HE SLAPPED THE NANNY FOR SAVING HIS BABY — Until The 4K Camera Proved What The Mother Did In The Dark!

*98%... 100%.*

*Transfer Complete.*

I ripped the thumb drive from the server port, shoved it deep into my bra, and slammed the heavy safe door shut. It clicked into place with a mechanical thud. I swung the portrait of Leopold Blackwood back into position just as the heavy brass handle of the study door began to turn.

There was no back door. No secret passage.

The study had only one exit, and Richard was standing on the other side of it.

I ducked behind the heavy velvet curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling bay windows overlooking the dark courtyard. I pulled Leo tight against my chest, covering his mouth gently with my palm, praying to every god I knew that the child wouldn't make a sound.

The study door swung open.

Richard walked in. The smell of expensive wine and cigar smoke preceded him. He wasn't alone. Arthur Cole stepped in behind him, closing the heavy mahogany door with a click that sounded like the closing of a coffin.

"The police chief is handled," Richard said, his voice clipped and businesslike. He walked over to the desk, poured himself another glass of bourbon, and collapsed into his leather armchair. "Twenty-five thousand in an offshore account, and the domestic dispute report vanishes from the precinct log. How is my wife?"

"Sedated," Cole replied, his voice deep and gravelly. "The medical transport arrives at eleven-thirty. She'll be in the secure facility in the Adirondacks by dawn. The paperwork is signed. Severe postpartum psychosis with violent homicidal tendencies toward the infant. The state won't question it."

"And the nanny?" Richard asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Behind the curtain, my heart stopped.

"She took the check," Cole said. "Housekeeper says she packed a bag."

"I don't care about the check," Richard said coldly. The mask of the civilized gentleman was completely gone; his tone was flat, transactional, and deadly. "The girl saw too much. She has instincts. If she goes to the press or starts talking to her family, an NDA won't stop the tabloid feeding frenzy. When the van takes Madeline tonight, I want Clara taken care of as well."

"Taken care of?"

"An accident on the highway," Richard said, taking a slow sip. "Her car goes off the ridge near Devil's Leap. Tragic. A young woman distraught by the trauma of witnessing a mother trying to kill her child. Her family gets an insurance payout. The narrative stays clean."

A chill ran down my spine that turned my blood to ice. He wasn't going to let me walk away with the money. He was going to murder me.

In my arms, Leo shifted. His small hand brushed against the thick velvet curtain.

*Rustle.*

It was the faintest sound, barely louder than a dry leaf hitting the floor.

Both men in the room froze.

"Did you hear that?" Richard asked, his eyes narrowing as he stared directly at the bay windows.

Cole didn't answer with words. His right hand dropped instinctively to the holster beneath his suit jacket. He drew a silenced Glock, stepping quietly across the Persian rug toward the heavy velvet drapes.

Step.

I looked at the window latch beside me. It was locked from the inside. Outside was a narrow stone ledge, three stories above the jagged rose garden below. Rain was pouring down in sheets, slicking the stone.

There was nowhere to run.

Cole was five feet away. Three feet. His shadow fell across the velvet fabric.

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed from the hallway outside.

The sound of shattering porcelain and a piercing scream ripped through the heavy oak door.

"Dad! Dad, help me! Fire!"

Cole stopped dead in his tracks. Richard jumped out of his chair, spilling his bourbon across the mahogany desk. "Sophie?!"

Cole spun around, his weapon still raised. "Boss, check the window."

"My daughter is screaming, you idiot!" Richard shouted, storming toward the door. "Move!"

The two men rushed out into the corridor.

I didn't waste a single millisecond. I burst from behind the curtains, slipped through the study door into the smoke-filled hallway—Sophie had intentionally thrown an antique lamp into a pile of dry cleaning linens, setting off a small, blinding blaze—and sprinted for the service stairs.

Sophie was standing near the fire extinguisher, coughing, her face smeared with soot. When she saw me with Leo, her eyes widened.

"Go to the cellar!" she hissed. "The old wine tunnel leads to the carriage house! Cole has the keys to the main gates, but the tunnel has an old storm door!"

"You come with me," I grabbed her arm.

"He won't hurt me, Clara! I'm his blood!" Sophie cried, pushing me toward the stairs. "Save Leo! Save Madeline! Get out of this house!"

Behind us, Richard’s furious roar echoed down the vaulted hallway: