Chapter 4
Liam was out of bed in two seconds.
He grabbed his gun from the nightstand, moved to the window, and pulled the curtain back just enough to see.
The lake was dark.
No lights.
No cars.
Nothing but trees and water.
“Call the police,” he said, not taking his eyes off the window.
“Tell them we’re at the cabin on Black Lake. Someone’s watching us.”
I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped it.
I called 911, gave them the address, my voice cracking.
The dispatcher said a car would be there in 20 minutes.
20 minutes felt like 20 hours.
Liam checked every door and window, locked them all, pushed the heavy couch in front of the front door.
I sat on the bed, the quilt wrapped around me, watching him.
My stomach twisted.
They’d found us.
How?
The cops showed up, lights flashing, sirens off.
Two officers, with rifles.
They searched the woods around the cabin for an hour.
They found tire tracks on the dirt road.
A crushed cigarette butt by the tree line.
No people.
“Whoever it was left when they saw the lights,” the senior officer said.
He gave Liam his card.
“Call us the second you see or hear anything else. We’ll have a unit patrol the area every hour tonight.”
They left.
Liam locked the door behind them, pushed the couch back into place.
He turned to me, his jaw tight.
“We can’t stay here,” he said.
“Not now. They know where we are. Next time, they won’t just send a text.”
I nodded.
I was scared, but I wasn’t surprised.
Margaret and Jason had already tried to kill me once.
They had nothing to lose now.
If they went down, they’d try to take us with them.
“We need to go to Hale first thing tomorrow,” Liam said.
He started packing our bags again.
“He lives in Atlanta. If we leave at dawn, we’ll be there by 10. Once we have him on our side, we go straight to the DA. No more hiding.”
I stood up, helped him fold clothes.
My hand brushed the journal on the nightstand.
I picked it up, flipped to the last entry.
Liam’s dad had written Hale’s phone number and address in the back, underlined three times.
He’d known we’d need him.
We left at dawn, just like Liam said.
We took back roads, kept checking the rearview mirror.
No one followed us.
We pulled up to Hale’s house at 9:45.
It was a small brick house in a quiet neighborhood, a “World’s Best Grandpa” sign in the front yard.
Liam knocked on the door.
An old man with white hair and a cane opened it.
He looked at Liam, then at me, his eyes widening.
“Liam Carter,” he said, his voice rough.
“I haven’t seen you since your dad’s funeral. What are you doing here?”
Liam held up the journal and the will.
“We need your help, Mr. Hale,” he said.
“My mom and brother are trying to kill my wife and my baby. And I think they killed my dad, too.”
Hale stood there for a long second.
Then he stepped back, opening the door wider.
May you like
“Come in,” he said.
“Both of you. And close the door. Fast.”
