PART 8 — THE CHURCH UNDER THE HILL
Nobody spoke.
The photo on my phone showed Caleb tied to a chair.
Blood on his shirt.
A sheriff’s badge behind him.
But no face.
Jeremy stared at it.
“That could be fake.”
I looked at him.
“So could half our lives.”
He flinched.
Tyler leaned closer.
“Can you zoom in?”
I did.
The badge was real enough to scare me.
Gold shield.
County markings.
But the man’s face had been cut out of the frame.
Emma whispered, “Is that Detective Price?”
“I don’t know.”
Lacey looked at Jeremy.
“What if Caleb sent us to the church because someone forced him?”
That possibility hit hard.
I looked back at the coordinates.
Old Baptist church outside Culleoka.
Under the floor beneath the pulpit.
Jeremy said, “We can’t go.”
Tyler looked at him.
“Five minutes ago you wanted to find Caleb.”
“I still do.”
“Then?”
Jeremy pointed at the photo.
“This could be a trap.”
I said, “It probably is.”
Everyone looked at me.
“But that doesn’t mean the box isn’t there.”
Jeremy stared at me.
“You’re seriously thinking about going.”
“Yes.”
“Jill.”
“That box may have the only documents Randall couldn’t burn.”
“And if Price is waiting?”
“Then we don’t walk in blind.”
Tyler crossed his arms.
“What’s the plan?”
I looked at him.
“You’re not coming.”
He laughed.
“Sure.”
“Tyler.”
“Mom, nobody in this family has listened to you all day. I’m starting a tradition.”
Despite everything, Emma almost smiled.
I didn’t.
“You’re sixteen.”
“And apparently my family is involved in a six-million-dollar fraud case.”
“That doesn’t make you an adult.”
“No. But it makes pretending I’m not involved kind of stupid.”
He was right.
I hated that he was right.
Lacey said quietly, “I can stay with them.”
Emma immediately said, “No.”
“Emma.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Jeremy rubbed his forehead.
“This is insane.”
I looked at him.
“No. Insane was hiding two children and a second marriage.”
He closed his eyes.
“Fair.”
I pointed at his truck.
“We don’t go straight to the church.”
“What do we do?”
“We find somewhere public. We call Melissa.”
I tried again.
This time she answered.
“Jill?”
Her voice was low.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m at a gas station south of town.”
“Good. Stay somewhere with cameras.”
That made me look around immediately.
“Melissa, Price took the black folder.”
Silence.
“Melissa?”
“I heard you.”
“Do you trust him?”
She took too long.
“That is not an easy question.”
“That’s becoming a popular answer.”
“Jill, I have worked with Price twice.”
“And?”
“He helped.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s clean.”
“No.”
“Did he ask you for the divorce file?”
“Yes.”
“Did he delete it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could he?”
“With access and the right person helping, maybe.”
I told her about Caleb.
The message.
The church.
The photo.
She stopped me.
“Do not go there.”
Jeremy nodded immediately.
I ignored him.
“Why?”
“Because if somebody is baiting you, they want you isolated.”
“What if the evidence is real?”
“Then we preserve ourselves first.”
I almost laughed.
“Melissa, preservation hasn’t exactly gone well today.”
She went quiet.
Then said, “Send me the coordinates.”
I did.
She typed something.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“There’s an old Harmony Baptist Church near those coordinates.”
Jeremy’s face changed.
“That’s it.”
Melissa continued.
“It closed eleven years ago.”
“Who owns it?”
Pause.
Then she said, “A holding company.”
My stomach tightened.
“What company?”
“RMC Property Solutions.”
Randall.
Nobody needed to say it.
Jeremy whispered, “Of course.”
Melissa continued.
“Jill, listen carefully. If that company owns the property, do not enter.”
“What about Caleb?”
“If he’s there, call law enforcement.”
I looked at the photo.
“And which law enforcement do I trust?”
She didn’t answer.
Exactly.
Then Melissa said, “There may be another way.”
“What?”
“I can call a state investigator.”
“Not county?”
“No.”
“Do it.”
“I will.”
“But Melissa.”
“Yes?”
“Do not tell Price.”
Silence.
Then she said, “Understood.”
We ended the call.
Jeremy looked at me.
“We wait.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Jill.”
“If Caleb is actually tied up somewhere, waiting could get him killed.”
“And walking into Randall’s property could get us killed.”
Tyler said, “Both of you are right.”
We looked at him.
He shrugged.
“I hate it too.”
Then Emma spoke.
“What if we don’t go inside?”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“We can drive close enough to see the church.”
Jeremy frowned.
“Still risky.”
“But better than walking in.”
I looked at Lacey.
She looked exhausted.
Scared.
But steady.
“I think we need to know if Caleb is really there.”
That decided it.
We left the gas station.
This time Tyler rode with Jeremy.
Emma and Lacey stayed with me.
We turned off the main road twenty minutes later.
The countryside got darker.
Fields.
Trees.
Old fences.
Very few houses.
Then I heard it.
A train horn.
Far away.
I looked at Emma.
She looked back.
“Caleb said train.”
I nodded.
Then, a few minutes later, we crossed a narrow bridge.
Water moved black beneath it.
Train.
Water.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
The church came into view around a bend.
Small.
White paint peeling.
Old steeple.
No lights.
No cars.
Jeremy flashed his headlights behind me.
I pulled over half a mile away.
We parked behind a line of trees.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then the church bell rang.
Six slow strikes.
Emma whispered, “Oh my God.”
I checked the time.
6:00 PM.
Train.
Water.
Bell.
Caleb had described this place.
Jeremy stared toward the church.
“He was here.”
“Or the archive is.”
Tyler said, “Look.”
A light flickered inside the church.
Once.
Then disappeared.
Jeremy grabbed the door handle.
I stopped him.
“No.”
“That could be Caleb.”
“That could be anybody.”
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
YOU CAME.
I looked toward the church.
Another message.
BAD IDEA.
Jeremy whispered, “Someone sees us.”
We all ducked instinctively.
Then another message came.
LEAVE THE CAR.
WALK TO THE SIDE DOOR.
ALONE, JILL.
Jeremy shook his head.
“Absolutely not.”
I typed:
SHOW ME CALEB.
No response.
Then a new photo arrived.
Caleb.
Same chair.
Same blood.
But this time there was a clock visible on the wall behind him.
5:57.
Three minutes ago.
He was alive.
Jeremy grabbed the phone.
“He’s there.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Look at the wall.”
I zoomed in.
There was faded wood paneling.
A cross.
Church basement.
Maybe.
Then Caleb’s head lifted in the photo.
His eyes looked toward whoever was holding the camera.
He looked terrified.
I typed:
I NEED TO HEAR HIS VOICE.
A video arrived.
Five seconds.
Caleb looked into the camera.
“Jill, don’t—”
The video cut.
Jeremy cursed.
“That’s enough.”
He started toward the road.
I grabbed his jacket.
“If they wanted you, they would’ve asked for you.”
“That’s my son.”
“Maybe.”
His face broke.
I regretted saying it immediately.
But Randall’s claim hung between us.
Caleb might not be Jeremy’s son at all.
Jeremy whispered, “I raised him in every way I was allowed to.”
“You hid him.”
“I know.”
“But you love him.”
“Yes.”
That part was real.
Whatever the blood test might say.
I looked back at the church.
Then at Tyler.
“You stay with Lacey and Emma.”
Tyler opened his mouth.
“No.”
He stared at me.
“Mom.”
“No.”
For once, he listened.
Jeremy and I crossed the road.
We stayed low behind an old stone wall.
No lights.
No talking.
The church looked dead from up close.
Windows boarded on one side.
Weeds waist high.
The side door stood slightly open.
Exactly as the message said.
Jeremy whispered, “This is wrong.”
“I know.”
We reached the steps.
Then something moved inside.
Jeremy pulled me back.
A shadow crossed the hallway.
Then disappeared.
I whispered, “Call Caleb.”
Jeremy did.
We heard a phone ringing.
Inside the church.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
Jeremy’s face changed.
“He’s inside.”
Maybe.
We stepped through the door.
The smell hit first.
Dust.
Mold.
Old wood.
The sanctuary was empty.
Broken pews.
A torn hymn book on the floor.
The pulpit stood at the front.
I looked down.
Under the pulpit.
The box.
That was why we were here.
Jeremy started forward.
I stopped him.
“Caleb first.”
We listened.
Nothing.
Then a muffled sound came from below.
Basement.
Jeremy found the door beside the choir loft.
Locked.
He kicked it once.
Twice.
The old frame cracked.
We went down.
Dark stairs.
Jeremy used his phone flashlight.
At the bottom was a narrow hallway.
Storage rooms.
Old Sunday school signs.
Then we heard breathing.
Heavy.
Someone was there.
“Caleb?”
No answer.
Jeremy moved faster.
“Caleb?”
A chair scraped.
We reached the last room.
Jeremy pushed open the door.
Empty.
Except for one chair.
Rope tied around it.
Blood on the seat.
And a phone lying on the floor.
Caleb’s phone.
Still warm.
Jeremy picked it up.
“Oh God.”
Then the basement lights came on.
Bright.
Harsh.
I turned.
A man stood at the end of the hallway.
Sheriff’s badge.
Gun at his side.
Samuel Price.
Jeremy stepped in front of me.
Price raised both hands.
“Easy.”
I stared at him.
“Where is Caleb?”
Price looked confused.
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“Jill—”
“WHERE IS HE?”
Price looked at the bloody chair.
Then his face changed.
“You need to get out.”
Jeremy laughed bitterly.
“That’s convenient.”
Price reached for his phone.
Jeremy stepped closer.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Price froze.
“You think I did this?”
I held up my phone.
“We got a picture of Caleb with a sheriff’s badge behind him.”
Price slowly looked down at his own badge.
“That’s not mine.”
“How would we know?”
“Because mine has a blue center seal.”
I zoomed in on the photo.
My stomach dropped.
The badge behind Caleb had a black center.
Jeremy stared.
Price said, “That’s a reserve deputy badge.”
“Whose?”
Price’s face tightened.
“Randall’s brother.”
Silence.
Jeremy whispered, “Randall has a brother?”
“Half brother.”
“What’s his name?”
“Wade Mercer.”
I looked at Price.
“Is he law enforcement?”
“Volunteer reserve deputy. Barely active.”
“Then why is he here?”
Price looked at the blood.
“Because this was never about making Randall look clean.”
“What?”
Price stepped closer.
“It was about making me look dirty.”
Before I could answer, a loud crash came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Several.
Price drew his gun.
“Behind me.”
Jeremy snapped, “No.”
Price hissed, “If Randall’s people are here, argue later.”
Then a voice echoed from the sanctuary.
“Samuel!”
Price’s face went white.
He knew the voice.
“Wade.”
Another voice laughed.
“Nice of you to bring everybody together.”
Then I heard a sound that froze my blood.
Tyler shouting outside.
“Mom!”
I ran toward the stairs.
Jeremy grabbed me.
“No!”
“TYLER!”
A gunshot exploded upstairs.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Lacey screamed outside.
Emma screamed too.
Price pushed past us.
“Stay down!”
Then another gunshot.
And silence.
Jeremy and I ran up after him.
The sanctuary doors were open.
Tyler was on the floor near the entrance.
I screamed his name.
He lifted his head.
“I’m okay!”
Relief nearly knocked me over.
He pointed outside.
“They took Emma!”
Lacey was crying beside him.
I ran to the door.
A dark pickup tore down the gravel road.
Emma was in the back seat.
Jeremy shouted, “No!”
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
BRING REBECCA’S BOX TO THE OLD MILL BY 8:00.
Another.
COME ALONE.
Then:
OR EMMA DIES.
I stared at the screen.
Jeremy looked at me.
Price looked at me.
Lacey was sobbing.
And behind us, beneath the pulpit floorboards, the box everyone had been killing to find was still waiting.
Lacey was still screaming Emma’s name when the dark pickup disappeared beyond the trees.
Jeremy ran toward his truck.
Price grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Stop.”
Jeremy spun around.
“They have her.”
“I know.”
“Then get out of my way.”
“If you chase them blind, they’ll have two hostages.”
Jeremy shoved his hand away.
“That girl thinks I’m her father.”
Price stared at him.
“And right now she needs you alive.”
That stopped him.
Barely.
Lacey collapsed against Tyler.
“My baby.”
Tyler wrapped both arms around her.
“We’ll get her back.”
His voice sounded older than sixteen.
I hated that.
I looked at the message again.
BRING REBECCA’S BOX TO THE OLD MILL BY 8:00.
COME ALONE.
OR EMMA DIES.
It was 6:19.
Less than two hours.
Price looked over my shoulder.
“Which mill?”
“I don’t know.”
Jeremy did.
His face told me immediately.
“You know.”
He looked toward the church.
“There’s an abandoned feed mill about nine miles east.”
“Owned by Randall?”
“I don’t know.”
Price took out his phone.
“No signal down here.”
I looked toward the sanctuary.
“The box first.”
Jeremy nodded.
We moved to the pulpit.
The old floorboards groaned beneath us.
Caleb had said under the floor beneath the pulpit.
Jeremy knelt.
“There.”
One board had newer nails than the others.
Price pulled a small pry bar from an old maintenance cabinet.
Tyler helped him.
The board came loose.
Underneath was darkness.
Then cardboard.
Jeremy reached down.
He pulled out a faded banker’s box wrapped in two garbage bags.
His hands started shaking.
“That’s it.”
“How do you know?”
He touched the side.
Rebecca Daniels.
Written in black marker.
For a second Jeremy couldn’t move.
He just stared at her name.
Then Lacey whispered, “Open it.”
Price immediately said, “Wait.”
We all looked at him.
“If this contains original evidence, handle as little as possible.”
I laughed bitterly.
“They kidnapped a seventeen-year-old girl and gave us ninety minutes.”
Price’s jaw tightened.
“Open it.”
I removed the plastic.
The cardboard smelled old and damp.
Inside were folders.
Dozens.
Bank records.
Property documents.
Copies of driver’s licenses.
Insurance forms.
Photographs.
A small digital recorder.
And a thick red notebook.
Jeremy reached for it.
I stopped him.
“My turn.”
I opened the first page.
Names.
Dates.
Dollar amounts.
Every line looked like a transaction.
Some names had red circles around them.
Others had an X.
Price leaned closer.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I found Eleanor Watkins.
Claim 419.
Beside her name:
Original estimate: $12,480.
Submitted claim: $187,300.
Lien transfer authorized: RCM.
Price whispered, “Randall Clay Mercer.”
Under that:
Property transferred through RMC Property Solutions.
Resale profit: $141,000.
Tyler stared.
“They stole her house.”
“Yes,” I said.
Not by accident.
Not because paperwork got messy.
They stole it.
Page after page showed the same thing.
Older homeowners.
Storm claims.
Inflated repairs.
Loans.
Liens.
Property transfers.
Then I found my name.
Jill Marie Tolley.
My breathing stopped.
Jeremy leaned over me.
“What?”
There were three entries.
IDENTITY PACKAGE RECEIVED.
SIGNATURE SAMPLE APPROVED.
DIVORCE ROUTE CLEARED.
Below that:
HOME EQUITY TARGET: $240,000.
Tyler whispered, “They planned all of it.”
Price pointed at a set of initials.
M.G.
“Marsha Givens.”
I turned the page.
Then stopped.
A photograph was taped inside.
Rebecca.
Randall.
And a much younger Jeremy.
All three standing outside Mercer Roofing.
On the back:
1999 COMPANY PICNIC.
Jeremy stared at it.
“I remember that day.”
Lacey looked at him.
“Did Rebecca work there then?”
“No.”
Price turned toward Jeremy.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“She told you she did bookkeeping later.”
“She did.”
“When?”
Jeremy thought.
“Maybe 2001.”
Price looked at the notebook.
“Caleb was born in 2003.”
Jeremy flinched.
Tyler noticed.
“So Randall really could be his father.”
Jeremy didn’t answer.
I kept turning pages.
Then a folded laboratory report slipped out.
PATERNITY ANALYSIS.
Jeremy froze.
Nobody breathed.
I opened it.
Alleged Father: Randall Clay Mercer.
Child: Caleb Daniels.
Probability of paternity:
99.98%.
Jeremy sat down hard on the nearest pew.
“No.”
Lacey covered her mouth.
Tyler whispered, “Dad.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“No.”
I looked at the report again.
Dated twenty-two years earlier.
Caleb had been a baby.
Rebecca had known almost from the beginning.
Jeremy looked destroyed.
“She told me he was mine.”
Lacey sat beside him.
“She may have had a reason.”
“To lie to me for twenty-three years?”
Price spoke quietly.
“Maybe she was hiding Caleb from Randall.”
Jeremy looked up.
“Why?”
I turned another page.
There was my answer.
REBECCA DANIELS — PERSONAL STATEMENT.
Three handwritten pages.
Jeremy recognized the handwriting.
“That’s hers.”
I began reading.
Rebecca wrote that Randall became violent when she tried to leave him.
That he controlled her money.
Tracked her phone.
Threatened her family.
When she discovered she was pregnant, she was terrified Randall would use the baby to keep her tied to him forever.
So she told Jeremy the child was his.
Jeremy closed his eyes.
“She used me.”
“No,” Lacey whispered.
He looked at her.
“She used me.”
“She trusted you more than Randall.”
Jeremy laughed once, broken and empty.
“And look how well that turned out.”
I kept reading.
Rebecca said Jeremy loved Caleb.
Randall barely knew he existed.
She intended to tell Jeremy the truth eventually.
But years passed.
Then Randall found out.
My skin prickled.
“How?”
Price asked.
I scanned the page.
“Medical records.”
“What?”
“Caleb needed surgery when he was twelve.”
Rebecca had listed Randall as biological father on an old emergency medical form.
Someone connected to Mercer Roofing found it.
Randall learned the truth.
Then the threats began again.
Jeremy whispered, “That’s when Rebecca started calling me more.”
I looked at him.
“You thought she needed money.”
“Yes.”
“She needed protection.”
His eyes filled.
“I didn’t know.”
I turned to the final page.
Rebecca wrote one last sentence in capital letters.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, RANDALL DID NOT ACT ALONE.
Below it were two initials.
S.P.
Everyone looked at Price.
He went still.
Jeremy stood.
“You.”
Price didn’t move.
“S.P.”
I held up the page.
“That’s you.”
“No.”
Jeremy stepped closer.
“Samuel Price.”
“I know what my initials are.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
Jeremy grabbed his shirt.
Price twisted his arm away and shoved him back.
“Do that again and I cuff you.”
Jeremy shouted, “My son was kidnapped after you took our evidence!”
“And I came here because someone sent me a photograph of this church!”
We froze.
“What photograph?” I asked.
Price pulled out his phone.
He opened a message.
The church.
Timestamped twenty minutes before we arrived.
Text beneath it:
THE TOLLEY FAMILY WILL BE HERE AT SIX.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT THE ORIGINAL FILES.
I looked at him.
“Who sent it?”
“Unknown number.”
Tyler whispered, “Somebody wanted all of us here.”
“Yes.”
Price looked toward the broken sanctuary doors.
“And they got what they wanted.”
A distraction.
While Emma was taken.
I looked again at Rebecca’s initials.
S.P.
“Who else could that be?”
Price stared at the page.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
He took it from me.
“Rebecca knew a Steven Price.”
Jeremy frowned.
“Who?”
“My father.”
Silence.
I thought I misheard him.
“Your father?”
“He was a sheriff’s investigator.”
“When?”
“Late nineties through 2007.”
Jeremy’s face tightened.
“Was he investigating Randall?”
Price nodded slowly.
“He investigated Mercer Roofing once.”
“For what?”
“Loan fraud.”
“What happened?”
“The case disappeared.”
My stomach dropped.
“Disappeared?”
“Evidence was ruled improperly collected. Charges collapsed.”
“Who collected it?”
“My father.”
Jeremy laughed bitterly.
“So maybe corruption runs in your family too.”
Price ignored him.
I asked, “Is your father alive?”
“No.”
“When did he die?”
“Ten years ago.”
“How?”
Price hesitated.
That hesitation said enough.
“Tell me.”
“Gunshot.”
“Suicide?”
“That was the ruling.”
“Do you believe it?”
Price looked at Rebecca’s note.
“I haven’t for a long time.”
Everything shifted again.
Maybe S.P. wasn’t Samuel.
Maybe it was Steven.
Maybe Rebecca had been warning us about Price’s father.
Or maybe she trusted him.
We didn’t know.
Then the digital recorder inside the box caught my attention.
I picked it up.
Small.
Old.
Still had batteries.
Price said, “Don’t.”
I looked at him.
“We don’t have time.”
I pressed play.
Static.
Then Rebecca’s voice.
Jeremy’s face crumpled instantly.
“I recognize her.”
The recording was dated three days before her death.
Rebecca sounded frightened.
“If you’re hearing this, Randall knows I copied the files.”
We all leaned closer.
“He knows Caleb is his.”
Jeremy closed his eyes.
“He wants the boy.”
Rebecca continued.
“But Caleb is safer believing Jeremy is his father.”
Jeremy whispered, “Rebecca…”
Then her voice changed.
“There is someone inside the sheriff’s office helping Randall.”
Price stared at the recorder.
“I don’t know his name.”
We all exhaled.
Not Steven.
Not Samuel.
Not yet.
Rebecca continued.
“I only know Randall calls him Judge.”
Price looked confused.
“Judge?”
Jeremy frowned.
“That’s not a name.”
The recording crackled.
Then Rebecca said, “Marsha handles documents. Randall handles money. Judge handles police.”
Price whispered, “Three people.”
I asked, “Do you know anyone called Judge?”
He shook his head.
Then the recorder continued.
“If something happens to me, the proof is in the mill.”
Everyone froze.
The mill.
The same place they wanted Rebecca’s box delivered.
Rebecca’s voice continued.
“Not the office. Not the church. The old feed mill. Third floor. Room seven.”
Jeremy looked at me.
The message had told us to go there by eight.
They weren’t asking for the box because they needed what was inside.
They wanted us at the same place Rebecca had hidden the strongest evidence.
Price said, “That changes everything.”
“How?”
“They may think you know what’s in Room Seven.”
“I didn’t until thirty seconds ago.”
“But whoever sent the ransom message may know Rebecca recorded this.”
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
7:02.
FIFTY-EIGHT MINUTES.
BRING THE BOX.
I typed:
LET ME SPEAK TO EMMA.
No response.
Then my phone rang.
I answered instantly.
“Emma?”
Breathing.
Then crying.
“Jill?”
It was her.
Lacey grabbed my arm.
“Baby!”
Emma’s voice shook.
“Mom?”
“I’m here!”
“Mom, I’m okay.”
A man shouted in the background.
“Enough.”
Then Emma rushed her words.
“Jill, don’t bring the box. They already—”
The phone was ripped away.
A man’s voice came through.
Wade Mercer.
I knew it from the church.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Let her go.”
“Bring the box.”
“You already know what’s in it.”
Silence.
That was interesting.
“You don’t, do you?”
No answer.
I pushed.
“You don’t know what Rebecca kept.”
His voice hardened.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Let me ask you something, Wade.”
“What?”
“Who is Judge?”
Silence.
Not normal silence.
Fear.
Real fear.
Then the line went dead.
Price stared at me.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
Jeremy looked toward the recorder.
“If Wade is scared of Judge, then Judge is above Randall.”
That meant the man we thought was at the center of everything might not be.
Tyler suddenly pointed toward the road.
“Car.”
Headlights approached through the trees.
Price drew his weapon.
“Everyone down.”
The car stopped outside.
One door opened.
Then another.
Price moved toward the entrance.
“Stay here.”
A woman shouted from outside.
“Jill!”
I recognized the voice.
“Melissa?”
She came through the doorway with a man in a state police jacket.
Price lowered his gun slightly.
Melissa looked at the broken church and then at us.
“Are you all okay?”
“No.”
The state investigator stepped forward.
“Special Agent Daniel Reeves, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”
Price’s face tightened.
Reeves looked at him.
“Detective Price.”
“You followed Melissa?”
“She called me.”
Price nodded.
Good.
At least someone was outside the county.
I handed Reeves my phone.
“My stepdaughter has been kidnapped.”
“Who took her?”
“Wade Mercer.”
Price added, “Likely working with Randall.”
Reeves read the messages.
“What do they want?”
I pointed at Rebecca’s box.
“That.”
“And the exchange?”
“Old feed mill. Eight.”
Reeves looked at Price.
“You know it?”
Price nodded.
“Mercer property.”
Reeves looked at his watch.
“We have fifty minutes.”
Jeremy stepped forward.
“I’m going.”
“No,” Reeves said.
“She thinks I’m her father.”
“And that makes you emotionally compromised.”
Jeremy nearly exploded.
I touched his arm.
“Stop.”
He looked at me.
“I’ll go.”
Everyone objected at once.
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Jill—”
I held up my hand.
“They specifically asked for me.”
Reeves said, “That doesn’t mean you walk in alone.”
“They’ll watch.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So we make them think you’re alone.”
For the first time all evening, someone sounded like they had a plan.
Reeves pointed at the box.
“First, we duplicate what matters.”
“We don’t have time.”
“We photograph fast.”
Price picked up the recorder.
“And Room Seven?”
Reeves looked at him.
“What room?”
We explained Rebecca’s recording.
The TBI agent went quiet.
Then said, “The hostage exchange may be secondary.”
“What do you mean?”
“They may be using Emma to make sure you bring the box to the mill.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He pointed toward the recorder.
“They may want you to lead them to whatever Rebecca hid in Room Seven.”
A chill moved through me.
“If they don’t know exactly where it is…”
“They’ll watch you find it.”
Jeremy whispered, “Then we use that.”
Reeves looked at him.
“How?”
“We give them what they expect.”
Jeremy pointed toward me.
“Jill carries the box.”
I stared at him.
“And?”
“I go inside first.”
“No.”
“Not as me.”
Tyler frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Jeremy looked toward Price.
“Mercer Roofing still has old uniforms?”
Price understood.
“You want to enter as cleanup crew.”
“The place caught fire today. Everyone connected to Randall will be moving records.”
Reeves shook his head.
“Too risky.”
Jeremy looked at him.
“My daughter is in there.”
Emma wasn’t biologically his.
Maybe.
But none of us corrected him.
Reeves finally said, “Nobody improvises.”
Then he looked at me.
“Mrs. Tolley, if you do this, you follow every instruction I give you.”
I nodded.
He pointed at Jeremy.
“You stay out unless I authorize it.”
Jeremy didn’t answer.
That meant trouble later.
But we didn’t have time for later.
We spent twenty minutes photographing the notebook and documents.
Melissa took copies.
Reeves sent images to a secure TBI contact.
Price photographed everything too, under Reeves’ eyes.
At 7:28, we left the church.
Rebecca’s box sat on my passenger seat.
A tracking device was taped beneath it.
A tiny microphone was hidden under my collar.
Reeves’ team would stage several hundred yards away.
No sirens.
No visible police.
At 7:49, the old feed mill appeared.
Three stories.
Broken windows.
Rusting metal siding.
One light burning on the top floor.
Room Seven.
I parked where the message instructed.
Alone.
At least that was what they were supposed to believe.
My phone buzzed.
GET OUT.
I stepped from the car.
Another message.
BRING THE BOX.
I lifted it.
Heavy.
Rebecca’s secrets.
My stolen house.
Eleanor’s home.
Caleb’s identity.
Emma’s life.
All inside one box.
I walked toward the mill.
A side door opened.
Wade Mercer stepped out.
Gun in his hand.
“Phone.”
I handed it over.
“Box.”
I kept holding it.
“Emma first.”
He smiled.
“You’re not negotiating.”
“I came alone.”
He looked toward the darkness.
“Did you?”
My heartbeat jumped.
He stared past me for several seconds.
Then waved me inside.
The mill smelled like dust and oil.
He led me up metal stairs.
Second floor.
Then third.
At the end of the hallway was a wooden door.
Number 7.
My throat tightened.
Wade smiled.
“Funny, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“All these years and everybody ends up back in the same room.”
He opened it.
Emma was tied to a chair.
Alive.
Lacey’s daughter saw me and started crying.
“Jill.”
“I’m here.”
Then I saw another person.
Caleb.
He was tied beside her.
Blood dried across his forehead.
He looked at me.
“No.”
His voice was weak.
“Jill, you shouldn’t have come.”
Behind him stood Randall.
He smiled.
“You brought my property.”
I held the box tighter.
“It belonged to Rebecca.”
“Everything Rebecca had belonged to me.”
Caleb spat blood onto the floor.
“Still telling yourself that?”
Randall slapped him.
I shouted, “Stop!”
Randall looked at me.
“Give Wade the box.”
I didn’t move.
“Emma first.”
He laughed.
“You really think you have leverage?”
Then another voice came from the dark corner.
Older.
Calm.
“I told you she would be difficult.”
Price’s body went rigid in my earpiece.
Reeves whispered through the hidden receiver.
“Jill, identify the speaker if you can.”
A man stepped into the light.
Gray hair.
Expensive suit.
I had seen his face before.
Not in person.
On campaign signs.
On courthouse walls.
Judge Malcolm Grady.
The county’s senior circuit judge.
My stomach dropped.
Judge.
Not a nickname.
A title.
The same judge whose signature was on my fake divorce decree.
He smiled at me.
“Mrs. Tolley.”
I could barely breathe.
“You signed my divorce.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew it was fake.”
His smile didn’t move.
“My dear, I didn’t just know.”
He stepped closer.
“I ordered it.”
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 10…
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