Chương 4
Elena studied her.
The woman standing near the bed was still composed, still immaculate except for a faint mark where Marcus had gripped her wrist. She had followed him while he dragged a pregnant woman across the floor. She had watched Elena struck, threatened, and humiliated. Whatever uncertainty had entered her now did not erase those choices.
“You could open the door,” Elena said.
Vivienne glanced toward the hall.
“You could tell them I’m here.”
“That would destroy me.”
“Yes.”
The answer seemed to offend her, though Elena had spoken without force.
Vivienne raised the glass and discovered it was empty. She looked at it as though someone else had finished the drink.
“You think this is simple,” she said.
“No.”
“You think there are innocent people and guilty people.”
“No.”
“That’s convenient.”
Elena’s fingertips pressed into the brass key.
“Open the door.”
Vivienne looked at her for a long time.
Then Marcus returned.
“The alert was canceled,” he said.
Vivienne did not move. “By whom?”
“By me.”
“You aren’t the registered user.”
“I told them she left.”
“And they believed you?”
“They have no reason not to.”
A heavy knock sounded from the front of the penthouse.
Marcus’s eyes shut for half a second.
The security officer called through the door. “Mr. Vane, we need visual confirmation that no one requires assistance.”
Vivienne looked almost amused again, but there was no pleasure in it now. “Apparently they found a reason.”
Marcus walked toward the bedroom doors and pulled them partly closed. The widening shadow cut across the floor and reached Elena’s face.
“You,” he said to Vivienne. “Bathroom. Fix your hair.”
“My hair is fine.”
“Do it.”
“What are you planning to show them?”
He looked at Elena.
Vivienne followed his gaze.
“No,” she said.
Marcus ignored her. He bent and slid one arm beneath Elena’s shoulders, another beneath her knees.
She tried to resist, but the room tilted violently. Her abdomen tightened again. A sound escaped her, smaller than a cry.
Marcus lifted her.
“Put me down,” she said.
He carried her toward the bathroom.
Vivienne stepped into his path.
“She can’t stand.”
“She doesn’t need to.”
“What are you going to do, leave her in the tub?”
Marcus’s expression turned flat. “Move.”
The knock came again.
Vivienne remained where she was.
For one suspended moment, Elena saw the future dividing around an almost trivial physical fact: Vivienne’s body occupied the doorway. Marcus would have to move her, persuade her, or abandon the plan. A minute earlier, that doorway had meant nothing. Now it held the weight of every fear in the room.
Vivienne stepped aside.
Marcus carried Elena into the bathroom.
The room was white marble and warm light, too bright after the bedroom. He lowered her into the empty tub with no care for her head. Elena struck the sloped back and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.
Marcus leaned over her.
“Not a sound.”
She looked at him through strands of hair.
He reached for a stack of towels and threw them over her legs, then pulled the shower curtain halfway across. It was a fabric panel designed for decoration more than privacy, but from the bathroom entrance it hid most of her body.
Vivienne stood near the sinks.
Her face had lost color.
Marcus pointed toward Elena. “Watch her.”
Then he left.
The penthouse door opened in the distance.
Elena heard male voices, Marcus’s welcome delivered with practiced irritation, an apology from someone who did not sound apologetic. The security officer asked whether he could see the guest whose device had triggered the alert.
“She left ten minutes ago,” Marcus said.
“Which exit?”
“The private elevator.”
“We have no elevator record.”
“The system fails constantly.”
“We checked the service desk.”
A pause.
Marcus said, “Are you accusing me of something?”
“No, sir. We’re required to confirm the resident is safe.”
“I am the resident.”
“The registered device belongs to Elena Ward.”
Silence followed.
Elena turned her head toward Vivienne.
Vivienne stared at the bathroom doorway.
“Open the curtain,” Elena whispered.
Vivienne’s fingers tightened around the empty glass.
“Please.”
The word cost Elena more than she expected. Not because she disliked pleading, but because she had spent most of her adult life believing that careful preparation could keep her from needing mercy from unreliable people.
Vivienne looked down at her.
“You recorded me too,” she said.
“Yes.”
“If I help you, that recording still exists.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t protect me.”
“No.”
Vivienne gave a faint breath that might have been a laugh. “You’re very bad at this part.”
“At lying?”
“At making rescue sound attractive.”
Elena shifted in the tub. Pain ran beneath her ribs. “I’m not rescuing you.”
The voices in the penthouse grew nearer.
Marcus was guiding the security officer through the rooms, offering proof that no one else was present.
Vivienne looked toward the door again.
“Tell me something,” she said. “Did you know before tonight?”
“That the painting was switched?”
“That I was involved.”
Elena hesitated.
Vivienne’s eyes returned to her face. The need there was ugly and human. She wanted not merely information, but a boundary around her own guilt. She wanted to learn she had been invisible until the final moment, that her sophistication had protected her from suspicion even while her choices had not.
“I suspected after the shipping records changed,” Elena said.
“How long?”
“Six weeks.”
Vivienne’s mouth parted.
“You kept coming to my house.”
“I needed access to the collection.”
“You sat at my table.”
“You invited me to evaluate three works you had no intention of selling.”
Vivienne looked away.
Elena continued, “You wanted to know what I had noticed.”
“I wanted to know whether Marcus was lying to me.”
“He was.”
The security officer’s voice sounded outside the bedroom.
“May I check in there, sir?”
“That’s a private room.”
“We’ve checked the rest of the residence.”
May you like
Marcus’s reply came sharper. “You have no authority to search my bedroom.”
“No, sir. But if we can’t locate Ms. Ward, we have to contact emergency services and the police.”
