The doorbell didn't ring. It buzzed, a harsh, electric insect sound that cut through the Saturday morning silence.
Elena froze.
She was in the living room, watering the peace lily by the window. She wasn't just watering it; she was checking the soil for bugs—both the insect kind and the electronic kind. Old habits from the Red Queen didn't die; they just transferred to house plants.
She looked out the window through the sheer curtains.
A police cruiser was parked at the curb.
Not a patrol car. A detective's sedan. Unmarked, but unmistakable.
"Daniel," she called out. Her voice was calm, but her pulse spiked.
Daniel came out of the kitchen. He was drying a coffee mug with a dish towel. He saw the car.
His muscles tightened. The "Logistics Manager" vanished. The Ghost took the wheel.
"It's Miller," Daniel said, recognizing the silhouette stepping out of the car. "The officer from the gas station."
"Why is he here?" Elena asked.
"I don't know," Daniel lied.
I know exactly why, he thought. He's looking for the three bodies I buried in the woods three miles north of here.
"Let me handle it," Daniel said, walking toward the door.
"No," Elena said, stepping beside him. She linked her arm through his. "We handle it."
Officer Miller looked tired. His suit was rumpled, and he smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap aftershave.
But his eyes were sharp. Too sharp for a beat cop.
"Mr. and Mrs. Reed," Miller said, nodding as Daniel opened the door. "Sorry to disturb your weekend."
"Is everything okay, Officer?" Daniel asked. He stood in the doorway, blocking the view into the house. A subtle, subconscious tactical block.
"Just following up," Miller said, pulling a small notepad from his pocket. "We had a report from a neighbor a few nights ago. Tuesday, around 4:00 AM. Said they heard... a disturbance. Loud thuds. Maybe a scream."
Tuesday. 4:00 AM.
The night of the Breach. The night Elena had cracked a man's trachea with a skillet and Daniel had strangled two men with a lamp cord.
Daniel laughed. It was a nervous, suburban chuckle. Perfect acting.
"Tuesday? Oh, right. That was probably me. I tripped moving some furniture. Knocked over a bookshelf. Scared Elena half to death."
Miller didn't smile. He looked at Daniel's hands.
He looked at the knuckles. The ones that were still bruised purple from the "bookshelf" (and Richard Gable's face).
"Moving furniture at 4:00 AM?" Miller asked.
"I have insomnia," Daniel said smoothly. "I clean when I can't sleep."
Miller shifted his gaze to Elena.
"And you, Mrs. Reed? Did you hear this... bookshelf?"
Elena tightened her grip on Daniel's arm. She leaned into him, playing the part of the fragile wife.
"It was terrifying, actually," she said breathlessly. "It sounded like a bomb went off. I came downstairs and found Daniel surrounded by encyclopedias."
She paused, then tilted her head, her eyes narrowing just a fraction.
"But Officer... if a neighbor reported a scream on Tuesday, why are you here on Saturday?"
Miller blinked. It was a direct hit.
"Paperwork," Miller muttered. "Things get lost in the shuffle."
He took a step closer. He looked past them, into the hallway.
"Mind if I come in? Just to take a quick look? Verify everything is safe?"
It wasn't a request. It was a pressure test.
Daniel felt a bead of cold sweat roll down his spine.
The rug.
He had cleaned the blood. But if Miller used a luminol spray? If he saw the scratches on the floorboards where the bodies were dragged?
"Actually, Officer," Daniel started, "we were just about to leave for—"
"Of course," Elena interrupted.
She stepped back, pulling the door wide open. "Come in, Officer. Would you like some coffee?"
Daniel looked at her. What are you doing?
Elena looked back. I'm calling his bluff. If we hide, we look guilty. If we invite him in, we own the room.
Miller stepped inside.
He walked into the hallway. His eyes scanned the floor. He looked at the walls. He looked at the closet door where Elena had hidden.
"Nice place," Miller said. "Very... clean."
"I like a clean house," Elena said. Her voice had a steel edge to it now. "Dirt offends me."
Miller stopped at the kitchen entrance. He looked at the beige rug. The one Elena had worried about.
He crouched down.
He touched the fibers.
"This rug looks damp," Miller observed.
Daniel's heart stopped. He had scrubbed it again last night. It hadn't fully dried.
"I spilled wine," Elena said instantly. "Red. Cabernet. It's a nightmare to get out. I had to scrub it three times."
Miller stood up. He looked at Elena. Then at Daniel.
He sensed something. He knew they were lying. But he didn't have proof. He was a shark circling a boat, looking for a leak.
"You two have a lot of accidents," Miller said softly. "Bookshelves falling. Wine spilling. I heard about an incident at the Country Club too. A broken wrist?"
"Self-defense," Daniel said tightly. "He attacked my wife."
"You seem very good at defending yourselves," Miller said. There was a dangerous glint in his eye. "Unusually good. For a Logistics Manager and a barista."
Elena stepped forward.
She dropped the "fragile wife" act. She tapped into the Queen.
"Officer Miller," she said. Her voice dropped an octave. It wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of authority. "Are you accusing us of something? Or are you just fishing because you're bored?"
Miller stiffened.
"Because if you're accusing us," Elena continued, stepping into his personal space, "I'd like to see a warrant. And if you're fishing, I suggest you go to the lake. My coffee is getting cold, and you're letting the heat out."
It was a slap. A verbal backhand.
Miller stared at her. He saw something in her eyes. Something that told him this wasn't a barista. This was a predator protecting its den.
He chuckled dryly. He closed his notebook.
"Just doing my job, ma'am. Stay safe. Lot of... dangerous people in this city."
He turned and walked out.
Daniel watched him go. He waited until the cruiser pulled away from the curb.
He locked the door. He threw the deadbolt.
He exhaled, leaning his back against the wood. His shirt was soaked with sweat.
"He knows," Daniel whispered. "He knows we're lying."
"He suspects," Elena corrected. She walked to the window, watching the street. "But he doesn't have anything."
"He mentioned the broken wrist," Daniel said, pacing the hallway. "He's connecting the dots. He's going to keep digging."
Elena turned to him.
"Then we let him dig," she said. "And when his shovel hits rock, he'll break it."
Daniel looked at her. She was so calm. So cold.
God, I love her, he thought. And God, she terrifies me.
"I need to go to the hardware store," Daniel said suddenly. "For the... bookshelf."
It was a lie. He wasn't going to the hardware store.
"Okay," Elena said. "I'll be here."
It was a lie. She wasn't going to stay here.
THAT NIGHT
Daniel sat in his car, parked three blocks away from Officer Miller's apartment complex.
He was dressed in black. He wore a mask.
He wasn't going to kill Miller. That would bring too much heat.
He was going to pay him a visit. A Ghost visit. To explain exactly why the Reeds should be left alone.
He checked his gear.
Then, he looked across the street.
A figure was moving on the rooftop opposite Miller's building.
Shadowy. Agile. Fast.
Someone else was watching Miller.
Daniel raised his binoculars.
The figure wore a dark hoodie. They moved with a fluid, lethal grace.
They were setting up a surveillance relay.
The Red Queen, Daniel realized, his blood running cold.
She's hunting Miller too.
He couldn't move. If he engaged Miller, the Queen would see him. If he engaged the Queen, Miller would see them both.
He watched as the figure on the roof paused. They looked down at the street. Directly at his car.
Daniel ducked.
When he looked back up, the roof was empty.