The Secret

Chapter One

Thirteen years later...

Ana woke to the sound of knocking in the distance. She blinked in confusion before remembering where she was. A chipped, pink flower vase came into focus on the nightstand.

Her room at Grandma's. The funeral.

The knocking became more insistent, and the doorbell rang. Ana's brows drew together in confusion, and she stumbled toward the lace curtains, flicking them aside to see who was on the porch. No one local would ever use the bell.

Sure enough, the visitors, a dark haired man and woman both dressed in standard-issue suits, looked like actors from a crime drama. The man surveyed the porch as though he was expecting to find a hidden drug lord, then lifted a walkie talkie to radio something. The woman stood in tense readiness beside him, her expression half-hidden behind reflective sunglasses. Not exactly neighborly.

Also, neither of them were holding a casserole. Grandma's neighbors would definitely come over with food in hand. Some indulgently calorie-rich, cheesy, we're-sorry-your-last-living-relative-died-and-now-you're-all-alone, type of food.

Ana sighed and scrubbed at her bleary eyes with the palm of her hand. She was surprised to see the woman's head immediately tilt to the side, rather dramatically, as though she'd heard Ana's exhale. The visitors shared an enigmatic glance, then the woman reached for the doorbell again.

"Geez. Okay, I'm coming," Ana grumbled to herself as she made her way down the wide, wooden staircase. She paused before opening the door, smoothing the tangled skeins of her hair while she looked through the peep hole. The man was on his radio, again, while the woman stared directly ahead. Creepy.

Ana opened the old wood door, noting the creaking hinges. She'd been complaining about that squeaking monstrosity since she was a teenager, but Grandma had never quite gotten around to it. Another thing for the to do list. 

Both badges were out and on display before Ana could offer a simple, "Can I help you?"

The duo exchanged a look, the woman nodded, and the man took a step closer to the door. Something about the way he moved his big, menacing, form put Ana on alert.  Even though he clearly attempted to keep his body language open and non-threatening, the combination of grace and lethal ease made Ana want to take an instinctive step back. She didn't, but she didn't open the screen door that still stood between them,  either.

His voice was gravel and smoke. "Ms. Anaelle Laveaux?"

Ana gave what she hoped was a friendly smile, though it probably didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, though everybody but my grandma calls me Ana."

As her often-used reply registered,  Ana felt a sharp wave of grief roll through her. She'd probably never hear her full name, spoken in a loving, half-laugh, again.

"Ana," the man acknowledged, "I am Agent Brock Lyon and this is Agent Farrell. We apologize for the intrusion, but our business couldn't wait. We are with the federal government, and have a rather urgent matter to discuss with you. May we come in?"

Ana paused and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, squeezing her eyes shut. "Am I dreaming?"

"No, ma'am."

"Am I in some kind of trouble, then?"

"None, whatsoever," came the woman's quick reply.

"Well, couldn't you have called, first?"

"We've tried your cell, personal and work email addresses several times over the last twenty-four hours. As we mentioned, this is a matter of some urgency. Your employer told us you'd probably be here."