Chapter 9 - The Safehouse
My phone buzzed against the glass table. The screen showed an unknown, restricted number.
I exchanged a glance with Marcus before tapping speakerphone. "Hello?"
"Claire... it's Maya," a breathless, panicked voice came through the speaker. Static crackled in the background, accompanied by the muffled crying of children.
"Maya? Where are you? Are you with the police?" I asked, leaning over the table.
"No, I couldn't stay at the precinct," Maya whispered frantically. "Charles’s private security team—they aren't regular bodyguards, Claire. They’re ex-mercenaries he hired through his shell companies. One of them was waiting outside the station. I took the kids and ran to a motel off Highway 101."
"Give me the address," Marcus interjected, pulling out his phone. "I'll dispatch private security and contact Detective Reynolds immediately."
"No police!" Maya cried. "You don't understand how deep Charles’s connections go in the county sheriff's department. That's how they covered up Rebecca's death for five years! If the wrong deputy comes, my children and I won't survive the night."
"Maya, listen to me," I said, keeping my voice firm and calming. "I have private security through my firm. Former military contractors. Give me your room number. I will come get you myself with armed protection."
A long pause hung on the line. Then, Maya whispered, "The Starlight Motel in San Rafael. Room 114. Please hurry, Claire. Eleanor knows about this place. Julian used to bring his offshore couriers here."
"I'm coming," I said. "Lock the deadbolt and don't open the door for anyone but me."
I hung up and stood up immediately.
"You can't go there, Claire," Marcus warned, grabbing his coat. "It's too dangerous. Eleanor is missing, and Charles still has loyal assets on his payroll."
"Maya saved my life last night, Marcus," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "If she hadn't spoken up about the cellar, the police would have written it off as a domestic dispute and left me there with Adrian. I'm not leaving her and those kids behind."
"Then we take full tactical security," Marcus said firmly.
Twenty minutes later, two black armored SUVs pulled out of the underground parking garage in downtown San Francisco, heading north across the Golden Gate Bridge into the thick, rolling fog of Marin County.
Beside me sat two private security guards armed with concealed sidearms, their radios clicking with encrypted chatter.
As we drove through the gloomy afternoon mist, my tablet chimed with a breaking news alert:
BREAKING: Former County Deputy Indicted in Vance Family Cover-up; North Ridge Excavation Yields Second Set of Remains.
I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat.
May you like
A second set of remains?
Rebecca wasn't the only one they had buried in that vineyard.
