Chương 13
Adrian immediately froze.
“What?”
“Your keys.”
He removed them carefully and placed them on the windowsill.
The faint metallic sound stopped.
Brutus’s pacing slowed.
Clara looked at the keys.
One was long and old-fashioned.
Not a house key.
A heavy steel key with a square black head.
“Where does that go?”
Adrian followed her gaze.
“The lower storage room.”
Something changed in Brutus.
His body went rigid.
His eyes locked on the windowsill.
Clara’s blood ran cold.
“Pick it up.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Slowly.”
He reached for the key ring.
The instant the keys moved, Brutus backed away.
A low sound formed in his throat.
Not aggression.
Terror.
Clara stood.
“Put them down.”
Adrian obeyed.
Brutus stopped.
Nolan stared at the key.
“No.”
Adrian looked at him.
“You see it.”
“I see a reaction.”
Clara turned.
“You’ve used that key around him before?”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“For years.”
“And he always reacts?”
“I never noticed.”
Clara looked at the dog.
The mastiff was staring at the key with the same fixed horror he had shown the bucket handle.
Her mind moved through the day.
Long metal objects.
Neck restraint.
The bucket.
The old key.
Morrow’s message.
The basement.
“They did something to him down there.”
Adrian’s expression went hard.
“We know they abused him.”
“No.”
Clara shook her head.
“I mean something specific.”
She looked at the key again.
“Something he still recognizes.”
Nolan’s phone rang.
He answered.
Nobody spoke while he listened.
His eyes moved from Clara to Adrian.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Send it.”
He lowered the phone.
“Morrow said something else.”
Adrian stepped toward him.
“What?”
“Davis asked who sent Clara here.”
Nolan looked at her.
“Morrow said it wasn’t him.”
Clara felt a strange relief that lasted less than a second.
“Then who?”
“He wouldn’t give a name.”
“Why?”
Nolan’s mouth tightened.
“Because he says that person can get into this house.”
No one moved.
Then Brutus turned his head toward the hallway.
His ears lifted.
A low growl rolled through his chest.
Clara looked at the open doorway.
Footsteps were coming down the corridor.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Familiar enough that no guard had stopped them.
Brutus’s growl deepened before the footsteps reached the doorway.
Clara rose slowly beside him.
Adrian moved in front of her.
“Don’t.”
She caught his sleeve.
“You moving toward whoever he’s afraid of is not helping.”
The footsteps stopped.
Agnes appeared first.
Behind her stood a broad-shouldered man in a navy maintenance jacket with a tablet tucked beneath one arm.
Brutus recoiled so violently that his hindquarters struck the sofa.
The man froze.
“Mr. Vale?”
Adrian did not look away from him.
“Name.”
The man blinked.
“Patrick Sloan.”
Clara felt Nolan go still.
Adrian’s voice changed.
“You work facilities.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long?”
“Seven years.”
Brutus’s teeth showed.
Patrick stared at the dog.
“I should probably leave.”
“No.”
Adrian’s tone stopped him.
“Stay where you are.”
Clara watched Brutus, not Patrick.
The dog’s gaze had locked onto the man’s right hand.
Patrick was holding a long silver flashlight.
“Put that down.”
Clara’s voice came sharper than she intended.
Patrick looked at her.
“What?”
“The flashlight.”
He lowered it automatically.
Brutus flinched.
“Not toward him.”
Patrick hesitated, then set it carefully on the floor.
The mastiff’s growl softened but did not stop.
Nolan stepped sideways until he had a clear line to the hallway.
“Why are you here, Patrick?”
“Mrs. Whitmore said the study radiator was leaking.”
Agnes frowned.
“I said the west hall radiator.”
Patrick’s face changed.
Only slightly.
Clara saw it.
So did Nolan.
Adrian’s eyes went cold.
“Show me the work order.”
Patrick looked down at the tablet.
“I may have misread it.”
“Show me.”
“It’s probably just—”
“Patrick.”
The man swallowed.
Brutus growled again.
Patrick took one step backward.
Nolan moved.
“Don’t.”
Patrick stopped.
Clara’s heart was pounding now.
She looked at his jacket.
A white thread clung to one cuff.
There was dark mud dried along the hem.
Not garden mud.
Greasy, almost black.
“Where were you before this?”
Patrick looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Your jacket.”
Adrian followed her gaze.
Patrick brushed at the mud.
“Boiler room.”
“The boiler room floor is concrete,” Agnes said.
Patrick’s face tightened.
Nolan held out his hand.
“Tablet.”
Patrick did not give it to him.
The silence answered before anyone else did.
Adrian stepped forward.
Brutus lunged.
Not at Patrick.
At Adrian.
His massive body struck Adrian sideways, knocking him away from the doorway just as Patrick’s hand came out of his jacket.
Something black flashed.
Nolan moved faster.
He slammed Patrick’s wrist against the doorframe.
A compact pistol hit the carpet.
Agnes screamed.
Clara grabbed Brutus’s collar and immediately regretted it.
The dog twisted in panic.
She released him.
“Brutus.”
Patrick drove his shoulder into Nolan.
They crashed into the hall.
Adrian kicked the gun beneath a sideboard.
Patrick broke free.
For one second, his eyes went not toward the exit but toward Clara.
That was the mistake.
Brutus saw it.
The mastiff put himself between them.
Patrick stopped dead.
“Call him off.”
Clara’s mouth went dry.
“I don’t control him.”
“Call him off.”
Brutus’s lips lifted.
Patrick looked at Adrian.
“This is your fault.”
Adrian stood very still.
“What is?”
“All of it.”
Nolan had recovered and was circling from Patrick’s left.
Patrick saw him.
He grabbed the silver flashlight from the floor.
Brutus recoiled.
There it was.
Not the shape.
Not only the metal.
Patrick’s hand.
The way he held it.
Low against his thigh.
Clara felt the pattern lock into place.
“You were there.”
Patrick looked at her.
She pointed at the flashlight.
“In the basement.”
His face went blank.
Too blank.
Adrian’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Patrick.”
“You don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Brutus shook so hard his collar rattled.
Clara crouched beside him without touching.
“Yes, he does.”
Patrick tightened his grip.
“Shut up.”
“You used something like that on him.”
“I said shut up.”
May you like
Nolan took another step.
Patrick swung the flashlight toward him.
