Chapter 15: The Attic

I did not wake him.

I stood over the bed for a full minute, watching Vaughn sleep with one arm flung across my side of the mattress.

Then I wrote on the back of an envelope: 14 Larkin Street. Chloe's email. Back by seven. If I'm not, come.

I propped it against his phone.

I told myself I was being careful.

I was also being stubborn, and I knew it.

Chloe had said she would post the file if I brought anyone.

But the file was only Dillon's confession, and Dillon had already given it to me.

What I did not have was proof of the payments.

The box on the shelf would have it, and I needed it more than I needed to be safe.

I drove my own car across the city in the dark.

Larkin Street was a row of narrow brick houses with flower boxes.

Number fourteen had a porch light on and every curtain closed.

The key was under the mat, the way her email had promised.

Inside, the house smelled of old carpet and lemon polish.

A man's reading glasses lay folded on the arm of the sofa.

A woman's coat hung on a hook by the door, eleven years out of date.

Nobody had moved anything in eleven years, and every surface was dusted.

Someone kept it ready for the next time Chloe needed to cry in it.

I climbed the stairs to the landing.

A hatch in the ceiling had a rope handle.

I pulled it, and a ladder unfolded with a groan.

"Chloe?" I called.

Nothing answered.

I went up, with my phone's flashlight on and my keys between my fingers.

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