### CHAPTER 4 — Two Michaels
### CHAPTER 4 — Two Michaels
The man stumbling from the SUV looked exactly like my husband.
Same dark hair.
Same gray jacket.
Same tired eyes.
But so did the man climbing out of the crawl space behind us.
For one impossible second, I was staring at two Michaels.
Sophie grabbed my hand so hard it hurt.
“Mom, that’s the real one!” she whispered, pointing to the bruised man by the SUV.
The fake Michael laughed.
“Careful, sweetheart. You’ve been confused before.”
He stepped into the garage light, and my stomach twisted. Up close, the resemblance was terrifying. Not just similar—identical.
The bound man tried to shout through the duct tape, struggling against the men holding him.
“Laura,” the fake Michael said calmly, “those men kidnapped me yesterday. They’re using an actor to replace me. Sophie saw part of it and got scared.”
One of the men beside the SUV nodded. “Ma’am, we’re trying to get your husband home safely.”
Everything in me wanted to believe them.
But then I remembered the note.
Ask him what happened on Lake Ashton.
My voice shook. “What happened on Lake Ashton the summer before our wedding?”
The garage fell silent.
The fake Michael smiled instantly.
“You dropped your engagement ring off the dock and made me dive for it.”
My heart lurched.
That story was true.
Except…
I had never lost my ring.
Michael had.
And nobody knew that except the two of us.
I turned to the bound man. “What happened?”
Tears filled his eyes.
He made desperate noises through the tape.
One of the men holding him hesitated. “Don’t—”
Too late. I ripped the tape off.
Michael gasped for air.
“I lost the ring,” he said hoarsely. “I dropped it while trying to propose again because I thought the first proposal was too awkward.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Only my Michael knew that.
The fake Michael’s expression changed for the first time. The warm husband smile vanished, replaced by something cold and calculating.
“Well,” he said quietly, “that’s unfortunate.”
Everything happened at once.
The fake Michael lunged toward me.
Michael shouted.
The men by the SUV reached for weapons.
Sophie screamed.
I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a metal tire iron—and swung.
It connected with the fake Michael’s shoulder.
He staggered back with a curse.
Michael drove his elbow into the guard beside him, breaking free. Another man tackled him. They crashed against the SUV.
“RUN!” Michael shouted at us.
I grabbed Sophie and sprinted toward the side door of the garage.
Behind us came shouts, fists hitting metal, the crack of breaking glass.
We burst into the backyard.
Rain had started falling.
Cold drops hit my face as we raced toward the back fence.
Then a gunshot split the night.
I froze.
Another shot.
Somewhere behind us, a man screamed.
Sophie buried her face against me.
“Mom—”
A third shot echoed.
Then silence.
Terrible silence.
Footsteps approached through the rain.
Slow.
Steady.
I turned, clutching the tire iron with both hands.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
One Michael.
Only one.
Blood ran down the sleeve of his jacket.
His chest heaved.
And in his hand was a gun.
He looked at me, then at Sophie.
“It’s over,” he said.
But before I could answer, red and blue lights suddenly exploded across the street.
Police cars screeched to a halt outside our house.
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And the first officer out of the lead vehicle pointed directly at my husband and shouted:
“DROP THE WEAPON, MICHAEL!”
