“Don’t get in the car,” Lily whispered.
I pulled her against me. “I won’t.”
A knock sounded from the laundry room window. Three light taps.
Martin’s face appeared beyond the glass, pale beneath his cap. He pointed toward the side yard, then held up his phone.
I opened the window just enough to hear him.
“I called my daughter,” he whispered. “She’s ten minutes away. She can drive you somewhere safe.”
“Why not call the police?”
“I did,” he said. “They said they’d send someone.”
His expression told me what his words did not. Someone was coming, but not fast enough.
A car engine started outside.
Lily clamped both hands over her mouth.
Martin turned his head toward the street. “He’s moving.”
The next seconds stretched thin as wire.
I grabbed Lily’s hand, opened the laundry room window wider, and lifted her through into Martin’s arms. She went without a sound, clutching her rabbit by one ear. Then I pushed the blue folder and my purse out after her.
I was halfway through when the garage door groaned.
Not opening.
Locking.
The automatic opener made a mechanical click, then fell silent. Someone had disabled it remotely.
I shoved myself out the window and landed hard in the wet grass. Pain flashed through my ankle, but I forced myself upright.
Martin grabbed my elbow. “This way.”
We hurried through the narrow strip between our houses. The air smelled of rain and damp soil. The curtains in neighboring homes remained closed, and the world looked offensively normal. A child’s bicycle lay in a driveway. A sprinkler clicked somewhere, absurdly cheerful.
Lily stumbled once. I scooped her up despite the pain in my ankle.
Behind us, a car door closed.
Martin did not look back. “Faster.”
We reached his back gate. It squeaked as he opened it, loud enough to make me flinch. In his yard, climbing roses trembled along the fence, and a ceramic birdbath stood filled with last night’s rain.
His back door was already unlocked.
Inside, the house smelled of old books, peppermint tea, and dust. Martin guided us into the den and closed the curtains.
“Basement,” he said. “Now.”
I hesitated. “Martin, what is happening?”
He looked at Lily, then back at me.
“I don’t know all of it,” he said. “But I know Derek lied to you about leaving town.”
I felt the floor shift under me.
“I took a picture of his itinerary,” I said. “Flight at eight forty-five.”
Martin’s mouth tightened. “His car turned left at the main road. Airport is right.”
For a second, there was no sound except Lily’s breathing against my neck.
Then Martin’s phone buzzed.
He answered in a whisper. “Annie?”
I heard a woman’s voice, urgent and distant.
Martin’s face changed.
“No,” he said. “Don’t pull into the driveway. Circle the block. There’s a sedan near the Thompsons’ mailbox.”
He listened, his jaw tightening.
“What license plate?”