Chapter 7
Vanessa claimed the button had been planted.
Marcus agreed.
Too quickly.
Damon did not argue.
He did something worse.
He ignored them.
He moved Grace into the Caldwell estate’s west guest suite with two Cross bodyguards outside.
Charles personally ordered the household staff to bring her food.
Grace stared at the tray when it arrived.
Soup.
Bread.
Fruit.
Water.
She did not touch anything.
Damon noticed.
“Grace.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“Why aren’t you eating?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach growled.
Damon waited.
Grace looked embarrassed.
“Vanessa used to count what I took.”
Damon’s expression hardened.
“How?”
“She said pregnancy wasn’t an excuse to waste food.”
“Grace.”
“She’d weigh the leftovers.”
Silence.
“If I left too much, no breakfast.”
“If I asked for more, she said I was stealing.”
Damon looked toward the door.
Grace said:
“Don’t.”
He turned.
“She wants you angry.”
“No.”
Grace shook her head.
“She wants me afraid of what happens after you leave.”
That stopped him.
After.
A word victims understand better than rescuers.
Damon sat.
“I’m not leaving you here with her.”
Grace looked at him.
“You can’t stand outside every door forever.”
“No.”
“Then I need to stop being scared without you there.”
He stared.
Then nodded.
That answer mattered.
A knock.
Charles entered.
He carried the silver bracelet.
Cleaned.
Polished.
The blue key returned to its clasp.
Grace looked at it.
Charles held it out.
“This belonged to Evelyn.”
Grace did not take it.
“It belongs to my mother.”
Charles nodded.
“Yes.”
Then:
“And now to you.”
Grace accepted it.
Charles sat.
“I owe you an apology.”
Grace looked uncomfortable.
He continued.
“I let Vanessa tell me your mother was unstable.”
“She wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“She said Margaret became obsessed with old rooms after Evelyn died.”
Grace’s voice hardened.
“She was protecting your wife.”
“Yes.”
Charles looked older.
“And I preferred a story that let me keep trusting my children.”
Grace said nothing.
He deserved the silence.
Then Damon’s phone rang.
Cross warehouse security.
They had caught one of the vehicles connected to the black gate.
Empty.
Except for clothing.
Caldwell security jackets.
Cross dock jackets.
Two sets.
Damon looked at Charles.
The plan was active.
Not historical.
Charles stood.
“We confront them.”
Damon said:
“No.”
Charles frowned.
“Why?”
“Because they expect confrontation.”
Grace looked at Damon.
“What do they not expect?”
He turned toward her.
“You.”
She almost laughed.
“Me?”
Damon nodded toward the bracelet.
“They think you’re still the frightened maid.”
Grace looked down at her hands.
Then toward the hallway.
Vanessa’s voice echoed from downstairs.
Loud.
Complaining about dinner.
Grace’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
Damon raised an eyebrow.
Grace looked at him.
“They don’t think I’m frightened.”
“They made sure I was.”
That distinction changed the room.
Charles looked at her.
Grace continued.
“If you want them to make a mistake…”
May you like
She fastened the bracelet around her wrist.
“…let them think it still works.”
