Chapter 4 - THE EMPTY APARTMENT
Clara backed away, her spine hitting the cold brick wall of the mudroom.
Vincent didn’t rush her. He smiled, slipping the silver pocket watch into his tailored vest. He took a slow step forward, blocking the only exit to the staff parking lot.
“Dr. Mercer does good work,” Vincent noted, gesturing lazily toward her newly splinted wrist. “Though I imagine it still hurts. Bones are funny like that. They remember the trauma.”
Clara’s right hand frantically searched the pockets of her coat, wrapping her fingers around her heavy metal ring of apartment keys. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had.
“Let me pass, Mr. Marlowe,” Clara said, forcing her voice to remain steady.
“Or what?” Vincent chuckled, stepping closer. The smell of his expensive cologne made Clara nauseous. “You’ll tell Leo? You were in his study for twenty minutes. If you were going to talk, you would have done it by now. But you didn’t. Because you’re a smart girl. You know what happens to the people who cause me problems.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper.
“It’s raining quite hard out there, Clara. It would be a terrible shame if a little girl walking home in the dark slipped and fell into the river. Accidents happen so easily to the poor.”
Clara’s vision went red. The fear evaporated, replaced by a pure, blinding maternal rage. She raised her keys, ready to slash them across his smug face, regardless of the consequences.
“She’s not walking home.”
The voice came from the hallway behind Vincent.
Cold. Absolute. Deadly.
Vincent stiffened. The smug smile vanished instantly. He turned slowly.
Leo Castillion stood in the doorway, his hands resting casually in his pockets. But there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. It was the look of a predator watching a rat run out of places to hide.
“Leo,” Vincent recovered quickly, plastering on a fake smile. “I was just checking on our injured maid. Making sure she had a safe ride home.”
“She’s not going home,” Leo said, stepping into the mudroom. “She’s staying here for the night. In the east wing guest suite.”
Vincent’s eyes darted between Leo and Clara. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his features. “The east wing? Leo, she’s staff. It’s highly inappropriate—”
“Since when do you dictate who sleeps in my house, Vincent?” Leo’s voice didn’t rise, but the threat in it was absolute.
Vincent swallowed hard. “I don’t. Of course not. You’re the boss.”
“Yes, I am,” Leo said softly. “Go back to the dining room, Vincent. Entertain our guests. I’ll be there shortly.”
Vincent hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes lingering on Clara’s cast. Then, with a stiff nod, he walked past Leo and disappeared down the hall.
Clara sagged against the wall, her knees buckling.
Leo moved immediately, catching her by her good arm before she hit the floor. He guided her to a wooden bench, kneeling in front of her.
“He knows,” Clara sobbed quietly, terrified. “He knows I told you. He’s going to make a call. He’s going to hurt her.”
“He’s not going to make any calls,” Leo said, pulling out his phone. “I jammed the cellular signal on the estate five minutes ago. The landlines are cut. No one communicates with the outside world without my permission.”
He dialed a secure radio frequency. “Daniel. Status.”
The radio crackled. Daniel’s gruff voice filled the small room.
“We’re at the babysitter’s apartment, boss. Fourth Street.”
May you like
Clara held her breath, her fingernails digging into Leo’s forearm.
“I’m sorry, Leo,” Daniel’s voice dropped, laced with heavy tension. “The door is kicked in. The place is completely tossed. Overturned furniture, broken glass. There’s no one here. The apartment is empty. The kid is gone.”
