Chapter 14 - The Black Sedan
The paranoia began to bleed into every breath I took.
Two days later, my head of personal security, Marcus—a former Secret Service operative hired by Margaret—pulled his black SUV abruptly to the curb two blocks from Noah’s private preschool.
"Stay inside, Mrs. Vance," Marcus ordered, his hand instinctively dropping to the holster concealed under his jacket.
Through the tinted glass, I saw what Marcus had spotted: a nondescript black sedan with heavily tinted windows idling beside the kindergarten playground. The engine was running, a faint wisp of exhaust curling into the crisp autumn air. The vehicle had no front license plate.
"Is it him?" My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird.
"Can’t confirm visual through the tint," Marcus replied, speaking rapidly into his radio to alert the perimeter guards. "Vehicle has been trailing our secondary route since we left Commonwealth Avenue."
Before the team could box the sedan in, the driver slammed into reverse, tires screeching against asphalt, before executing a violent U-turn and speeding away into the maze of downtown traffic.
When we arrived home under heavy armed escort, a wooden package sat on the front porch steps. It had bypassed the front gate by being thrown over the brick wall into the rose garden.
Marcus swept it for explosives before handing the contents to me with a grim expression.
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Inside the crushed velvet box lay an antique silver rattle—the exact heirloom Daniel had thrown at my feet in the hospital nursery two years ago—accompanied by a handwritten card in Daniel's jagged scrawl:
*Tick-tock, Grace. Daddy’s coming home.*
