Todos los capítulos de Velvet Chains : Capítulo 181 - Capítulo 190

The FarmhouseCall the state police, Reyes said. Westchester County. Every unit within ten miles of Pound Ridge.Okafor already had her phone at her ear. Damian was on his own, shouting at a charter company in a voice Vivienne had never heard from him, flat and hard and certain. Vivienne stood in the middle of the dank brick cellar with the useless phone still pressed against her ear, listening to the farmhouse landline ring and ring in a room four hours away.Nobody's picking up, she whispered. Gabriel, why isn't anyone picking up?Protocol, Reyes said, without looking up from his radio. He was already moving toward the stairs. I told them to lock up every phone in a box the moment they arrived. No signals, no calls. Anyone tracing a number from Pell's side would find nothing. The landline's the only way in, and nobody's supposed to answer it unless it's me. But it's you calling, Vivienne said. I called from your number.Then something's wrong, Reyes said quietly.They came up out of

The Blue PillMargaux, don't!The scream tore out of Vivienne's throat in a voice she hardly recognized. She flung herself across the drawing room, and her shoulder slammed into the arm of the old lady's chair, and a small blue pill flew from Margaux's fingers and spun away across the carpet like a tiny, glittering planet.Margaux gave a startled cry. The teacup in her other hand tipped, and tea splashed across the front of her dressing gown, and the silver dish clattered to the floor. Vivienne! she gasped. Have you lost your mind? The pills, Vivienne panted. She was on her knees on the rug, clutching the chair arm, her heart hammering so hard she could barely speak. Did you swallow any of them? Margaux, please. Did you take any tonight? I took the white one, of course, a moment ago, before you.. Margaux stopped. Her sharp gray eyes had sharpened further, and she was staring at Vivienne's white face.What on earth has happened? Dr. Lyle, Vivienne whispered. It's him. He's the one behi

Fire in the InfirmaryThe ceiling caught first.A thin sheet of orange flame raced along the silver pipes above the benches, hissing and spitting, and in the space of a single breath the whole laboratory was lit like the inside of a furnace, glass cracked. A shelf of beakers burst with a sound like gunfire. Black smoke rolled down from the beams in a thick, greasy curtain, and Vivienne coughed, and her eyes streamed, and she could taste something sharp and sweet at the back of her throat.Down! Reyes roared. Everybody get down!He had dropped his aim from Lyle's chest and hurled himself across the lab, and caught the little round doctor around the waist. Lyle did not struggle. He went limp in Reyes's arms like a rag doll, and as they crashed to the floor together, he began, very softly, to laugh. You're too late, he wheezed, you're all too late. Why? Okafor demanded, crouching over him. Her voice shook with rage. Why would you do this? You're a doctor. You took an oath. I took many oa

What Her Father SaidShe did not scream.Vivienne stood in the humming little room with the charred ledger open in front of her and the words burning behind her eyes, and for a long moment she did not do anything at all. She simply stood there, with her bandaged hand pressed against her mouth, and listened to the sound of her own breathing. Then she carefully lifted the sheet of white paper, and laid it back over the page exactly as she had found it, and walked out of the room.Damian was still on the bench in the corridor. He looked up as she came toward him, and she saw his face change.Vivienne? What is it? What's wrong?Not here, she whispered.She led him into the stairwell at the end of the hall, a gray concrete shaft that smelled of floor cleaner and cold air, and shut the heavy fire door behind them. Then she turned, and opened her mouth, and found that she could not say it. Tell me, Damian said gently. He took both her bandaged hands in his. Whatever it is, I'm here. My fath

The BankerPhillip Harmon was flown home to New York in handcuffs, in a government jet, seated between two silent marshals with a battered leather briefcase chained to his wrist. He was seventy-one years old. Vivienne saw that at once, through the narrow window of the interview room door at the federal detention center in Brooklyn. He was a slight, stooped, gray man in a rumpled linen jacket, with a neat white mustache, round tortoiseshell glasses, and a faded blue bow tie that had been knotted with great care. He sat very straight in a plastic chair, with his free hand folded over the other, looking at the blank wall in front of him as though it were a painting he was trying to understand. He's been like that since he landed, said Special Counsel Park, standing at Vivienne's shoulder. Polite, Calm, hasn't asked for a lawyer once. Hasn't asked for water. She shook her head slowly. In twenty-six years, I've never seen a man surrender quite like this.What does he want? Vivienne asked.