The Mistake

Chapter 10: The Knife’s Edge

"Emma, why are you crying?" Mom chuckled warmly, her voice filled with kindness. "Silly girl, you didn’t even call to let me know you were coming home! Thankfully, these young men told me. They even helped me get groceries. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had time to make all your favorite dishes."

Her cheerful tone tugged at my heart. I glanced at the undercover officers scattered around the room, blending into the scene, before looking back at Mom, who was bustling around the table, urging everyone to eat.

In my ear, Ava’s voice came through the hidden radio. “The perimeter is secure. Stay calm.”

I exhaled, trying to let myself relax. Sitting at the table, with Mom’s loving gaze on me and the smell of home-cooked food in the air, the tension in my chest began to ease for the first time in days.

"Come on, boys," Mom said, turning to the undercover officers. "Why aren’t you eating? What’s with the masks? Don’t tell me you think this old lady’s house is too shabby!" She laughed, scooping food onto their plates.

The officers exchanged uneasy glances, clearly caught off guard. They hesitated but finally nodded in thanks, their movements stiff.

I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to eat—it was the job. They needed to stay alert, and the masks were to avoid being identified by anyone dangerous.

After finishing a bowl of rice, I caught Mom’s expectant look. Sighing, I got up to refill my bowl. But as I passed one of the officers, a strange feeling washed over me.

At first, I ignored it, brushing it off as nothing. But then, an instinct kicked in—a warning, like a siren blaring in my head.

I froze mid-step.

My mind raced, piecing together a horrifying thought. *What if Oliver Hayes had taken out one of the officers while they were out buying groceries? What if he disguised himself and was sitting here at this very table?*

The idea sent a chill down my spine.

I turned slowly and glanced at the officer I had just passed. As if sensing my suspicion, he looked up, his eyes sharp and calculating.

And then I saw it—his gaze, predatory and cold, like a wild animal about to strike.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep walking. My hands trembled as I entered the kitchen, gripping the counter to steady myself. With shaking fingers, I whispered into the hidden radio, "Ava, he’s here. Oliver’s pretending to be one of the officers."

“Damn it,” Ava muttered, her voice tense. “Stay calm. We’ll make our move when we can.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and returned to the table. The air felt heavier now, the tension thick and suffocating.

Then, Oliver broke the silence.

"Mrs. Johnson," he said, his voice calm and detached, "I heard you reported a dangerous criminal once. That was very brave of you."

Mom tilted her head thoughtfully, her smile fading. "Well, I wouldn’t call it brave," she said carefully.

"Oh?" Oliver leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with something dark. "Why not?"

My heart raced. I kept my eyes locked on him, watching his every move. His fingers were resting near the edge of the table, twitching slightly.

Mom sighed, her voice soft. "Because the person I reported… he was just a kid. He made bad choices, but he didn’t deserve to go down that road."

Oliver’s smile twisted into something cruel, his tone mocking. "So, you decided to play the hero?"

Mom met his gaze steadily. "I did what I thought was right."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Oliver moved.

It happened in a flash. One second, he was sitting there, and the next, he lunged across the table, a knife glinting in his hand.

"HE’S OLIVER! STOP HIM!" I screamed, but it was too late.

The blade was already at Mom’s throat, pressing against her skin. Just one more inch, and—

"Don’t move!"

The room erupted into chaos as officers drew their weapons, Ava bursting through the door with her g*n raised.

"Oliver Hayes! You’re surrounded!" Ava shouted, her voice sharp and commanding. "Drop the weapon!"

Oliver didn’t flinch. His grip on Mom tightened, the knife still dangerously close to her neck.

"Let her go!" I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Please, Oliver!"

He turned his eyes to me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk spread across his face, cold and calculating.

"Let’s see how far you’re willing to go, Emma," he said, his voice calm but laced with malice.