Chapter 2 - The Seven Shadows
The heavy silence returned to the library, but it wasn't the same silence as before. It felt charged, electric, and dangerous.
I pulled my wrist gently from his grip, rubbing the spot where his fingers had left a warm impression against my skin. “You said seven housekeepers stayed overnight before me.”
Lincoln walked over to the mahogany desk, setting the pistol down with a dull thud, and poured himself another finger of amber whiskey. He didn't look at me as he spoke.
“A young woman named Clara. Last winter. She woke up screaming because someone was standing over her bed with a knife,” Lincoln said, his voice completely devoid of inflection, which made it ten times more chilling. “The police called it a break-in by local junkies. But nothing was stolen. The window was locked from the inside.”
“And the others?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Three quit before midnight because they claimed they heard phantom footsteps. Two found threatening notes slipped under their pillows. The last one—Sarah—left in such a hurry she didn't even pack her bags.” He turned his head, his pale gray eyes fixing on mine. “She told me the house itself was trying to suffocate her. Then she skipped town the next morning. I haven't been able to locate her since.”
A cold dread pooled in my stomach. “And you think someone inside this penthouse is doing it?”
“I don't think. I know,” Lincoln said, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Every security feed in this building is routed through a central server that only three people have access to: myself, Bruno, and Garrett.”
“Then why keep hiring people?” I demanded, anger suddenly flaring up to override the fear. “If you know someone in your inner circle is playing a sick psychological game to drive you insane, why bring innocent women into the crossfire?”
Lincoln flinched. Just a fraction, but I caught it.
“Because,” he said slowly, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his broad frame, “I needed someone who wasn't part of my world. Someone who wouldn't look at a shadow and assume it’s a hitman. Someone observant.” He paused, his gaze dropping to my battered suitcase sitting by the door. “Someone desperate enough to stay when things got ugly.”
“I am not your pawn, Lincoln,” I snapped, my chin lifting defensively. “I’m a woman trying to keep a roof over her niece’s head. There is a massive difference.”
Before Lincoln could answer, a sharp, metallic buzzing sound tore through the quiet penthouse.
It wasn't the front intercom. It was coming from the wall panel beside the library bookshelf—a private internal line connected directly to the ground-floor security gate.
Lincoln crossed the room in two strides, flipping the master switch.
May you like
“Frost,” he barked into the receiver.
Bruno Hale’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and laced with panic. “Boss. You need to look at the perimeter cameras on the south access road right now. We’ve got visitors.”
