed it.
She picked it up.
Dylan looked at her.
“What is it?”
“My father’s map.”
She flipped through pages.
Near the back, one section was written in code.
Initials.
Numbers.
Then a list of payments.
Dylan read them.
His face darkened.
“These are law-enforcement officers.”
“All of them?”
“Most.”
“Then we can’t go to police.”
“No.”
Molly turned another page.
A name appeared repeatedly.
V.K.
Victor Kemp.
Libby’s father.
Then another.
C.B.
Conrad.
R.C.
Raymond.
And one Molly didn’t recognize.
E.B.
Dylan did.
He stopped breathing.
“What?”
He took the notebook.
“What?”
“Eleanor Burroughs.”
“Who is she?”
“My mother.”
Molly stared.
“I thought your mother died.”
“She did.”
“When?”
“Thirteen years ago.”
Patrick’s payments were dated twelve years ago.
Dylan looked genuinely shaken.
“What was she paying for?”
They studied the code.
Every payment connected to the same location.
Mill Creek Women’s Clinic.
Molly frowned.
“That clinic closed twenty years ago.”
“Not the medical clinic.”
“What?”
“It was a safe house.”
“For whom?”
Dylan’s gaze moved to Patrick’s note about the unknown woman in his car.
“People my father needed hidden.”
Molly’s skin prickled.
“You think the woman with my father came from there?”
“I don’t know.”
The police arrived forty minutes later.
Dylan allowed only two officers near the chamber.
Neither name appeared in Patrick’s notebook.
Molly noticed how carefully Dylan watched them.
Everything in Harrow Falls suddenly had two faces.
Public.
Hidden.
At dawn, Molly returned to the clinic with Atlas.
Kessler treated the bullet graze.
“He’s collecting injuries like souvenirs.”
Molly sat beside the recovery cage.
“So am I.”
Kessler glanced at her bruised ribs.
“You should be examined.”
“I was.”
“And?”
“Nothing broken.”
Dylan stood near the door.
His phone had not stopped ringing.
News of the canceled engagement had leaked.
So had photographs from Blackwoods.
One image showed Molly on the floor.
Libby standing above her.
The red heel visible.
Social media had exploded.
Molly stared at the headlines.
WAITRESS BREAKS UP BURROUGHS ENGAGEMENT.
MYSTERY BRUNETTE COMES BETWEEN POWER COUPLE.
WHO IS MOLLY LANE?
She laughed bitterly.
“I save a dog and somehow I seduced you.”
Dylan looked annoyed.
“At journalism?”
“At humanity.”
“That too.”
Her phone buzzed.
Blackwoods.
She answered.
Raymond was unavailable.
A senior manager spoke instead.
“Molly, considering recent events, we think it would be best if you took an indefinite leave.”
She stared at the wall.
“You’re firing me.”
“We aren’t using that language.”
“I am.”
“It’s about protecting the restaurant.”
“From what?”
“Negative attention.”
Molly looked at Atlas.
The restaurant had hidden a poisoned dog in its basement.
But she was the negative attention.
“Fine.”
She ended the call.
Dylan had heard.
“I can have Blackwoods closed by noon.”
“No.”
“Molly—”
“I don’t need you destroying everyone who inconveniences me.”
“They didn’t inconvenience you.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“They reminded me why people like Libby get away with things. Everyone is scared of the person with more money.”
Dylan said nothing.
“So no. Don’t threaten them.”
“What do you want?”
The question surprised her.
Nobody powerful had ever asked what she wanted.
Molly looked at Patrick’s notebook.
“I want the truth.”
Dylan nodded.
“Then that is what we get.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Molly opened it.
She went cold.
The image showed an elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair near a window.
Her hair was white.
Her face thin.
Molly had never seen her before.
But around the woman’s neck hung Patrick Lane’s wedding ring.
Below the photograph was a message.
YOUR FATHER DIDN’T DIE TO SAVE A LEDGER.
HE DIED TO SAVE HER.
Molly showed Dylan.
His face emptied of color.
“You know her.”
Dylan took the phone.
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
He looked at Molly.
“That’s the woman my mother paid to hide.”
“Her name?”
Dylan swallowed.
“Rebecca Lane.”
Molly’s heart stopped.
“That’s impossible.”
Rebecca Lane was her aunt.
Her father’s younger sister.
The woman Molly had been told died when she was six years old.
And according to the next message that appeared on the screen—
Rebecca was alive.
May you like
Conrad had her.
And he wanted Molly to trade herself for her before midnight.
