Chapter 5

Roderick didn't sleep. He spent the remaining hours of the night staring at the monitors, his hand resting instinctively on the grip of his sidearm. The blue light of the screens washed over Elias, who was sprawled out on the narrow cot, snoring softly with a half-eaten strawberry chew still clutched in his hand.

"Elias. Wake up," Roderick said, his voice a low rasp.

Elias groaned, burying his face in the thin pillow. "Is it noon? Tell the sun to come back in three hours. We’re not on speaking terms yet."

"It’s six in the morning. And we’re leaving. Now."

Elias sat up, blinking blearily. He looked at the empty chocolate wrappers scattered across the floor and then at Roderick’s grim expression. "You look like you’ve spent the night haunting a graveyard. Did something happen? Did the acid-waiter come back for his tip?"

"The call came from inside your house, Elias," Roderick said, standing up and grabbing his tactical jacket. "The security override at the gala was authorized from a terminal in the Storme Estate. We’re going back to find out who did it."

Elias froze, his playful haze evaporating. "Inside the house? That’s... that’s not possible. My staff has been with me for years. Mrs. Higgins tucked me in when I was six. Julian has been making my soufflés since I hit puberty."

"Then one of them is getting a very big paycheck from someone else," Roderick said, checking the magazine of his pistol before holstering it. "Move. We’re taking the armored SUV."

The Storme Estate looked peaceful in the early morning mist, a sprawling masterpiece of limestone and glass. To anyone else, it was a palace. To Roderick, it was now a kill box with a leak.

He pulled the SUV into the private garage, his eyes scanning every corner. "Garrett, you there?"

"I’m here," Garrett’s voice chirped in his earpiece. "I’ve looped the internal cameras, but I’ve kept a live feed running to your tablet. If anyone so much as twitches toward a computer, you’ll get an alert."

"Good. Stay on the line."

Roderick turned to Elias, who was stepping out of the car and trying to smooth his ruined tuxedo. "We’re going to the study. I’m going to bring the staff in one by one. You? You stay in the corner and stay quiet."

"Quiet? Me?" Elias scoffed, following him through the service entrance. "I’m the heart of this investigation! I know these people. I know their secrets. I know who hates the brand of tea I buy and who’s stealing the fancy hand soap."

"This isn't about soap, Elias. It’s about a hit on your life."

"Exactly! Which is why we need a strategy. You’re too... intense. You’ll make them clam up. We need the soft touch. The 'Good Cop' approach."

They reached the study, a massive room filled with first-edition books and leather chairs that smelled of old money. Roderick began setting up a small digital recorder on the desk.

"I don’t do 'Good Cop,'" Roderick muttered.

"I know. That’s why I’m here," Elias said. He suddenly brightened, spotting a silver bell on the side table. He rang it vigorously. "Oh, and we’re going to need supplies."

Ten minutes later, a bewildered-looking footman entered the room carrying a large, pink cardboard box.

"Donuts?" Roderick stared at the box as if it were a bomb.

"Not just donuts. These are 'Glaze of Glory' artisanal brioche rings," Elias said, flipping the lid open to reveal a dozen colorful, sugar-coated pastries. "People talk when their blood sugar is spiking, Roderick. It’s science. Probably."

"Get out," Roderick told the footman. The man scurried away.

"Okay, first victim! Let’s bring in Julian," Elias chirped, grabbing a donut covered in gold leaf and lavender.

"Julian is the chef," Roderick said, checking his list. "He was in the kitchen during the gala. He has an alibi."

"Does he? Or was he seasoning the acid with a hint of shallot? Bring him in!"

Julian, a rotund man in a pristine white apron, looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack as he sat in the high-backed leather chair. Roderick stood behind him, arms crossed, the shadow of his bulk looming over the chef.

"Julian," Roderick started, his voice a low growl. "Where were you at 9:14 PM last night?"

"I-I was preparing the midnight terrine! I have twelve witnesses!" Julian stammered, his eyes darting to the door.

"And who had access to the master security terminal in the pantry?"

"I don't know! I just cook! Please, I have a cat to support!"

"Julian, darling," Elias interrupted, leaning forward and sliding the box of donuts toward the chef. "Have a 'Midnight Truffle' ring. You look peaked. Tell me, have you noticed anyone hanging around the pantry lately? Someone... perhaps with a suspicious interest in fiber-optic cables?"

Julian took a shaky bite of the donut. "Well... there was that new girl. The one Mireille recommended for the temp staff."

Roderick sharpened his focus. "What new girl?"

"She said her name was Sarah. She was supposed to be helping with the silver, but I saw her in the hallway near the study twice yesterday. She said she was lost. She has very big glasses. And she kept taking pictures of the molding."

"The molding?" Elias asked, frowning. "My molding is exquisite, but it’s not exactly I*******m-worthy."

"She wasn't taking pictures of the wood, Julian," Roderick said, looking at the tablet. "She was mapping the sensor points. Where is she now?"

"She’s in the conservatory, I think. Polishing the ferns."

"Polishing the ferns?" Elias stood up, looking offended. "Nobody polishes the ferns! That’s how you clog the stomata! This woman is a monster!"

Roderick shoved the tablet into his pocket. "Stay here, Elias. I mean it."

"Not a chance. She’s messing with my botany. This is personal."

They moved toward the conservatory, a massive glass structure filled with exotic plants and the humid scent of damp earth. In the center of the room, a woman in a grey maid’s uniform was meticulously wiping a large monstera leaf. She was wearing thick, black-rimmed glasses and had her hair pulled back in a tight, severe bun.

Roderick didn't hesitate. He moved with the silent efficiency of a predator, circling around the back of a palm tree to cut off her exit.

"Sarah, is it?" Roderick’s voice rang out, echoing against the glass.

The woman didn't jump. She didn't even flinch. She slowly turned around, a microfiber cloth in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. "Can I help you, sir? I’m nearly finished with the foliage."

"I think you’re finished with everything," Roderick said, stepping into the light. "Who are you working for? The cartel? The Syndicate? Who gave you the bypass codes?"

The woman blinked, her expression remaining perfectly neutral. "I’m sure I don't know what you're talking about. I’m just a temp."

"A temp who knows how to bypass a 256-bit encryption wall from a pantry terminal?" Roderick challenged, closing the gap. "Show me your hands. Now."

"Roderick, wait!" Elias shouted, jogging into the room. He stopped a few feet away, squinting at the woman. "Wait a minute. I know those glasses. Those aren't prescription. Those are the 'Limited Edition Designer Fakes' from the autumn collection."

The woman’s eyes flickered toward Elias.

"And that bun?" Elias continued, pointing a finger. "It’s too structural. You’re using at least three hidden bobby pins to maintain that level of tension. Only one person I know is that obsessed with a 'serious' aesthetic."

Roderick frowned. "Elias, what are you talking about?"

"Sarah isn't a hitman, Roderick," Elias said, his voice dropping the playful tone. He walked right up to the woman, reaching out and snatching the glasses off her face. "She’s a vulture."

The woman sighed, her shoulders dropping as she reached up to pull the pins from her hair. A cascade of blonde curls fell over her shoulders. She looked less like a maid and more like a woman who took high-stakes meetings in Manhattan.

"Honestly, Elias," the woman said, leaning back against a stone planter. "I almost had the full story. Why do you have to be so observant about eyewear?"

"Tessa Marlowe," Roderick hissed, his hand dropping from his holster but his tension remaining high. "The gossip columnist? You’re the 'mole'?"

"I prefer 'investigative journalist,'" Tessa said, pulling a small digital recorder out of her apron pocket. "I’ve been embedded here for three days. I was going to write a piece on the 'Secret Meltdown of the Storme Empire.' Do you have any idea how much a first-hand account of an assassination attempt is worth? My editor would have given me the cover for a year."

"You hacked my security system for a headline?" Roderick stepped forward, his voice vibrating with rage. "You put him in a crosshair so you could get a quote?"

"Whoa, easy there, Big and Grumpy," Tessa said, holding up her hands. "I didn't hack anything. I just watched a guy in a maintenance uniform do it. I followed him to the pantry, saw him plug in a device, and I... well, I took a picture of the screen so I could see what he was doing. I thought he was just stealing credit card numbers!"

Roderick froze. "Maintenance uniform? When?"

"Yesterday afternoon. About four o'clock. He had a patch on his shirt that said 'Lux-Com Security.'"

Roderick’s blood went cold. "Garrett, did we have a Lux-Com tech scheduled yesterday?"

"Checking... No," Garrett’s voice was sharp. "Lux-Com is our secondary contractor for the perimeter fence. They aren't due for a check until next month."

Roderick turned back to Tessa, grabbing her by the arm. "The guy you saw. Where did he go?"

"I don't know! He left through the north gate," she said, looking genuinely scared now. "Look, I’m just here for the gossip, okay? I didn't mean to get involved in an actual crime!"

"You're already involved," Roderick growled.

Suddenly, the bright morning light in the conservatory flickered. The hum of the industrial-sized humidifiers died out, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence.

Elias looked up at the glass ceiling. "Is it just me, or did the house just stop breathing?"

Roderick checked his tablet. The screen was a wall of red text.

ALARM: PERIMETER BREACH. SECTOR 1-4. POWER OFFLINE.

"Garrett! Talk to me!"

"They cut the main line, Rod! Not just the house—the entire estate's perimeter fence is dead. I’ve lost the exterior cameras. They’re coming in through the woods."

Roderick grabbed Elias by the shoulder, shoving him toward the center of the room. "Tessa, get on the floor and stay there if you want to live. Elias, behind the planters. Now!"

"But my ferns!" Elias cried, even as he scrambled into cover. "They’re going to get trampled!"

"Forget the plants!" Roderick drew his weapon, his eyes locked on the glass doors leading to the gardens.

In the distance, the low, rhythmic thud of a helicopter began to vibrate through the air. It wasn't the police. It was something much heavier, and it was heading straight for the roof.

"Roderick," Elias whispered from behind a giant terra cotta pot. "Is this the part where we run?"

Roderick didn't look back. "No, Elias. This is the part where I stop being a bodyguard and start being a problem."

The first glass pane of the conservatory shattered, a black-clad figure swinging through the opening like a shadow.

"Get down!" Roderick roared, the first shot from his pistol echoing through the garden of glass.