Chapter 24 - The Vanishing Act
"Lily, listen to my voice!" I pressed both palms against the reinforced metal, fighting the hysteria clawing up my throat. "Are you hurt? Baby, answer me, are you hurt?"
"No," Lily’s muffled voice squeaked, shaking uncontrollably. "Mr. David... before he went outside, he shoved something into my pocket. He told me to crawl into the floor vent if anyone got through the door. Mom, the lights outside are flashing red and blue!"
Sirens. Faint, high-pitched wails were slicing through the roar of the rain, echoing off the distant mountain pass. Croft hadn't been bluffing. The authorities were closing in.
Gunfire echoed sharply from the foyer—two rapid cracks, followed by the heavy sound of shattering glass and the thunderous slam of the rear terrace doors.
"Claire!" Graham’s voice came bellowing down the hall.
A second later, he burst through the swinging kitchen doors. His face was streaked with soot and rain, a fresh crimson gash cut deep across his cheekbone. He rushed to my side, his eyes scanning the ruined keypad.
"They're gone," he breathed heavily, his chest heaving. "Croft threw an incendiary flash into the parlor to cover their exit. They took the second vehicle out through the service gates."
"The lock, Graham!" I grabbed his arm, digging my fingers into his soaked jacket. "The keypad is destroyed! She’s trapped inside, and the emergency air cycle will run out if the main generator shuts down!"
Graham cursed violently, dropping his empty magazine and slamming a fresh one home before tucking the gun away. He knelt down, tearing the cracked plastic cover off the panel with his bare hands. "David has the mechanical master bypass on his key ring. I'm going to get it."
He vanished back toward the foyer. The house was silent now, save for the crackling sparks of the severed wires and the distant, approaching sirens.
"Lily," I called out, pressing my forehead against the steel door. "Graham went to get the key. You're going to be out in one minute, sweetheart. Stay right against the door."
"Mom?" Lily's voice sounded smaller now, but strangely determined. "What Mr. David gave me... it’s not a key."
I paused. "What is it, Lily?"
"It’s a photograph," she said softly through the gap. "And a piece of paper with numbers written in red pen. Mr. David said to give it only to you. He said... he said your sister didn't hire the man in the coat."
My blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"
"He said Vanessa was brought here in handcuffs," Lily whispered. "He said the man in the coat works for someone named 'The Harbor Master.' And that Elmhurst isn't a bank."
Before I could process the words, Graham ran back into the kitchen, his hands slick with David's blood and rain. In his hand was a heavy, notched brass key. He shoved it into the manual override slot beneath the mangled keypad, threw his entire body weight into the turn, and with a heavy hydraulic hiss, the massive steel door unlocked.
I threw the door open.
Lily tumbled out into my arms, sobbing hysterically as she buried her face in my neck. I collapsed onto the floor, wrapping every inch of myself around her tiny, trembling frame, tears blinding my vision.
"I've got you," I whispered over and over, kissing her soaked hair. "I've got you, my brave girl. You're safe."
Graham knelt beside us, wrapping his massive arms around both of us, his breathing ragged. But as Lily pulled back slightly, her tiny fingers reached into her rain-jacket pocket.
She pulled out a crumpled, yellowed photograph and a folded piece of stationery.
Graham looked at the photo, and every drop of color drained from his face.
May you like
It wasn't a picture of Arthur Vance.
It was a photograph of my mother—taken twenty-five years ago—standing on the deck of a yacht called *The Elmhurst*, her arm draped around a young Lawrence Croft.
