Mia stood beside the kitchen doorway, watching.
I pointed toward the guest room.
“Take Mia and the baby there.”
She immediately shook her head.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Why not?”
“I have to finish.”
“No, you don’t.”
“But Mama said—”
“I’ll deal with your mother.”
Mia looked uncertain.
“You won’t fire her?”
“No.”
She studied my face.
Then she finally nodded.
Marcus waited until she disappeared down the hallway.
He removed several books.
Then another.
Then he ran his hand along the inside edge of the shelving.
“Here.”
He pressed a concealed latch.
Something clicked.
The entire section of bookcase shifted forward by less than an inch.
We stared at each other.
Marcus whispered, “Well.”
I pushed.
The panel moved.
Behind it was darkness.
A narrow passage.
Old stone walls.
Dust.
And a faint draft.
My house had a hidden passage.
But that wasn’t what frightened me.
What frightened me was the sound coming from inside it.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Marcus looked at me.
“Someone’s there.”
I nodded.
We took flashlights.
The passage was narrow enough that our shoulders nearly brushed both walls.
The air smelled old.
Damp.
Unused.
But the floor told another story.
There were footprints in the dust.
Fresh ones.
Small at first.
Then larger.
Someone had been using this passage.
We moved farther in.
About thirty feet beyond the bookcase, the passage opened into a small room.
There was a chair.
A table.
An old lamp.
A stack of blankets.
Bottles of water.
Canned food.
And on the table sat a notebook.
Marcus picked it up.
I looked around.
Whoever had been living here was gone.
But they had not been gone long.
The blanket was still warm.
Then I noticed something on the far wall.
A metal vent.
And beside it, written in pencil:
PLEASE DON’T LET THEM FIND ME.
My stomach tightened.
Marcus looked at the notebook.
The first pages were filled with dates.
Names.
Times.
Numbers.
Then I saw a name I recognized.
