Chapter 8 - The Final, Desperate Betrayal
The extra patrols helped. For two weeks, there was no sign of anyone suspicious, no strange cars, no more letters. Emily tried to go back to normal, tried to tell herself Daniel was just blowing hot air, that he had no real friends on the outside, that no one would be stupid enough to do his dirty work for him. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was coming. She slept with a flashlight under her pillow, checked the locks on every door three times before bed, kept her phone right next to her at all times.
It happened on a rainy Tuesday night, two weeks after the letter. The inn was quiet, all the guests asleep, Cole at the sheriff’s department working a late shift, Max curled up on the couch in the lobby. Emily was upstairs in the office, going over the foundation’s end-of-year reports, when she heard it: the soft sound of glass breaking, downstairs by the back door.
Her blood ran cold. She reached under the desk, grabbed the baseball bat Cole had left there for her, and turned off the office light. She tiptoed to the door, pressed her ear against it, and listened. Footsteps. Heavy, slow footsteps, walking through the kitchen, getting closer to the stairs.
She pulled out her phone, texted Cole HE’S HERE BACK DOOR, then dialed 911, keeping the line open but muted so the dispatcher could hear what was happening. She gripped the bat tight, her hands shaking, her heart hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears.
The footsteps got closer. Up the stairs. Down the hallway. Stopping right outside the office door.
The doorknob turned. Slowly.
The door swung open.
It was Daniel.
He was thinner, his hair longer and greasy, wearing a faded orange prison jumpsuit, his hands cuffed in front of him, a wild, crazy look in his eyes. Behind him, she could see a man in a guard’s uniform, holding a gun, watching.
“Hello, Emily,” Daniel said, smiling a sharp, toothy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Miss me?”
Emily backed up, raising the bat. “How… how did you get out?”
Daniel laughed, a high, insane sound. “I have friends everywhere, baby. That guard you see? He owes me. He’s gonna get me out of the country, and before I go, I’m gonna take what’s mine. Or I’m gonna burn this whole place to the ground. Your choice.” He stepped closer, the cuffs clinking. “Give me access to all the accounts. Transfer thirty million to the offshore account number I’m gonna give you. And I walk away. No fire. No one gets hurt. If you don’t… well. You remember that letter I sent you?”
The guard stepped into the room, raising the gun, pointing it right at her. “Do what he says, lady. This doesn’t have to get messy.”
Emily’s mind was racing. She could see the can of gasoline peeking out of the duffel bag the guard was carrying. She could see the lighter in Daniel’s hand. She knew they weren’t bluffing. She also knew Cole was on his way. She just had to stall.
“Okay,” she said, lowering the bat slowly, putting her hands up. “Okay. I’ll do it. Just… just put the gun down. Please. The accounts are on the laptop. Let me just log in.”
She turned slowly to the desk, reaching for the laptop, her hand brushing the heavy glass paperweight Margaret had left her, the one with the tiny silver key embedded inside it. She grabbed it, spun around, and threw it as hard as she could at the guard’s head.
It hit him square in the forehead. He grunted, staggered back, the gun going off with a loud BANG, the bullet burying itself in the ceiling. He dropped to his knees, dazed.
Daniel screamed, lunging at her, his cuffed hands outstretched to grab her throat. She swung the bat, hitting him hard in the ribs. He doubled over, gasping, and she hit him again, in the side of the head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
The guard was starting to get up, shaking his head, reaching for the gun that had skittered across the floor. Emily dove for it, grabbed it, pointed it at him, her hands shaking so hard the barrel wobbled.
“Don’t move,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt. “I will shoot you. I swear to God I will.”
The guard froze, his hands going up.
And then the office door burst open. Cole was there, his gun drawn, followed by three deputies, their lights flashing, yelling DROP THE WEAPON, GET ON THE GROUND, NOW.
The guard dropped to his knees, putting his hands behind his head. Emily dropped the gun, her legs giving out, and Cole was there in two seconds, catching her, pulling her into his arms, holding her so tight she could barely breathe.
“I got you,” he whispered, kissing her face over and over. “I got you, baby. You’re safe. It’s over. It’s all over.”
The paramedics came, checked Daniel and the guard—they were both alive, just unconscious—and took them away. The FBI showed up an hour later, took Emily’s statement, told her the guard had been on Daniel’s payroll for months, had been planning to help him escape to Mexico, that they’d been investigating them for weeks. Daniel would be going to a maximum-security prison now, no chance of parole for at least twenty years. The guard would be right there with him.
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Cole carried Emily upstairs to their bedroom, undressed her, tucked her into bed, and lay down next to her, holding her all night, not letting go even for a second. She didn’t cry. She didn’t shake. She just lay there, listening to his heartbeat, knowing it was finally, truly over.
Daniel would never hurt her again. He would never hurt anyone again.
