Chapter 2 - The House in Rockford
The revelation sent shockwaves through our small circle of allies. If the letter had been posted recently, it meant one of two things: either Claire was alive and hiding, or someone else had found her personal belongings and sent the warning to Mark’s current victim.
Detective Reyes arrived at our house at noon the following day. A sharp-eyed woman with silvering hair and a heavy leather leather jacket, she sat across from Dad and me at the kitchen table, spreading out a series of police reports.
"We ran the security footage from the Rockford post office where the envelope was mailed," Reyes said, sliding a grainy black-and-white printout across the table. "The person who dropped it into the blue collection box was wearing a heavy trench coat, a headscarf, and oversized sunglasses. We couldn't get a clear face, but the physical frame matches a female, roughly five-foot-five, slender build."
"Claire," I whispered, leaning over the photograph.
"We don't know," Reyes cautioned. "But we hit pay dirt when we audited Mark Carter’s bank records from three years ago, just as Colonel Hale suggested. Mark didn't buy a house in Rockford. His mother, Patricia Carter, did."
I looked up, stunned. "Patricia?"
"A small, two-story farm house on five acres outside Rockford," Reyes explained. "Purchased through a blind land trust in October of the exact year Claire vanished. The utility bills have been paid automatically every month from an account controlled by Patricia. But here’s the kicker: the property has been officially registered as 'unoccupied' for thirty-six months."
Dad’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. "A hidden property. Maintained in secret by the mother, paid for in cash, kept off the family grid."
"We obtained a search warrant an hour ago," Detective Reyes said, standing up and checking her sidearm. "I’m taking a tactical entry team to that farmhouse in thirty minutes. Colonel, I know you’re retired from active combat, but I know who you are. I’m asking you to stay here with Anna."
"No," I said instantly, my voice carrying a sharp strength that surprised even myself. I gripped the edge of the table and forced myself to stand upright, pushing through the dull ache in my back. "I’m coming with you."
"Anna, absolutely not," Dad commanded, his tone instantly shifting into full military authority. "You are seven months pregnant. You have two cracked ribs and severe exhaustion."
"I spent months in that dark apartment letting Mark and Patricia tell me I was helpless!" I shouted, the fire in my chest bursting through months of suppressed trauma. "They made me feel like a prisoner in my own skin! If Claire is in that house, or if her memory is buried there, I need to see it with my own eyes. I won't hide anymore, Dad. I can't."
Dad looked at me for a long, silent moment. He saw the fierce, maternal determination in my eyes—the same determination he said my mother used to have whenever something she loved was threatened.
Slowly, the strict colonel softened into a father.
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"Reyes," Dad said quietly, pulling his heavy winter jacket off the hook. "We ride in the back of your unmarked SUV. My medical kit comes with us. And if there’s a shred of danger, my daughter stays inside the bulletproof vehicle."
Reyes looked at us both, sighed, and nodded. "Ten minutes. Gear up."
