Chapter 12 - The Basement Trap
My heart skipped a beat, but my body went dead silent.
I didn't panic. I didn't scream.
I set my glass down, walked calmly to the front door, locked the triple deadbolts, and activated the high-decibel home security perimeter. Then I grabbed my service flashlight and dialed Deputy Miller’s personal cell.
“Miller,” he answered on the second ring.
“Someone just sent me an encrypted message claiming Wesley left something behind the water heater in my basement,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I need you here with a canine unit.”
“Stay out of the basement, Nina,” Miller commanded. “I’m three minutes away.”
I didn't wait three minutes on the porch. I stayed by the kitchen island, watching the basement door from across the room.
The house was completely still. Buster sat beside my legs, his golden ears perked up, growling low in his throat—not at the basement door, but toward the floorboards directly beneath our feet.
There was someone under the house.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water.
Wesley hadn’t just stored documents under the floorboards in the guest study. The house had an old root cellar accessible only from a crawlspace hatch on the outside patio—a hatch I had assumed was sealed shut years before I bought the property.
Before I could move toward the front door, the basement door handle clicked.
It slowly turned downward.
The wood creaked as the door pushed open an inch. A dark silhouette stood at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the pitch-black basement below.
“You shouldn't have called the feds, Nina,” a raspy voice whispered.
It wasn't Wesley.
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It was Marcus—Wesley’s best man, the man who had toasted our wedding four days ago, claiming Wesley was the kindest soul on earth.
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