Chương 2
A tiny sound.
Maybe a shoe.
Maybe a hand.
Grant heard it too.
His eyes moved toward the door.
That was the moment Damian believed Sophie.
Not because of the child’s words.
Not because of Claire’s wet eyes.
Because Grant looked at that door the way a man looked at something he owned.
Damian had seen that look on executives guarding proprietary files, investors protecting information, fathers standing beside hospital beds.
Possession had a posture.
Grant had it.
Damian felt Sophie’s breath against the back of his jacket.
He kept his voice level.
“Sophie can stay with me.”
Grant blinked.
“It’s really not necessary.”
“I didn’t say it was necessary.”
The two men stood facing each other.
Grant had spent enough years around Damian to understand when a discussion had ended.
He nodded.
“Of course.”
He looked around Damian’s shoulder.
“Sophie, I’ll tell your mother where you are.”
“No,” Sophie said.
Grant’s eyes sharpened.
Damian turned his head just enough to see her.
Sophie stared at Grant.
“Don’t tell her anything.”
The words were not defiant.
They were terrified.
Grant seemed about to answer, but a woman called his name from inside the dining room. One of the caterers needed help with something near the kitchen.
He forced another smile.
“Excuse me.”
Damian watched him walk away.
Grant did not look back.
Only after he disappeared did Damian open his fist.
A crescent of blood had formed where the key had cut him.
Sophie saw it.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“I squeezed too hard.”
“You did.”
She looked embarrassed.
For the first time, she looked seven.
Damian took a folded white handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it to his palm.
Sophie stared at the cloth.
“My mom says people who carry handkerchiefs are either eighty or trying too hard.”
Damian looked at her.
A tiny movement crossed her mouth. Not quite a smile.
“Your mother sounds judgmental.”
“She is sometimes.”
“Good.”
The ordinary exchange lasted perhaps five seconds.
It was enough to make Damian angrier.
Whatever was happening in his house had taught this child how to move in and out of fear without anyone noticing.
He pulled his phone from his pocket.
Sophie immediately caught his sleeve.
“Don’t call him.”
“I’m not calling him.”
“He checks Mommy’s phone.”
Damian stopped.
“What about yours?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Does your mother?”
Sophie nodded.
“He keeps it after dinner.”
“Why?”
“She drops things.”
It sounded rehearsed.
Damian recognized the shape of an explanation that had been repeated until everyone was expected to stop asking questions.
He unlocked his phone.
His head of personal security, Michael Torres, was downstairs near the front entrance. Damian typed a message.
Come to east hall alone. Do not speak to Grant Harlan. Quietly keep him on property if possible without confrontation. Call me before doing anything else.
He sent a second message to Mara Chen, his general counsel.
I need you on the phone immediately. Possible unlawful confinement/domestic violence involving staff member and child on my property. Do not call house line.
Damian put the phone away.
Sophie looked toward the cream-and-gold door.
“Is Mommy in there now?”
He studied her.
“You tell me.”
“She goes in before everyone leaves.”
“Does he lock it?”
A long pause.
“After.”
“From the outside?”
Sophie nodded.
“How do you know?”
“I heard it.”
“Once?”
“No.”
“How many times?”
She looked down at her shoes.
“I don’t know.”
Damian disliked questions that made children count pain.
He changed direction.
“Where did you get the key?”
“His office.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“He thinks Mommy took it.”
“And if he finds out you did?”
Sophie’s mouth flattened.
Damian already knew the answer.
He wished he had not asked.
His phone vibrated.
Torres.
Damian answered.
“Where are you?”
“West stairwell.”
“Come to me.”
Thirty seconds later, Michael Torres appeared from the direction of the library. Mid-forties, former federal agent, gray at the temples, wearing a dark suit that looked intentionally forgettable.
His eyes went from Damian to Sophie.
He did not ask questions in front of her.
Damian handed him the blood-stained handkerchief.
Torres frowned.
“Key,” Damian said.
Then he opened his palm.
Michael looked at it.
“What am I looking at?”
“A possible exterior lock for the east service room.”
Michael’s expression changed.
“That room hasn’t been in use since before I started here.”
“Apparently Grant says it doesn’t exist.”
Michael looked toward the door.
Damian saw him recalculating the floor plan.
Sophie spoke.
“He puts my mom in there.”
Michael looked down at her.
His face softened without becoming falsely cheerful.
“Hi, Sophie.”
She knew him. That surprised Damian.
“Hi, Mr. Torres.”
“Your mom in there now?”
Sophie nodded.
Michael looked at Damian again.
“Call police?”
“Yes.”
Sophie grabbed Damian’s hand.
The motion was so quick that the key nearly fell.
“No.”
Her voice rose for the first time.
Damian crouched again.
“Why?”
“He said they’ll take me away.”
“Who said that?”
She looked toward the dining room.
Grant.
Damian’s anger moved through him with an almost pleasant clarity.
He had spent much of his life learning not to display anger. Public anger was expensive. Anger made witnesses. Anger created leverage for other people. His father had taught him that when Damian was fourteen and put his fist through a cabinet after finding out one of their horses had been sold without warning.
A Cross, his father had said, does not lose control where anyone can see.
At thirty-three, Damian had improved the lesson.
He rarely lost control anywhere.
Now he placed one hand on Sophie’s shoulder.
“No one is taking you away because you asked for help.”
Sophie studied his face.
“You don’t know that.”
The sentence landed harder than accusation.
Damian glanced at Michael.
Michael gave the smallest nod.
“She’s right,” Damian said. “I don’t control everything that happens next.”
Sophie looked surprised.
May you like
Most adults, he suspected, had promised her too much or explained too little.
“But,” Damian continued, “I can tell you what I’m going to do. I’m not giving this key to Grant. You’re staying somewhere he can’t be alone with you. We’re getting your mother out of that room. And we’re calling people whose job is to deal with adults who hurt people.”
