Chapter 6
Clara pressed her back against the damp concrete wall, holding her breath as the beam of a distant flashlight cut through the darkness further up the tunnel. The light danced erratically against the vaulted brick ceiling before settling on the floor just twenty feet away from where she stood frozen in the shadows.
Leo’s silhouette appeared in the illumination, massive and imposing. He was dragging a heavy wooden crate behind him, the sort typically used for heavy machinery parts. His dark t-shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to his broad back, and his forearms were smeared with dark streaks of dirt and dried clay. He stopped, wiping his brow with the back of a calloused hand, and let out a long, shuddering sigh that sounded more exhausted than triumphant.
“I know you’re down here, Clara,” Leo said suddenly, his voice carrying clearly down the empty conduit without a trace of surprise.
Clara didn't move. She cursed herself silently for her lack of stealth, gripping the heavy metal wrench in her coat pocket until her knuckles ached.
“You can come out of the dark,” Leo continued, turning his head slightly toward the recess where she hid. “There’s no point in playing games now. The work is almost done. The ground is soft enough this time of year, but hauling everything through these old pipes takes twice as long as building the damn things in the first place.”
Slowly, stepping out from the shadows, Clara switched her own flashlight back on, pointing the beam directly at the floor between them to avoid blinding him. “Where is she, Leo? If you’ve hurt Maya, there is no amount of money or silence that will keep you out of a prison cell for the rest of your natural life.”
Leo didn't flinch. He looked at her with an expression of profound, crushing fatigue—a look that possessed none of the terrifying menace he had worn in the clinic, replacing it with something infinitely sadder.
“I didn't hurt her, Clara,” Leo said quietly, lowering himself onto the edge of the wooden crate. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring down at his dirty work boots. “Not the way you think. Accidents happen when you’re building a life alone. A shelf collapses. A stack of seasoned oak beams slips from the wall hoist. Maya... she was helping me organize the back loft of the shed. She shouldn't have been standing beneath the primary bracket.”
Clara stepped closer, the wrench still gripped tightly in her hand. “If it was an accident, why didn't you call an ambulance? Why cover the windows, why hide her in the cellar, why threaten your own son until his hands are bleeding?”
“Because people don't see accidents when a single father loses a child,” Leo whispered, his voice cracking for the first time. “They see negligence. They see an overworked carpenter who couldn't keep his kids safe. Child services would have taken Toby away before the coroner even finished the paperwork. I couldn't lose both of them, Clara. I just couldn't.”
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“She’s alive?” Clara asked, her breath hitching as a sliver of desperate hope pierced the gloom.
Leo looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears in the flashlight beam. “She’s breathing. But the concussion is bad, and the weight of the timber crushed her leg. I set the bone myself, but she needs a proper doctor. That’s why I brought the kitten to you—I needed to know if you were the kind of person who could keep a secret long enough for me to fix this the right way.”
