I switched off the lamp in the hall and walked to my room, pausing outside the closed door that led to Jerusha’s boudoir, the lovely woman whose home I had somehow inherited, with all its beauty and its tragedy. Yet Aunt Jolly had been happy here, and look what happened to her.
I walked into the room, turning the lamps on, closing the heavy cream linen curtains, shutting out the darkness, and any eyes that might be watching. The wind had dropped. As I turned from the window I thought I heard a noise outside. I stood perfectly still, ears straining. No. All was quiet. I told myself I was foolish, imagining things because of Verity’s disappearance. Nobody had come to any harm, Chad and the Colonel would find her, they had promised.
But there it was again. The rustle of leaves underfoot.
I froze, a hand clutched to my chest. Then, as always when I was afraid, anger rushed through my veins in a sudden heat. If this was a robber he would not get any of Aunt Jolly’s treasures, never, however many times he tried.…
But I also remembered my other near-misses, in the canyon, in my bed. I realized it might not be the treasures they were after. I was suddenly afraid it could be me.
28
Chad Prescott
Chad stood on the strip of grass at the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach. It could hardy be called a cliff, more of a steep rise, a climb up from the shore easily doable by any active person in appropriate footwear, sneakers or work boots, but certainly never in dainty female evening sandals, which was what every woman was wearing at the party tonight. Those that had not taken them off, that is, when their heels sank into the grass, and who’d sought firmer ground on the paved terraces. Whatever, everyone had been in plain sight, and that included Verity, right up until the moment she’d wandered into the house, through the door that still stood wide open, though now there were no men in black T-shirts standing guard.
Farther along the beach, above the tide line and away from the lights, he made out the shape of a building—square, boxy almost. No lights shone from it. No men guarded it.
He stood for a while, watching. Nobody came out. Nobody went in. Which made him wonder exactly what it might be. A generator room, perhaps? But no, that was well away from the house, the monstrosity called the Villa Mara, which the Boss called “home” and from where a DJ was now blasting hot dance music the party crowd found hard to resist.
Undecided, he wondered whether to go back to the villa, check every room one more time for Verity, but somehow he knew he would not find Verity there.
He slithered down the slope to the pebbly beach. It was much darker and he waited for his eyes to adjust. The square building was about a hundred yards away. He might have thought it was a storage unit, a place for garden equipment and the like, but this was on a prime bit of shore, worth many dollars per square meter. Not even a billionaire, especially a sharp and successful property developer like the Boss, would squander such top real estate on a garden shed. This had to be important. More, it had to be of great importance to the Boss himself.
He walked silently, the way he’d learned in the jungle, no sound of a footfall or a twig snapping, his dark jacket held closed over his white shirt, head down. He had spent half a lifetime under these circumstances; knew exactly what to do, how to make himself invisible, how to stalk a prey, how to find his way in uncharted territory. This Mediterranean garden was easy.
Now he could see the building close up. There were no windows, not even the old arrow slits of medieval times. This was a modern building, and it was windowless for a purpose. Either the Boss did not want anyone to see in, or he did not want anyone to see out.
A faint noise came from behind. Chad flattened himself against the trunk of a jacaranda tree whose purple blossoms fluttered onto his head. He wanted desperately to sneeze.
A man came hurrying along the gravel path leading to the bunker. It was dark but from his height and his bulk, Chad recognized the Boss. Keys clanked as he walked past, so close Chad could hear his breathing, rapid breaths, as though he’d been running. He stopped in front of the bunker, keys rattling in his hand. He pressed a button and a swathe of ivy-clad wall slid magically to one side, revealing a steel door. The Boss inserted his key, stepped through the door into darkness, and the ivy-covered wall slid back into place, as though the door had never been.