Chapter 2 - Shadows in the House
Maisie ran to them instantly, throwing her arms around Nora’s knees while staring up at Roman with wide, unblinking eyes. Roman knelt, ignoring the soot staining his expensive trousers, and looked down at the little girl.
“You’re out past curfew, kid,” he muttered, his voice rough from smoke inhalation.
“You’re messy,” Maisie countered, poking a soot-covered finger at his chin.
A rare, fleeting smile touched the corners of Roman’s mouth before his expression hardened back into cold obsidian. He stood up, towering over both of them, and looked toward the sprawling stone mansion. The exterior lights were on, casting a deceptive, peaceful glow over the terraces and fountains. But the perimeter security monitors mounted near the rose garden were dead.
“Where is security?” Nora asked, brushing ash from her hair and pulling Maisie closer against her hip. “Where is Miller? Where are the night patrols?”
“Good question,” Roman said quietly. He reached inside his ruined jacket, pulling out a heavy satellite-linked phone. The screen was black, fried by either heat or a localized signal jammer. “They aren’t answering because they’ve either been paid off, knocked out, or worse.”
“Worse?” Nora’s voice dropped an octave, the protective instinct overriding the shock of the past ten minutes. “Roman, someone locked a toddler inside a burning building. This isn’t a corporate shakedown anymore.”
“It never was,” Roman said, his eyes scanning the tree line where the manicured lawns met the dense Westchester woods. “Somebody inside the inner circle gave them the layout. They knew my schedule, they knew the gardeners were off today, and they knew the main security hub routes.”
“We can’t stay out here in the open,” Nora said, looking around the dark estate grounds. “If whoever did this is still on the property—”
“They’re watching,” Roman finished. “Which means we go through the service entrance, not the front.”
They moved quickly through the shadows, keeping low behind the boxwood hedges until they reached the heavy oak service door. Roman tried the handle. It turned smoothly—too smoothly. It had been left unlocked. He motioned for Nora to stay back, drawing a small, suppressed pistol from a hidden holster beneath his shoulder harness—a weapon he hadn’t had time to reach while tied to the post.
The kitchen was dark, silent, and smelling faintly of industrial cleaning fluid. Nora felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She had worked as the estate’s head housekeeper for two years; she knew every creak of the floorboards, every hum of the industrial refrigerators. Right now, the house felt entirely foreign, like a museum after hours.
“Take Maisie to the panic room behind the pantry,” Roman whispered without turning around. “Code is 7-4-1-9.”
“I’m not hiding while you hunt ghosts, Roman,” Nora whispered back fiercely. “That’s my daughter you just saved, but this is my workplace. You need eyes in the back of your head.”
Roman looked back at her, his dark eyes assessing her stance—the rigid spine, the lack of panic despite the soot and burns on her arms. He gave a sharp, single nod. “Stay behind me. If I say drop, you drop.”
They moved down the long hallway toward the grand foyer. The crystal chandelier overhead was dark. As they approached the main study, a soft, rhythmic sound echoed from within—the click of a lighter.
Roman raised his weapon, kicked the mahogany door wide open, and stepped inside.
May you like
The room was empty except for a single leather armchair turned toward the massive bay windows overlooking the front drive. Seated in the chair was a man in a tailored charcoal suit, calmly exhaling a cloud of blue cigar smoke into the dark room.
“Took you long enough, Roman,” Victor Vance said, not even bothering to turn around. “I was beginning to think the shed would do the job for us.”
