Chapter 8 - The Safe House
The words echoed through my hospital room.
"You're not safe."
For several seconds, no one spoke.
I stared at the photograph of the message written on my condo wall.
YOU SHOULD HAVE SIGNED.
The letters looked jagged.
Uneven.
Written in blood.
Whoever had left them wanted more than my fear.
They wanted control.
They wanted me to believe they could reach me anywhere.
Assistant District Attorney Rebecca Lawson closed the file.
"We're requesting a protective order today."
I nodded.
"What happens after that?"
Detective Mercer answered.
"You won't be going back to your condo."
I frowned.
"It's my home."
"I know."
"But until we know who organized the break-in, it's no longer a secure location."
A nurse quietly entered the room.
"Your CT scan came back."
I looked at her.
"And?"
"The good news is there's no bleeding inside your brain."
I let out a slow breath.
"The concussion is moderate."
"The stitches will heal."
"But you'll need several weeks of recovery."
At least one piece of news had gone my way.
Mercer's phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
"I need to take this."
He stepped into the hallway.
Rebecca remained beside my bed.
She studied me for a moment.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"When you married Adrian..."
"Did he ever encourage you to combine your finances?"
I laughed quietly.
"Encourage?"
"He practically insisted."
"He wanted joint bank accounts."
"He wanted both names on my condo."
"He wanted access to my investment portfolio."
"What did you do?"
"I said no."
Rebecca smiled faintly.
"That decision may have saved your future."
Before I could answer, Mercer returned.
His expression was grim.
"We've identified Victor Kane's phone records."
Rebecca looked up immediately.
"Anything useful?"
"He received three calls before breaking into Claire's condo."
"From whom?"
Mercer handed her a printed report.
"The first number belongs to a prepaid phone."
"The second is still being traced."
He paused.
"The third belongs to someone we already know."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Who?"
Mercer looked directly at me.
"Adrian's personal assistant."
I blinked.
"Lydia?"
He nodded.
"Lydia Brooks."
I couldn't believe it.
Lydia had worked for Adrian for almost five years.
She always seemed polite.
Professional.
She remembered birthdays.
She even sent flowers when my father passed away.
Rebecca frowned.
"So she wasn't just scheduling meetings."
Mercer shook his head.
"Apparently not."
Just then, another detective entered carrying a sealed envelope.
"Ryan."
"We found this during the search of Adrian's home office."
Mercer opened it carefully.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper.
My name appeared across the top.
He handed it to me.
It wasn't a letter.
It was a checklist.
Each item had a box beside it.
Several boxes were already checked.
Gain access to condo. ✔
Convince Claire to transfer title. ✔ Attempted
Prepare replacement deed. ✔
Move Eleanor before quarter-end.
Liquidate condo after transfer.
My hands began to shake.
They had never intended for Eleanor to live there.
The condo was never her retirement home.
It was an asset.
A piece of real estate they planned to sell.
Rebecca leaned over the bed.
"Look at the last page."
I turned it over.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
If Claire refuses, proceed with Phase Two.
No explanation.
Just three words.
Phase Two.
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
"What does that mean?"
Mercer answered honestly.
"We don't know."
"But we're going to find out."
An hour later, I was discharged from the hospital.
Instead of taking me home, two unmarked police SUVs waited outside.
I looked at Mercer.
"This seems excessive."
"I wish it were."
He opened the rear passenger door.
"We're relocating you."
"Where?"
"A secure location."
"I don't have family nearby."
"You won't be staying with family."
Rebecca climbed into the second SUV.
"It's a state safe house."
I had heard of safe houses before.
Witnesses.
Informants.
Victims of organized crime.
Never in my life had I imagined becoming one.
The drive lasted nearly forty minutes.
The vehicles took different highways.
Changed directions twice.
Even doubled back once.
They weren't taking chances.
Finally, we stopped outside an ordinary-looking two-story home in a quiet neighborhood.
No sign identified the building.
No police cars were parked outside.
It looked like every other house on the street.
Mercer smiled slightly.
"That's the point."
A woman in plain clothes opened the front door before we reached it.
"I'm Special Agent Elena Torres."
She shook my hand.
"I'll be coordinating your protection."
Protection.
The word still felt unreal.
Torres led me inside.
The house was simple but comfortable.
A small living room.
A modern kitchen.
Three bedrooms.
Everything was clean.
Organized.
Secure.
"There are security cameras covering every entrance."
"The alarm system is monitored twenty-four hours a day."
"You won't be here alone."
I nodded slowly.
For the first time since the assault, I allowed myself to believe I might actually be safe.
Then Agent Torres' phone rang.
She answered immediately.
Her expression changed after only a few seconds.
"What?"
She listened carefully.
"I understand."
She ended the call and turned toward Mercer.
"They found Lydia Brooks."
Mercer looked relieved.
"Good."
"Bring her in."
Torres didn't smile.
"They found her."
"But she's not talking."
"What happened?"
Torres took a slow breath.
"She was discovered inside her apartment."
"Bound to a chair."
My pulse spiked.
"Was she hurt?"
Torres met my eyes.
"Whoever got to her arrived before we did."
"They left a message."
The room fell silent.
Mercer's voice was barely above a whisper.
"What message?"
Torres answered with a grim expression.
May you like
"Three words."
"Phase Two Begins."
