Part 1 of 3
My sister called me at 12:14 a.m.
I almost let it ring out.
My husband, Daniel Reeves, was asleep beside me in our quiet home outside Charlotte. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and the baby monitor glowed pale blue on my nightstand even though our five-year-old son, Liam, was spending the weekend at Daniel’s parents’ lake house.
When I saw my sister’s name flash across the screen, I sat upright immediately.
Vanessa.
Vanessa worked for Homeland Security. She never called in the middle of the night unless something had gone terribly wrong.
I answered quietly. “Vanessa?”
Her voice came fast and sharp.
“Listen to me carefully. Turn off every light in the house. Take your phone and go to the attic. Lock the door behind you. And whatever you do—don’t tell Daniel.”
Cold fear spread through my stomach.
“What are you talking about?”
“Now, Hannah.”
I glanced toward my husband. He was facing the wall, breathing slowly beneath the blankets.
“You’re scaring me,” I whispered.
Vanessa suddenly raised her voice.
“Just do it!”
The panic in her tone moved me before logic could catch up.
I slipped out of bed, grabbed my charger instinctively, and crept into the hallway. Behind me, Daniel stirred.
“Hannah?” he mumbled sleepily.
I froze.
“Just getting water,” I whispered.
He settled again.
One by one, I switched off the hallway light, then the kitchen light, then the lamp in the living room Daniel always forgot to turn off. My fingers shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
Vanessa stayed silent except for the sound of her breathing.
When I reached the attic ladder, she whispered:
“Don’t hang up.”
I climbed carefully into the dark attic. Dust floated through the flashlight beam from my phone. Old Christmas boxes and suitcases sat stacked against the walls.
I shut the attic door softly and slid the tiny metal latch into place.
“Lock it,” Vanessa said.
“I did.”
“Stay away from the vent.”
Then the call disconnected.
For one horrible minute, there was silence.
Then I heard Daniel downstairs.
No longer sleepy.
Calm.
“The lights are out,” he said.
Another man answered from inside my house.
“Then she suspects something.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth.
Through a narrow crack between the attic floorboards, I could see part of the upstairs hallway below.
Daniel stood there holding my laptop under one arm.
Beside him was a tall stranger wearing a dark coat soaked from the rain.
The stranger handed Daniel a silver metal case.
Daniel opened it.
Inside were passports.
One had Daniel’s photo.
One had Liam’s.
One had mine.
But none of them carried our real names.
I crouched motionless in the attic, heart hammering so violently I thought they might hear it through the floor.