“Who are you working with?”
He met my eyes.
“Someone Dad trusted.”
An hour later, a fishing boat picked us up beneath the far side of the pier.
The man driving was sixty.
Gray beard.
Baseball cap.
He looked ordinary.
Tobias called him Samuel.
Samuel glanced at me.
“You look like your mother.”
I stared.
“You knew her?”
“For twenty years.”
“Who are you?”
“Former security director at Mercer Marine.”
I had never heard his name.
“That position didn’t exist.”
Samuel smiled faintly.
“Exactly.”
The boat took us through narrow channels.
We avoided marinas.
Avoided roads.
Eventually, we reached an old boathouse surrounded by marshland.
Inside was a small apartment.
Dry clothes waited.
Medical supplies.
Food.
Computers.
I turned toward Tobias.
“This has been planned.”
“For emergencies.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Samuel checked my pupils.
Then my ribs.
No major injuries.
Tobias had bruises.
Nothing serious.
When I finally changed into dry clothes, my hands would not stop shaking.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.
My husband had tried to kill me.
My half sister was pregnant with his child.
My brother could walk.
