The Burner Phone Call

My burner phone was still in the plastic packaging. I tore it open with my teeth, my hands slick with rain and adrenaline. I jammed the battery in, praying it had a charge.

The screen flickered to life. *15% Battery.*

It was enough.

I stood at the mouth of the tunnel, the rain soaking my hair, my eyes fixed on the darkness where Julian had disappeared. He was gone, but he wasn't far. He had a boat. He had Sarah. He had the money.

But he didn't have Richard.

And Richard was the key.

I dialed Richard's number from memory. It rang once. Twice.

"Helen?" His voice was a frantic whisper.

"I found them," I said, my voice low, barely audible over the river's roar. "They have a boat. They're heading downstream. Toward the old mill."

"The mill?" Richard asked. "That's... that's where the river narrows. Where the dam is."

"Exactly. They can't get past the dam without portaging. They'll have to stop."

"I'm coming," he said. "I'm leaving the rest stop now. The ambulance is here for Simon."

"Forget Simon," I snapped. "Bring the car. And bring the other gun."

"What other gun?"

"The one you didn't tell me about," I said. "The one you used to threaten Sarah Miller thirty years ago."

Silence on the other end.

"I know, Richard," I said. "I found the file. I know about the adoption. I know about everything."

"Helen, I—"

"Just bring the gun," I said, and hung up.

I shoved the phone into my pocket. The old revolver was still heavy in my other hand. I checked the cylinder again. Five rounds left.

I started running along the riverbank. The mud sucked at my boots, the branches whipping my face, but I didn't slow down. I knew the path. I had walked it a thousand times in my nightmares.

The river was a black snake, swollen and angry, carrying debris from the storm. I could see the faint glow of the police boat further upstream, but they were too far away. They wouldn't reach the mill in time.

But Julian would.

I pushed harder, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The trees thinned out, revealing the skeletal silhouette of the old textile mill against the stormy sky. The dam roared, a wall of white water crashing down into the basin below.

And there, struggling against the current, was the skiff.

Julian was at the tiller, fighting to keep the boat steady as they approached the landing. Sarah was in the bow, clutching a waterproof bag. The ledger. The money.

They hit the dock with a thud. Sarah jumped out, tying the line. Julian followed, pulling a heavy duffel bag from the boat.

They were fast. Efficient. They had practiced this.

I stopped at the edge of the clearing, hidden by a cluster of river birches. I raised the gun.

But I didn't fire.

Because I saw something else.

A car was parked near the mill. An old, beat-up sedan.

Not Julian's.

It was Richard's old car. The one he had claimed was sold years ago.

And leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette, was a man.

He was tall, broad-shouldered. He wore a long coat and a hat pulled low.

Julian stopped. Sarah froze.

The man straightened up. He flicked the cigarette into a puddle.

"Hello, brother," Richard said.

I stared.

Richard wasn't at the rest stop. He wasn't in the BMW.

He was here. Waiting.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text message.

From the burner phone I had just called.

*Come home. We need to talk.*

I looked at the phone in my hand. Then at the man by the car.

It wasn't Richard.

It was the man who had been tracking Maya. The man who had been watching us all along.

The third brother.