Chapter 2: My Wife Knew Jane Was Coming Before I Arrived
Chapter 2: My Wife Knew Jane Was Coming Before I Arrived
“Lock it.”
My wife’s voice came through the phone again.
This time, there was no hesitation in it.
“Lock the bedroom door, Daniel.”
I looked at Jane.
She had stopped moving.
Her face had lost all the confidence she’d shown moments earlier.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I don’t know who followed her.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Followed who?”
“Jane.”
Jane immediately shook her head.
“No.”
My wife heard her.
“Is she still there?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t let her leave.”
I stared at Jane.
She looked terrified now.
Not embarrassed.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
“What’s happening?” I demanded.
My wife took a shaky breath.
“I need you to listen carefully. I’m going to explain everything, but you can’t tell Jane what I’m about to say.”
Jane stepped closer.
“Please, Daniel. Hang up.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because she’s lying to you.”
My wife heard that.
“Daniel, whatever she tells you, don’t believe her.”
I felt trapped between two voices, both claiming the other was lying.
“Start talking,” I said.
There was silence.
Then my wife finally said,
“Jane isn’t my friend.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She never was.”
I looked at Jane.
“Then who is she?”
My wife’s voice dropped.
“She is the reason I went to Chicago.”
That made no sense.
“You said it was a work conference.”
“It was supposed to look like one.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
“What are you talking about?”
“I found out something three weeks ago.”
“What?”
“My father wasn’t killed in the accident everyone believed happened eight years ago.”
I stared at the wall.
Her father had supposedly died in a highway accident when she was twenty-four.
I’d never questioned it.
She had shown me photographs.
She had told me stories.
There had even been a funeral.
“What does your father have to do with Jane?”
“I don’t know yet.”
My wife sounded like she was trying not to cry.
“But Jane knows.”
Jane shook her head violently.
“No, I don’t.”
My wife continued.
“I discovered a bank account in my father’s name. It had been active for years after his supposed death.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much money?”
“Almost two million dollars.”
I stood.
“Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why Chicago?”
“Because the bank records led me to a private investigator there.”
I glanced at Jane.
“And she?”
“She was already waiting for me.”
Jane whispered,
“That’s not true.”
My wife ignored her.
“She told me my father had been alive for years.”
I felt my heartbeat increase.
“And then?”
“She showed me photographs.”
“Of him?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Several places. Different years.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know who I could trust.”
That sentence hung in the room.
I looked at Jane again.
She looked as though she wanted to say something.
My wife spoke again.
“Daniel, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The investigator who gave me those photographs was found dead this afternoon.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“He was supposed to meet me at four.”
“What happened?”
“He never arrived.”
“Then how do you know he’s dead?”
“Because someone sent me a photograph.”
My wife paused.
“Of his body.”
I felt sick.
Jane closed her eyes.
My wife continued.
“That’s when I realized someone knew I had been investigating my father.”
“And you came home?”
“No.”
“Then where are you?”
Another pause.
“I’m still in Chicago.”
I looked around our bedroom.
“Then who sent the message telling me to lock the door?”
“I did.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“I sent that text thirteen minutes ago.”
“But you said you were in Chicago.”
“I am.”
“Then how did you know Jane was in my bedroom?”
“I didn’t.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I knew Jane would be there.”
My eyes went directly to Jane.
My wife said,
“I asked her to go to our house.”
Jane whispered,
“I told you this would go wrong.”
I felt my pulse pounding in my ears.
“You told her to come here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To find something.”
“What?”
“A blue notebook.”
I stared at her.
“What blue notebook?”
“My father kept one before he disappeared.”
“You think it’s in our house?”
“I know it is.”
Jane suddenly spoke.
“Daniel, don’t let her convince you that this is about her father.”
I turned toward her.
“What is it about, then?”
Jane looked at me for a long moment.
“Your wife.”
My stomach dropped.
“What about her?”
“She already found the notebook.”
I looked at my phone.
My wife’s breathing suddenly became uneven.
“What did you say?”
Jane repeated herself.
“She found it three days ago.”
Silence.
My wife finally whispered,
“Jane, stop.”
I looked between them.
“You two know each other very well.”
Neither answered.
“Who is Jane?”
My wife said nothing.
“Who is she?”
Still nothing.
I raised my voice.
“Tell me!”
Jane finally stepped forward.
“My name isn’t Jane.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
She reached into her bag and pulled out an identification card.
She placed it on the dresser.
The photograph looked like her.
But the name was different.
Rachel Mercer.
I stared at it.
“Who the hell are you?”
She swallowed.
“My real name is Rachel.”
My wife’s voice came through the phone.
“Daniel, listen to me.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Rachel.
“Your wife hired me.”
I looked at the phone.
“She hired you to do what?”
Rachel answered before my wife could.
“To find out whether you were involved.”
I felt as though the floor had shifted beneath me.
“Involved in what?”
Rachel opened her bag again.
She pulled out a photograph.
It showed me.
Standing outside a hotel.
Beside a man I’d never seen before.
The date on the photograph was six months earlier.
“That picture was taken before I met you,” I said.
“I know.”
“I’ve never seen that man.”
Rachel placed another photograph beside it.
This one showed my wife.
She was standing beside the same man.
My stomach tightened.
“When was this?”
“Three days before your wedding.”
I stared at the photograph.
My wife had told me she spent that weekend with her sister.
Rachel looked at me.
“That’s why your wife hired me.”
My phone suddenly went silent.
The call had disconnected.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a message appeared.
Don’t call me again. Someone has access to my phone.
I stared at the words.
Rachel’s face changed.
“What?”
I showed her the screen.
She stepped backward.
“That’s impossible.”
“What?”
She pointed at the message.
“That isn’t your wife’s writing style.”
I frowned.
“How would you know?”
“Because I’ve been reading her messages for three weeks.”
I stared at her.
“You’ve been spying on my wife?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked me to.”
The room went silent.
Then Rachel’s phone vibrated.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression immediately changed.
“What is it?”
She didn’t answer.
I grabbed the phone.
A photograph had been sent from an unknown number.
It showed our house.
Then another photograph arrived.
Our bedroom window.
Then another.
The photograph was taken from inside the house.
My blood turned cold.
Someone was already here.
Rachel slowly looked toward the bedroom door.
Then we heard a sound from downstairs.
A floorboard creaked.
Once.
Then again.
Someone was walking through our house.
Rachel whispered,
“Daniel…”
I looked at her.
She pointed toward the hallway.
“The person downstairs isn’t looking for the notebook.”
“Then what are they looking for?”
Rachel’s eyes filled with fear.
“You.”