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He grabbed a handful of clothes that looked like they belonged to her father. He rummaged to the bottom of the box, confirming it was full of clothes.
He looked at the stack of boxes in just this room and his chest squeezed. He would need a warrant. He didn’t have time to search through this entire house. He’d come thinking it would be abandoned, but it was like the house was full of ghosts.
His eyes landed on the antique dresser again. If this had been Anna’s parents’ room, it made more sense. The furniture in the other bedrooms was more modern.
Jackson paused to listen for any approaching footsteps as he looked over his shoulder, unsure how much time he had. When he heard nothing, and saw nothing, he strode toward the dresser.
He opened drawers, each one stuffed with papers and random items like pens, a calculator, a padlock, and other items that were useless to Jackson.
He opened a bill. It was a telephone bill for this address from four years ago, addressed to Anna King. His chest tightened and he looked over his shoulder again, suddenly feeling like he was being watched. But the hallway was empty.
He kept searching. More old bills, a pair of scissors, rolls of packing tape... everything that made sense for someone preparing to move. Yet, his instincts screamed that this dresser was important.
He stepped back, looking at the front of it. His mother had one like this and it had a secret compartment where she’d hid her coins. Jackson and Jacob used to raid it when they wanted money for ice cream, then as Jacob grew up, the dresser was moved into his room. After Jacob’s death, Jackson had found the stash of drugs in the secret compartment.
Jackson kneeled, reaching around the back of the dresser, feeling for the latch of the compartment. But the back was smooth—it wasn’t the same design as the one that had been in his family home.
And yet Jackson couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
He pulled out each drawer, running his gloved fingers over the wood. He was on the fourth drawer when he felt the wood move.
He stopped, frowning.
He pulled out the drawer completely, and tipped it over, emptying the contents of the drawer onto the top of the dresser. Then he shook the drawer, hearing a rattle.
Jackson looked at the drawer again, realizing he needed something to lift the bottom of the drawer. His eyes swept over the boxes but he didn’t have time to search them.
He strode toward the kitchen, conscious of how long he’d already been in the house.
His eyes dropped to the footprints, visible on the kitchen floor.
He needed to move fast.
Jackson shook his head.Focus, he told himself.
He pulled out the kitchen drawers, his heart skipping a beat when he saw a utensil divider still full of cutlery. He grabbed a butter knife and stuck it in the slight gap between the floor of the drawer and the side, but the knife was too thick and the wood wouldn’t lift.
He searched the drawers again and found a pocket knife. He slid the tip into the gap and wiggled it, his eyes bouncing between the drawer and the back door, suddenly feeling an urgency to get out of the house, when he felt it lift. His attention returned to the drawer, and he carefully lifted the false bottom up to reveal a single item. A memory card.
His eyes darted to the door—he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. Jackson put the false bottom back in the drawer, swept all of the items from the top of the dresser back in, and slid the drawer into the compartment. He looked to the boxes again, but felt like he had what he’d come for. He’d found the secret this house was hiding. Jackson swept the UV light over the room as he left, but it was void of bloodstains.
Satisfied, Jackson went back to the kitchen, checked that for bloodstains, then left through the door he’d entered, leaving it unlocked like he’d found it.
As he walked down the side of the house he looked over his shoulder. The feeling of being watched stayed with him until he climbed into his car, placed his pistol on his lap, and drove away. Only then did the tension leave his body.
But Jackson didn’t go home. He went straight to the office to load the contents of the memory card onto the server before it burned a hole in his pocket.
ANNA
Anna crept down the side of the old house, checking over her shoulder every few steps.
He’d tripped the invisible alerts she’d set up at the house, and when she’d checked the camera, she’d seen him—a hooded figure walking through her old house.
She couldn’t see his face, but she had a good idea of who it had been and if she was correct, her entire plan was in jeopardy.
Her stomach twisted in knots as she opened the door, noting two sets of footprints. The first set belonged to the cleaner she’d hired to sanitize the bathroom she’d made a mess of a few weeks ago.
But the second set—they belonged to Jackson. She was sure of it.
