What Marcus Found

“No.” My palm struck Marcus’s phone before he could make the call. “You didn’t hear Brenda. She’s desperate. A cruiser’s siren would reach that house before the officers did. She’d hear it, send Tyler downstairs, and Dad would be dead before anyone got through the door.”

Marcus went still, his thumb suspended above the screen. “She’d tell them he attacked her,” I added. “She’d call it self-defense.”

His expression changed as the danger settled in. Brenda knew how to twist a story until the truth disappeared. If she believed the walls were closing in, Dad was the one person who could expose her.

“Then we get him out ourselves.” Marcus’s voice dropped into a rough growl. He seized the iron crowbar from the desk, and the sight of it made the whole idea feel suddenly real.

I shook my head. “We can’t just storm in. Tyler’s huge, and Brenda’s lost any grip on reason. If we meet them head-on, this could turn into a bloodbath—and Maya would be left alone out here.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to slow the panic battering my thoughts. The note. I had to remember what Dad had written.

The words surfaced, stark and clear: the safe-deposit key was hidden in her coat.

“The key,” I breathed.

Marcus glanced at me. “What key?”

“Dad hid the safe-deposit-box key in Brenda’s coat.” The pieces began to click into place. “She’s tearing the house apart looking for it. She told Tyler not to kill Dad until they find it.”

My heart thudded so hard it seemed to shake my ribs. I looked straight at Marcus, willing the plan to hold together.

“We don’t have to fight Tyler yet. We find the coat and take the key. It’s the one thing Brenda needs. We trade it for Dad, then call the police as soon as he’s free.”

He studied me as if weighing the plan against the risk. “Where’s the coat?”

I turned toward the kitchen windows, bright rectangles in the darkness. “In the house.”

I had only just made it out with Maya. Now I would have to slip back in, past the woman trying to have my father killed.

Behind me, the steel office door shut. Its bolt slid home with a blunt metallic clack.

I stood on the chilled shop floor, staring at the door. Maya was huddled on the leather chair inside, wrapped in my flannel and frightened out of her mind. Between her and everything happening at the house stood that steel door—and my promise to keep her safe.

“She’ll be all right in there,” Marcus said. His voice rumbled through the cavernous garage. “Those walls are steel. Tyler won’t break through them.”

I nodded, though breathing felt like work. Cold stung my lungs; my fingers had gone numb, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Still, one thought cut through all the noise: get inside, find Brenda’s wool coat, take the key, and use it to save Dad.

Marcus lifted the crowbar from his bench. The quiet mechanic seemed to vanish; in his place stood a man ready to face a siege. Dark grease marked his blue overalls, and the shadows made his frame look even broader.

“Here’s the plan,” he said, leaving no space for argument. “Tyler told Brenda he was going to the storm cellar to get answers out of your dad.”

He pointed the crowbar toward the little dirty window overlooking the property. “The kitchen trapdoor is locked, so Tyler has to use the storm doors outside, along the side of the house.”

“I’ll hide near those cellar doors,” Marcus continued. “When Tyler opens them, I’ll step in front of him. I’ll keep him from going down and make sure he’s focused on me.”

I pictured Tyler’s heavy build and the wild anger in his face. “He’ll come at you.”

“Then he can try.” Marcus’s reply was ice-cold. “While I keep him busy, you go through the mudroom window. Brenda’s packing in the kitchen. The hallway closet is close behind her. Find the coat, take the key, and get out.”

“And don’t confront her,” he said. “No heroics. Just get what we need.”

“I understand.” My pulse hammered against my chest, fast and hard.

Marcus raised three fingers. “You have three minutes. If you’re not back by then, I leave Tyler and come after you.”

“All right.”

We headed for the garage’s side exit. The air knifed at my face when we stepped outside, and the wind dragged at our clothes.

The porch lamp washed the front yard in a harsh yellow glow. Frozen grass gleamed beneath it, broken by long, crooked shadows.

I kept low as we moved along the edge of the yard. Dead rhododendron branches scraped my cheek and snagged my sleeves.

Marcus and I separated. He went toward the exterior cellar doors; I turned for the house alone.