My Husband Drowned Us To Be With My Sister, Until My "Paralyzed" Brother Stood Up And Kicked The Door Open

The sound of Garrett’s heavy wingtip shoes stopped directly above our heads.

Tobias killed the drill instantly. He pulled me flat against the shadowed recess behind the pillar, his hand clamped firmly over my mouth.

"What do you mean, no bodies?" Garrett’s voice was stripped of all the gentle, soothing warmth he had used at our breakfast table every morning. It was thin, metallic, and vicious.

"The divers found two cut seatbelts," Penelope said, her voice trembling slightly. "And an empty pony bottle from a commercial diving kit."

Silence hung over the concrete vault. The only sound was the steady drip-drip-drip of condensation hitting the steel deck below.

"Tobias," Garrett muttered. "The cripple had an emergency rig in the trunk."

"He's paralyzed from the waist down, Garrett!" Penelope snapped. "He couldn't swim out of a bathtub, let alone haul Rosalind through six feet of river current!"

"He wasn't paralyzed," Garrett said, and the cold certainty in his tone made my skin crawl. "The telemetry on his motorized chair showed zero battery draw between midnight and four in the morning for three months. I thought the electronics were shorting out from the salt air. The bastard was walking around the library while we were asleep."

Penelope let out a sharp, ragged breath. "If Rosalind makes it to the federal magistrate in the morning—"

"She won't," Garrett said. "Arthur has three cars sitting outside every federal courthouse between here and Philadelphia. She has no money, no phone, her liver is failing, and by six o'clock tomorrow morning, every local news station will be broadcasting her face as a fugitive wanted for the murder of her disabled brother."

"What about the demolition?"

"Trigger it now," Garrett said. "Flood the drydock. If they’re hiding anywhere in the lower drainage tunnels, eighty thousand tons of harbor water will crush them against the intake screens."

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