Chapter 4 - The Game of Cat and Mouse
Panic spiked through my veins like an injection of pure adrenaline.
They were outside. They were watching. And if they realized I had found the safety deposit box key and the encrypted laptop, I wouldn't last twenty-four hours in this house.
I forced myself to push the panic down, relying on the cold, methodical logic Ray had always praised me for. I grabbed the black laptop, closed the lid, and shoved it deep into my backpack alongside the brass safety deposit key.
Spinning my wheelchair around, I hurried back to the workbench, pulled open the heavy metal toolbox, and pried up the wooden false bottom. Inside rested a sleek, prepaid burner smartphone.
I picked up the phone, dialed the emergency encrypted number listed in Ray’s instructions, and held it to my ear.
It rang twice before a deep, authoritative voice answered.
“Thorne.”
“Special Agent Thorne?” I whispered, keeping my voice low and steady. “My name is Hannah Miller. My uncle was Raymond Miller. He passed away three days ago.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.
“Hannah,” Agent Thorne said instantly, his tone shifting from guarded professional to urgent protector. “Are you alright? Ray told me to expect your call if anything happened to him. Where are you?”
“I’m in the basement of our house,” I replied, my eyes darting toward the basement stairs. “There’s an unmarked black sedan parked across the street watching the property right now. They know Ray is gone. They’re looking for the files.”
“Listen to me very carefully, Hannah,” Thorne said, his voice dropping into a rapid, military-precise cadence. “Do not try to leave through the front door. They have the perimeter covered. Is there a back exit from the basement?”
“Yes, the Bilco doors leading out to the backyard garden path.”
“Good. Grab the evidence, go out through the Bilco doors, and head straight for the detached greenhouse behind the garage. I have a federal transport unit three blocks away. They’re moving into position now. Can you make it?”
“I can make it,” I said firmly, though my palms were slick with sweat against the rubber hand-rims of my wheelchair.
“Move now, Hannah. Do not look back.”
The line clicked dead.
I didn't waste a single microsecond. I zipped my backpack closed, slung it securely over my shoulders, and wheeled myself rapidly toward the back corner of the basement where the heavy metal Bilco doors led up to the yard.
I reached up, unlatched the heavy iron bolts, and pushed the doors open.
A blast of cold, wet autumn air hit my face, accompanied by the heavy roar of the falling rain. The backyard was a muddy blur of green grass and dark shadows. Fifty yards away stood the old glass greenhouse Ray and I used to plant tomatoes in every spring.
Releasing the brakes, I rolled my chair out of the basement threshold and onto the muddy gravel path.
The wheels immediately sank slightly into the wet earth, making every rotation a grueling test of upper-body strength. My shoulders burned, my arms trembling as I forced my chair forward through the downpour, rain plastering my hair across my forehead and soaking through my jacket.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic screech echoed from the front of the house.
The front gate had been forced open. Heavy boots crunched violently against the gravel driveway.
“Check the back! He said the girl is inside! Move, move, move!” a gruff, aggressive voice shouted through the rain.
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My heart leapt into my throat. They had breached the house.
I threw everything I had into pushing the wheelchair wheels, sliding and skidding through the mud until I slammed against the wooden door of the greenhouse. I threw my weight against the handle, rolled inside, and slammed the door shut, locking the deadbolt just as heavy footsteps pounded across the lawn outside.
