Chapter 4 - Ghosts of Orchard Seven
Grace’s hands trembled violently as she snatched the flash drive out of the laptop port and shoved it into her jeans pocket. She quietly crept out of the kitchen and stood in the dark hallway leading to the front door.
Through the translucent frosted glass panel of the front door, she saw the dark silhouetted shape of a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a heavy rain poncho. He wasn't knocking. He was crouching down, adjusting a small metal tool inside the keyhole.
Someone was picking the lock.
Panic hit Grace like a physical blow. She couldn't call the police in time; her house was located at the end of a long, secluded rural lane, and emergency response times in this rain would take at least fifteen minutes.
She silently darted back into Ellie’s room, scooped up her sleeping daughter into her arms, and wrapped a thick blanket around her.
“Mommy?” Ellie mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “Where are we going?”
“Shh, baby. We’re playing a hiding game,” Grace whispered frantically against Ellie’s ear, sliding open the bedroom window that led onto the low roof of the back porch.
Cold rain lashed into the room instantly, soaking Grace’s hair. She climbed through the frame onto the slick wooden roof, holding Ellie tightly against her chest. Below them lay the dark back garden and the thick treeline leading toward the main road.
Behind her, inside the house, the front door gave a sharp, metallic click as the lock gave way.
Grace didn't look back. She carefully slid down the edge of the low roof, dropping three feet into the wet mud below. The landing rattled her knees, but she kept her footing, shielding Ellie with her body as she ran headlong into the pouring rain toward the woods.
Inside the duplex, a tall man holding a suppressed pistol stepped quietly into the kitchen. He opened the open laptop resting on the table, saw the blank, newly cleared screen, and touched the warm battery casing.
He pulled out his radio. “She was just here. She cleared out through the back. Secure the perimeter!”
Through the dark, rain-soaked woods, Grace ran faster than she ever had in her life. Branches whipped against her cheeks and mud pulled at her shoes, but she kept running, driven by raw survival instinct. She emerged onto the main paved road half a mile down, her clothes soaked and her legs burning with exhaustion.
A pair of bright headlights appeared through the rain fog, approaching fast.
Desperate, Grace ran into the middle of the asphalt, waving her free arm wildly.
The heavy luxury SUV swerved sharply, tires screeching against the wet pavement, coming to a halt just inches from her knees. The driver’s side door slammed open, and a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a dark raincoat stepped out, holding a small flashlight.
“Are you crazy? Get out of the road!” the woman yelled.
Then the woman’s beam of light caught Grace’s face, recognized the uniform beneath her soaked coat, and dropped slightly in shock.
“Grace? Grace Bennett?”
Grace blinked through the blinding light, her voice breaking into sob. “Dr. Vance’s chief assistant... Mrs. Gable?”
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Helen Gable, Julian Cross’s long-time private executive nurse and personal medical manager, stared at the shivering woman and child.
“Get in the car,” Helen commanded fiercely, opening the rear door. “Now! Before whoever is following you catches up.”
