Chapter 4
I stared at Marcus's photograph until the screen blurred.
Vanessa sat inside the black SUV outside my home.
But it was the man behind the steering wheel who made my blood turn cold.
I recognized him.
I had seen him before.
Three years earlier.
At the police station.
His name was Thomas Mercer.
He was the private investigator Evelyn Whitmore had recommended after Alicia disappeared.
At the time, he claimed to be helping us.
He had searched traffic cameras.
Interviewed witnesses.
Reviewed phone records.
Then, after three weeks, he told me Alicia had probably left voluntarily.
I had paid him nearly fifteen thousand dollars.
And now he was sitting beside Vanessa outside my house.
I called Marcus.
"Don't go near them."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Can you see what they're doing?"
"Mercer just got out."
"Mercer?"
"Yeah. You know him?"
"I hired him to find Alicia."
Marcus went silent.
Then he cursed.
"Daniel, he's walking toward your garage."
I stood.
"Call the police."
"I already did. I'm recording him."
"Good."
Marcus lowered his voice.
"Wait. He has a key."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"He just unlocked the side door."
I closed my eyes.
Vanessa had lived in my house for nearly six months.
Of course she had access.
Of course she could have copied keys.
But why would Mercer enter now?
Then I remembered the photograph Alicia had left Rachel.
And the numbers written behind it.
Maybe there was something in my house they needed.
Something Alicia had hidden before she disappeared.
"Marcus, stay outside. Don't confront him."
"Understood."
I ended the call.
Rachel was standing in the doorway.
"What happened?"
"Vanessa's at my house with the investigator who searched for Alicia."
Rachel's expression changed.
"Thomas Mercer?"
I nodded.
She whispered, "That man always made me uncomfortable."
I looked at the envelope.
"Rachel, the numbers Alicia wrote. Do they mean anything to you?"
She studied them.
Six digits.
041726.
"Could be a date."
"April seventeenth, twenty twenty-six?"
Rachel shook her head.
"Alicia disappeared in twenty twenty-three. It can't be that."
Maybe a combination.
A file number.
A storage unit.
I photographed both sides of the picture and placed it in my jacket pocket.
Then I called the detective who originally handled Alicia's disappearance.
Detective Samuel Brooks.
He had retired the previous year.
But Rachel still had his personal number.
He answered after three rings.
"Daniel Bennett."
"Detective, I need help."
Something in my voice caught his attention.
"What happened?"
"My wife called me today."
Silence.
Then a chair scraped against the floor.
"Say that again."
"Alicia called. She's alive."
I told him everything.
Vanessa.
The wedding.
Maya.
The Whitmore Foundation.
Thomas Mercer.
When I finished, Brooks said something I hadn't expected.
"I've been waiting three years for this call."
I gripped the phone.
"What do you mean?"
"I never believed your wife abandoned her family."
"Then why did the investigation stop?"
"Because evidence disappeared."
"What evidence?"
"Traffic footage. A witness statement. Financial records your wife was supposed to bring to me."
I felt my throat tighten.
"She contacted you?"
"Two days before she vanished."
My mind raced.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because the department decided her disappearance wasn't connected to the financial complaint. And after the case went inactive, I couldn't prove otherwise."
He paused.
"Daniel, is your daughter safe?"
"She's with my sister."
"Keep her there."
"Can you help me?"
"I'm retired, but I still have people I trust. Don't touch anything at your house until the responding officers finish."
I told him about the photograph.
When I read the name Willow Creek Recovery Center, he went silent.
Then he asked me to repeat it.
"Do you know it?"
"Unfortunately."
"What is it?"
"A private behavioral health facility that used to operate outside Macon."
"Used to?"
"It officially closed eighteen months ago."
My pulse quickened.
"Why?"
"Licensing violations. Missing patient records. Allegations that people were being admitted without proper consent."
I felt sick.
"And Evelyn Whitmore?"
"Her foundation helped finance the place."
I pressed a hand against the kitchen table.
"Detective, do you think Alicia was taken there?"
"I think we need to find out."
That evening, two uniformed officers arrived at my house.
Marcus sent me another update.
Mercer had left before they arrived.
Vanessa had driven away.
But Marcus's video clearly showed Mercer entering through the side door and leaving carrying a small metal box.
The police took a report.
Marcus sent them his recording.
The officers found no obvious signs of forced entry because Mercer had used a key.
They also warned me that because Vanessa had been living there, the legal issues surrounding access might be complicated.
I didn't care.
I only cared about the box.
What had Mercer taken?
At nine that night, Maya finally fell asleep beside Rachel.
I sat alone in the guest bedroom and opened my laptop.
I searched everything I could find about Willow Creek.
The facility had operated as a private residential treatment center for adults.
Its website was gone.
Its phone number was disconnected.
But I found an archived photograph from a fundraising event.
Evelyn stood beside a man in a dark suit.
The caption identified him as Dr. Nathaniel Price.
Medical director.
I searched his name.
The results made my stomach twist.
His medical license had been suspended following complaints involving improper patient confinement and falsified treatment records.
I clicked through the old news coverage.
One article mentioned that several former patients could not be located after the center closed.
The investigation remained unresolved.
Then I saw a photograph of the building.
Gray walls.
Tall windows.
A covered entrance.
It was the same building in Alicia's picture.
I called Brooks again.
"There's something else," I said.
"What?"
"Willow Creek closed, but some former patients were never found."
"I remember."
"Could Alicia have been one of them?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"Daniel, I need you to prepare yourself for difficult possibilities."
I swallowed.
"I've spent three years preparing for the worst."
"Then prepare for something else."
"What?"
"The possibility that someone has been keeping her hidden while convincing the world she doesn't want to be found."
I stared into the darkness.
My phone buzzed.
Another unknown number.
A text message.
STOP LOOKING FOR ALICIA.
A second message appeared.
THE NEXT TIME MAYA GETS HURT, HER FATHER WON'T BE THERE TO SAVE HER.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Then a photograph arrived.
It showed Rachel's house.
Taken from across the street.
May you like
Only minutes earlier.
And in the upstairs window, clearly visible behind the curtains, was Maya's bedroom light.
