Chapter 5 Mitch #2
“Exactly,” Mitch agreed. “If I’m not back or haven’t called you by the time Ryan and Tessa get back…”
“We’ll come looking for you,” Lori told him.
Armed with his phone, hunting knife tucked into his boot, and his flashlight, Mitch left his house, locking the front door behind him.
He headed back across the yard. The last of the twilight was fading fast, the sky turning from deep blue to black.
Stars were beginning to emerge, and a thin crescent moon hung low on the horizon.
Inside Seabird Cottage, Mitch pulled up the security camera app on his phone. He scrolled through the footage from the past two hours, looking for any sign of someone approaching the house.
There was nothing. Not even a flicker of a movement.
The cameras showed Lori and Tessa in the kitchen, moving around and preparing food up until the moment the lights went out. What it didn’t show was anyone approaching the house. There was no figure moving through the yard. No shadow near the basement window.
Whoever had done this knew exactly where his cameras were positioned. They had deliberately approached from a blind spot.
That realization sent ice through his veins.
This wasn’t luck. This was someone who’d studied his security setup, found the gaps, and exploited them.
Immediately, the Stanstead name flashed through his mind.
Of course, he knew who they were. They were not a family to mess with, and the last he’d heard, they had fled to a non-extradition country.
He made a mental note to talk to Tessa this evening about the case and find out if what Lori had said was true.
The Stansteads had finally been caught and were in a federal prison.
Then he would need to call his contact and get more information from him, as that family would have the resources to hire a professional.
Although, for some reason, Mitch didn’t feel this had anything to do with that part of Lori’s life.
But until he had more information about the case, where the Stansteads were, or whether there was any movement from their known associates or accomplices, Mitch couldn’t rule it out.
He made his way to the basement, moving carefully in the darkness. Mitch moved to the window and examined the frame carefully with his flashlight. There were fresh scuff marks on the wood where the window had been forced. Whoever opened it had been fast and efficient.
He leaned out the window and shone his flashlight down.
The basement was on the side of the house that faced the ocean, built into the slope of the land.
There was a small shelf below the window, and then a rocky terrain dropped away toward the private beach.
It was steep and treacherous. Especially in the dark.
It was also the only route that avoided his cameras. The only way someone could approach and escape without being seen.
Mitch climbed out the window carefully, dropping onto the grassy shelf before cautiously stepping down onto the rocks and testing his footing.
The slope was worse than it looked from inside, with loose stones shifting under his weight.
Mitch picked his way down slowly, following the worn path that would be the only way someone in a hurry could take.
The ocean grew louder as he descended. Waves crashed against the rocks below, and Mitch could feel the spray misting across his face. The tide was coming in, and water was already washing over the lower sections of the beach.
He reached a point where going further would mean wading into the surf, possibly getting swept off the rocks by a larger wave.
Mitch stopped, shining his flashlight along the beach and rocky outcroppings, looking for footprints.
Disturbed areas. Anything that would tell him which direction the intruder had gone.
The incoming tide made it nearly impossible. Any evidence would have been washed away by now. But Mitch studied the terrain carefully anyway, committing details to memory. The layout of the rocks. The possible routes someone could take. The angles and sight lines.
Places where he could set traps. Install cameras that would go unnoticed. He looked for hidden angles and natural camouflage spots among the rocks and beach grass.
It was time to turn the tables on windbreaker guy.
Mitch carefully climbed back up the rocky slope to the cottage.
His hands were scraped, and his boots were wet, but he’d learned what he needed to know.
The escape route was treacherous but manageable for someone who knew what they were doing.
And whoever this was definitely knew what they were doing.
He went around to the front of the property, shining his flashlight systematically across the ground.
Looking for any other clues the intruder might have left.
Fresh footprints in the soft earth near the foundation caught his attention.
Size eleven or twelve, and an athletic shoe tread.
The same prints he’d seen before near the property line.
Plants were disturbed where someone had brushed past them. Small details that told the story of someone who’d carefully cased the property, learning the layout before making their move tonight.
Mitch took photos with his phone, documenting everything. Evidence. He was building a file, piece by piece, detail by detail.
He walked to the edge of Pelican Bay Lane and looked up and down the road. No sedan parked anywhere visible tonight. Whoever was watching had gotten smarter, varied their approach. Or maybe they were confident enough now that they didn’t need to watch from a distance.
Maybe they’d moved closer.
Mitch crossed the road toward the beach access on the opposite side. This was different from the private cove behind the cottages. More open, less rocky, the kind of beach where families came during the day to swim and build sandcastles.
He stood at the edge of the access path, scanning the beach with his flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating sand, scattered rocks, and the white foam of breaking waves.
That was when he heard it.
“Help!” The cry was faint, carried on the wind. “Somebody help me!”
Mitch’s head snapped toward the sound. He shone his flashlight out across the beach, sweeping it back and forth until he caught movement. A figure, maybe a hundred yards out, waving their arms frantically. The person appeared to be on the rocks, the tide washing around them.
“Help! I’m stuck! The tide’s coming in!”
Every instinct Mitch had screamed at him to move, to help. Someone was in real danger. The tide was coming in fast, and those rocks could be deadly.
He started down the beach access path, moving quickly but carefully on the sandy slope. His phone was already in his hand. He needed to call Lori, let her know what was happening. Maybe call emergency services if the situation was as bad as it looked.
His thumb hovered over Lori’s contact, about to press dial.
Then the world exploded in blinding, overwhelming pain at the back of his head. A white flash behind his eyes that blotted out everything else. The phone dropped from fingers that suddenly wouldn’t work. His knees buckled, the strength going out of his legs like someone had cut the strings.
He was falling.
The ground rushed up to meet him, and he hit hard, the impact jarring through his entire body. Darkness rushed in at the edges of his vision, narrowing his world to a pinpoint.
His last coherent thought was crystal clear: this was a trap that he hadn’t seen coming.
Then nothing.