“Let’s go,” she said, and started on the flight of stairs.
Michael followed her up the steps and down the hallway as she opened each door, looking for signs of intrusion.
“Looks clear to me,” she said, her hand still on the bathroom handle.
Michael’s eyes met hers again and he gave her a curt nod. “Let’s get this done quickly. I’ve got a bad feeling about being here this long.”
“Me, too.”
Michael headed downstairs, and she started with the guest bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, just the bed, two bedside tables carved from cedar, and a tall dresser. She searched under the bed then pulled out the dresser drawers, all empty. The closet was mostly bare, just a small stack of bed linens, another shelf of guest towels, and a set of hangers that clattered around each time she moved the door. It wasn’t there.
She rushed out the door and down the hallway to the next the bedroom. That one was painted yellow, and on the closet shelves were some of the few remainders from her own childhood: a baby blanket her grandmother had knitted, a small stack of books, and three tiny dresses. The room was supposed to be for their first kid. When things settle down, Sean had said. Ellie pushed that thought away and pulled open more drawers and closet doors, but she still found nothing.
In the closet, under my coats.
Why would he have given her those specific details if the bag was somewhere else? It didn’t make sense. A go bag wasn’t the kind of thing he’d accidentally misplace. Had someone gotten to it first? Maybe someone with access to the key had come to the house before she’d changed the alarm code... That was everyone at Green Living Construction.
It was more likely Ellie was missing something. She stood in the upstairs hallway, looking one way, then the other. Below her, she heard the creak of the garage door and the thud of Michael’s boots in the downstairs hallway.
My coats...
Oh. Now she understood.
Ellie sprinted along the hallway toward the back of the house. She flung open the door to the master bedroom, ignoring the king-size bed, far too big for one person, ignoring the covered balcony just outside the sliding door with two chairs that looked out into the stretch of mountains. She didn’t look at the photo on the dresser of Sean and her, taken the afternoon of their wedding on the Santa Barbara beach just after the ceremony. Instead she headed straight for the closet.
Ellie’s hands trembled as she turned the knob and switched on the light to the walk-in. At the far end, past two long rows of clothes, was an enormous cedar chest, another one of the few items left from her childhood. She swept the boxes of shoes off the top and they tumbled to the floor. Ellie ignored them and lifted the lid. On the top lay an older dark blue puffy down jacket. One Sean hadn’t worn in years. Her heart thumped harder. She tossed it aside and found another one below it. This one red, one he’d had since college. She pulled it out and her breath caught in her throat. Below was the duffel bag.
She’d found it.
Ellie lifted the heavy bag out of the closet and set it on the floor. Her nervous fingers fumbled with the zipper until finally she pulled it open. She stared down at the contents. On top, there were two passports, hers and Sean’s, sitting on an envelope. Below these items were stacks and stacks of bills. How many were there? A hundred stacks, maybe more? She’d never seen this much money in her life. It should be enough for her to leave, to get away to somewhere far from here, all for her. A strange rush of relief ran through her. For the first time today, Ellie felt like she had a chance.
She looked at the two passports and the envelope. On the front of it, Sean had written her name in all capital letters. Her heart pounded in her chest. Oh, how she’d hoped to find something from Sean in the months since his death, some message or sign from him, but now she was afraid to open it. What if this was a door to yet another secret, something else he had kept from her?
“Not the time for this, Ellie,” she whispered to herself.
They needed to get out of the house, and she needed to get Michael away from her, away from the danger she’d put him in. She shoved the letter into the pocket of her jacket, trying hard not to think about Sean’s life and anything else he hadn’t told her. She picked up the bag and started across the room. She had to tell Michael what she’d found and then they needed to leave—and pray that the men after them didn’t catch up.
Michael opened the door and fumbled on the wall for the light. He flipped it on, and two bare fluorescent bulbs flickered to life, revealing a perfectly organized garage. No surprises there. It was much like the rest of the house: stylish and yet somehow impersonal. Sterile. The whole place reminded him of the way real estate agents decorated a home right before selling it, with furniture and art carefully chosen to portray a classy yet impersonal ambience. It felt as if this place was still staged, long after Ellie and Sean had moved in.
Still, Michael was impressed with how organized they’d kept their house. It was the opposite of the ranch, where his family had lived for three generations. At times, the main house spilled over with guests, cousins, their kids, seasonal workers...whatever eclectic crew was around to run the ranch or just to visit. Winters were slower, but the thaw brought enough people to make this kind of order impossible. The thought of such a gathering of family and friends set off an unexpected pang of longing in his gut, longing for a time when Tang Ranch had not been inextricably connected with the loss of Sunny.
And you want to leave it all behind.
Michael pushed that thought away and stepped down onto the concrete floor. What was most striking about the strangely impersonal feel of the house was that it didn’t match what he knew of Ellie, the woman who’d maneuvered her way through memory loss and danger. Not that he knew her very well, he reminded himself.
There weren’t a lot of places to hide a duffel bag in the garage. On one side, mountain bikes, downhill skis and snowshoes were neatly organized with other miscellaneous outdoor equipment. The other side was bare, except for the trashcan and recycling bin. Along the back wall, two metal shelves were stacked with matching storage bins. If the duffel bag was in the garage, it had to be in one of those.
Each of the storage bins was carefully marked with labels like Ski Boots or Riding Gear. He’d have to open them all one by one. On the other side of the garage door, the wind howled. He took down the first box from the left on the top shelf, labeled Photos, keeping an ear out for other sounds from outside. Was that the hum of an engine? He listened to the drone grow closer...then pass. He pulled the lid off the bin. Peering deeper under the frames, the contents were as promised. Just piles of framed photos of Sean and Ellie.
When he’d studied the photo on the staircase, he’d focused on Sean, searching for clues about who the man was. Now he focused on Ellie’s hair, tamed into a fancy twist. She was wearing a blue gown that shimmered. Her gray eyes were filled with laughter and her necklace sparkled with diamonds. Fancy, that was for sure. And confident. So different from the woman he had found running down the mountain, panicked and checking over her shoulder.
Had she gathered up all the reminders of her past life, desperate to do something about what she couldn’t change? That would explain the empty, impersonal feel to the house. It had taken him at least a year to get to this point, to stop clinging to memories of his life with Sunny. That Ellie had done this so efficiently had him feeling a mix of empathy and admiration. Maybe she didn’t know where to go next. Well, that made two of them.
Michael frowned and replaced the lid, then set the box back on the top shelf. He took down another then another, but no surprises lurked there. As he lifted the fifth box, the growl of an engine hummed through the garage door, this one louder than before. Michael froze, listening as it grew closer. Louder. Then the motor cut. Was the sound from a neighbor’s driveway or was the vehicle on Ellie’s property? Michael had a bad feeling. He shoved the bin back onto the shelf as the slam of a vehicle’s door echoed over the bare concrete of the garage.
Michael raced across the garage and through the door, back into the house. The sky was darker now as he moved along the hallway and toward the front. Above him, there was silence. Should he call out to Ellie? No. The last thing he wanted was for her to rush down the stairs right now. It was best for him to scout it out first. Michael hurried into the living room, to the large picture window that looked out into the front yard. He peered from behind the curtains through the window.
There, in the middle of the driveway, was a black truck. Michael’s senses switched into high alert as he searched the cab for signs of life, but the inside was dark and still. Then he saw the footprints. They started from the driver’s door and looped around the vehicle, joining a set of footprints leading up to the front door. Someone was right there, at the front door.
Warn Ellie. It’s not too late.
The thought raced through his mind, but before he could open his mouth to call to her, the creak of the front door echoed through the living room. Footsteps. The door snicked shut and the alarm gave a quiet chirp.
A man stood in front of him, just a few yards away, his back to Michael. He was tall, with a stocky, athletic build. His dark cap covered most of his sandy-brown hair, and he was dressed in jeans, heavy boots and a red down jacket that went to his thighs. His wide stance was confident as he jabbed at the alarm, no doubt hoping to keep it off. Was this Clint or Aidan...or someone else? Michael stood stock-still. The moment the man turned around, Michael would be exposed. That meant he couldn’t get to Ellie. The intruder stood between them.
If Ellie was right, and Sean’s family didn’t know the code to the alarm, it would go off within the next minute. Ellie would be warned soon enough. If she’s right. Right now, he focused on giving her the best possible chance for escape. He needed to get himself between her and danger. And Michael found that he was fully ready to do that.
He had two choices. One was to quietly cross the room and confront the man, using surprise to his advantage. The closer he got, the greater chance Michael would have the upper hand. But, at first glance, he suspected this man not only carried a gun but wouldn’t hesitate to shoot first, despite the fact he was the one breaking and entering. And if he shot Michael, that would leave Ellie alone to defend herself.
No, he couldn’t risk it. He’d wait for the alarm to go off and announce himself from across the room. He’d then stall while he attempted to move in, to position himself between this guy and Ellie. Michael needed to intercept the threat as soon as possible, before the man thought to head upstairs. If he could get close enough, he could take the man down—that much he was confident about. Still, the most dangerous person in any situation wasn’t the strongest or the most agile. It was the person who was willing to do the most harm, the person who would throw away everything to get what he wanted. It was the person who cared more about their goal than the lives around them. This was the kind of man who would harm Michael if he stood in the way of what he wanted. And Michael was about to do exactly that.
He didn’t like the idea of walking toward danger any better than the next person, and yet, as he waited for the alarm to ring, he felt the lift of a clear purpose. Ellie had suffered great loss, the same way he had, and yet she was determined to fight for her life. That idea sent a surge of energy through him, resonating deep inside. He would fight, too.
The man continued to punch away at the alarm box, punctuating each failed try with curses of frustration. Then the alarm let out a piercing wail. Another curse echoed through the living room, this one louder.
“Hello?” he called from across the room over the sound of the alarm. The man whipped around. When he caught sight of Michael, the anger in his expression shifted into surprise. He reached inside his unzipped jacket with his right hand and Michael froze. Somewhere under there was almost certainly a gun.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my brother’s...” The man’s voice died away, like he was recalculating the situation and wasn’t liking what he was coming up with. He’d said “my brother’s”—this was Aidan. His right hand lingered inside the thick, down jacket, and Michael’s heart jumped in his chest. But he forced a confused look on his face and hoped Aidan would read him as nonthreatening. As they stood frozen in this dangerous tableau, Michael assessed him as an opponent. Right-handed, he noted.
