Chapter 5 - The Trellis and the Trap
Mara didn't slow down when the wrought-iron gates groaned and bent inward under the reinforced bumper of her SUV.
"You're paying for my deductible," she muttered, skidding to a halt on the gravel turnaround beside the dark gardens.
"Put it on my bill," I said, throwing the passenger door open before the vehicle had completely stopped.
I didn't run toward the front porch. I bolted straight into the drenched boxwood hedges on the eastern perimeter of the property, cutting through the mud toward the giant weeping willow at the back of the lawn.
The house lights flared on upstairs and down. From the front doorway, I heard Adrian shouting furiously into the rain.
"Elena! Are you down here?" I called softly as I reached the base of the cedar playhouse built into the lower branches of the willow.
I scrambled up the wet wooden rungs. Pushing open the miniature Dutch door, I reached into the dark corner behind the plastic chest. My fingers brushed soaking-wet flannel pajamas and a tiny, ice-cold hand.
"Elena!" Vianey threw herself around my neck, burying her face against my collarbone. She was shaking violently, soaked to the bone from her climb down the rose trellis.
"I've got you, little bird," I whispered fiercely, stripping off my dry wool coat and wrapping it tightly around her small frame. "I've got you. You were so brave."
"They're in the study with Daddy," she gasped against my neck. "Uncle Adrian has a man with him—the man from the black car!"
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path leading around the side of the conservatory. The beam of a heavy tactical flashlight sliced through the rain and willow branches.
"Check the garden!" Adrian’s voice echoed across the lawn. "The little brat stuffed pillows under her blankets! She couldn't have gotten past the street!"
I looked down through the gaps in the treehouse floor. The man in the grey raincoat—the same one who had thrown the envelope at me at the bus stop—was walking directly toward the willow tree, his hand reaching inside his coat.
Back at the front of the house, Mara hadn't gotten out of the car. She was leaning on the horn—long, blaring blasts that echoed through the quiet, wealthy neighborhood, forcing lights to flick on in the mansions across the street.
Suddenly, the side French doors of the study burst open.
Ricardo stumbled out onto the stone patio, holding a heavy fireplace poker in his right hand. A jagged cut bled above his left eyebrow where Adrian had struck him when he threw the drugged Scotch into Adrian’s face.
"Vianey!" Ricardo roared into the storm. "Vianey!"
The man in the grey raincoat spun around at the sound of Ricardo’s voice.
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Knowing we wouldn't get a second window, I hoisted Vianey onto my hip, slid down the ladder rungs, and sprinted through the mud toward the illuminated conservatory doors—only for Celeste to step out from the shadows of the portico and slam a heavy iron garden shovel across my path.
"Put the child down, you thief," Celeste hissed, her face twisted with panic as distant police sirens finally began to wail down Madison Street. "If the cops find her with you after you broke our gate, you're going to prison for kidnapping!"
