Chapter 12 - The Cabin by the Lake
The rusted iron gates of the old family cabin stood wide open, their hinges screeching in the autumn wind like a warning sign.
Thomas cut the headlights a hundred yards down the gravel drive, coasting the sedan into the heavy brush beneath the towering pine trees.
The cabin looked deserted, its wooden exterior weathered and dark against the pale moonlight, but a thin curl of smoke rose from the stone chimney, cutting through the crisp night air.
"Someone's inside," Clara whispered, resting her hand on the door handle.
"I know," Thomas said, pulling a compact semi-automatic pistol from his glove box and checking the slide with a quiet click. "Stay in the car. If I'm not back out in ten minutes, take the sedan and drive straight to the state police barracks forty miles north."
"I'm not staying in this car while you walk into a trap," Clara said, opening her door before Thomas could stop her.
The gravel crunched loudly beneath her boots as she stepped out into the freezing night, the scent of pine and woodsmoke filling her lungs.
They moved together in absolute silence, hugging the shadows of the porch until they reached the side window of the cabin.
Clara peeked through the dusty glass, her breath fogging the pane.
Inside, sitting in front of the stone fireplace, was a man wearing David’s expensive wool coat, tossing a stack of financial documents directly into the orange flames.
As the man turned his head to grab another file from the coffee table, the firelight illuminated his profile clearly.
It wasn't David. And it wasn't Marcus.
It was the man in the grey t-shirt—the one who had stood outside the black SUV in the parking lot, warning her about the danger inside.
Before Clara could whisper a warning to her brother, the front door of the cabin swung wide open behind them, and a cold voice whispered right into her ear.
May you like
"Looking for your husband, Clara?"
---
