Chapter 2 - Shadows in the West Wing
The staff residence was located a hundred yards past the main mansion’s southern terrace, connected by a covered stone pathway draped in blooming bougainvillea. Ordinarily, the walk was peaceful, lined with low-voltage landscape lighting and the gentle hum of the estate’s irrigation systems. Today, the air felt heavy, saturated with an invisible tension that made the hairs on the back of Damon’s neck stand up.
He cradled Ruby against his chest with one arm, her small legs wrapped around his waist, while his free hand hovered near his concealed holster. He hadn't carried a weapon on the grounds in three years. The estate was supposed to be impenetrable.
“Mr. Damon?” Ruby whimpered into his shoulder, her breath hot against his skin.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
“Is Mommy going to be okay?”
“Yes,” Damon lied, though the word tasted like ash in his mouth.
He reached the heavy oak door of the staff quarters. It was unlocked. That alone was enough to trigger every alarm bell in his head; Selena Castillo was obsessively thorough, the kind of woman who double-bolted her door the moment the sun went down.
Damon pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe, stepping into the small, neat living area. The television was off. A half-folded basket of laundry sat on the sofa. Everything appeared normal, yet the atmosphere was dead, devoid of the warm, cinnamon-and-lavender scent that usually accompanied Selena’s presence.
“Selena?” he called out, his voice echoing softly in the compact space.
No answer.
He walked past the kitchen area and approached the bedroom door. It was closed, a sliver of darkness visible underneath the crack.
“Stay here, Ruby,” Damon whispered, setting her down gently behind the heavy armchair in the living room and pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t move until I come back.”
Drawing his pistol with a smooth, practiced motion, Damon approached the bedroom door. He didn't knock. He placed the flat of his boot against the wood near the doorknob and kicked it inward.
The door crashed against the interior wall.
The room was empty. The bed was made, the pillows fluffed. But the walk-in closet door was wide open, and the window overlooking the estate’s outer perimeter wall was unlatched, the sheer white curtain billowing inward from a sudden gust of wind.
Damon stepped inside, his eyes scanning every shadow. On the polished wooden floor near the vanity lay a single pearl earring—one half of the modest pair Selena wore every day. Next to it was a smudge of fresh, dark mud that didn't belong on the immaculate estate grounds.
A heavy bootstep sounded behind him in the living area.
Damon spun around, weapon raised, the barrel leveling at the doorway.
Marcus stood there, two of his top tactical guards flanking him, weapons drawn and ready. Marcus lowered his barrel slightly when he saw Damon’s face.
“Clear out front,” Marcus reported in a low, gravelly whisper. “Perimeter sensors didn’t trip, but the back security gate by the service road has its electronic lock bypassed. Someone cut the power line from the outside.”
“She’s gone,” Damon said, his voice dangerously quiet as he stared down at the pearl earring in his palm.
“Kidnapped?”
“Or taken before she could get out.” Damon walked back into the living room where Ruby was peering out from behind the armchair, her big eyes blinking bravely. He holstered his weapon and knelt down, sweeping her up into his arms again before she could look toward the bedroom. “Marcus, check the security archives from the last hour. Every camera. I want to know who was on these grounds.”
“Damon,” Marcus said, hesitation creeping into his tone for the first time in over a decade. “There’s something else. When I checked the main gate logs, I found an authorization override used about twenty minutes ago.”
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Damon’s eyes narrowed. “An override? Only two people have the master code. Me, and—”
“Victor Lane,” Marcus finished grimly.
