Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sagan

I shouldn’t be allowed into anyone’s house, let alone the Bryant mansion.

The old dude with the snooty attitude looks right through me.

“Ms. Bryant called me to give a quote to fix the fireplace in the east wing,” I try, hoping that would explain why I’m filthy, as if I’d just come from another repair job. It’s a shot in the dark. Esme seems like a romantic type of woman who would enjoy a nice crackling fire in December. So, I figure, her fireplace ain’t working properly if she’s home.

“Where is your truck? How did you get through the gate?”

I shrug and explain that I followed one of the landscapers working on clearing snow from the footpaths with about a dozen snowblowers and bags of salt and sand.

“…and I parked it alongside the east wing because I needed to inspect the exterior brick first to see what I’m working with.”

I’m shocked when the guy stands aside and lets me in, muddy boots and all.

In the foyer, I take off those muddy boots and proceed to act like I own the place. That’s the only way I can get to her. I just have to keep the ruse going until then.

I’m gambling on the hope that once I get to Esme, she won’t scream and call the police to report me for trespassing, stalking, or a number of other things that my parole officer would most definitely frown on.

“I’ll show you to the east wing,” the older man says, his footsteps shuffling behind me up the stairs and down the darkened corridor.

“I think I got it. The layout of these old Gilded Age mansions is pretty much all the same,” I say casually.

“I beg your pardon,” he says, taking that as an affront. Stay mad about it, fella. Focus on that.

“I’ll have you know that Winston Bryant designed this home himself in 1892…”

Sure, sure. Whatever.

The old man falls behind as I move quickly through the house.

“What company did you say you were from?”

I mumble a phony company name and take a left at the end of the hall and then a right.

From what I’ve been able to tell, Esme’s bedroom is this way.

A narrow metal staircase meets me at the end of the second-floor hallway. I climb it, and it creaks and rattles noisily with every step. At the top is the door to her room. I know it.

“Let me announce you before you knock,” the old man calls from the bottom of the stairs. He’s winded, and he ain’t going anywhere for a while.

I open her door and finally put my eyes on Esme.

My stomach drops when I see her.

She doesn’t move. She just lies there, motionless, even as I make all kinds of noise coming in.

I circle the bed until I see her face.

She’s as pale as a ghost.

Rage like nothing I’ve ever felt before rushes through me. I could put my fist through a wall.

I thought Esme had been at a spa for the last several months. That’s what Rowan said. I was biding my time, paying a sketchy hacker under the table to get me information about her flight and hotel information. When you’re a model prisoner, they give you privileges. One fellow prisoner I met while working a prison library job has been real useful on the outside.

But not useful enough. Esme is a thin, pale shadow of the vibrant woman I met over a year ago. There’s nothing my friend can do to fix this.

I have to calm myself before I do real crimes against the entire staff at Bryant Estate for letting her wither away like this.

I can’t let her see me angry.

I think I scared her once before, that day we met. Those were the eyes of someone in trouble. Something was very wrong.

Now that I’ve found Esme, I make sure she is aware of my presence. Maybe it’s a little too forward, but I touch her hair, which feels like it hasn’t been washed in many, many days.

If my time as an Army Ranger kicked in while I watched her house, my nursing degree now takes hold.

It’s been a long, long time, but I don’t think any nurse worth their salt forgets how to act in moments like this.

The first thing we’re going to do is take a shower, and Esme is not about to fight me on it.