Chương 1
"""""Commander Elias Vane struck the walnut doors with his shoulder and found his daughter’s husband waiting with a drink while Livia lay bleeding beside the emerald sofa.
The doors opened farther than he expected. One panel hit the brass stop with a low wooden crack that traveled through the marble foyer and up the curved staircase. Elias entered quickly, not running, his broad frame held tight beneath a charcoal tactical shirt, one hand clear of the pistol strapped to his thigh. Mara Quinn followed half a step behind, already touching the radio clipped beneath her navy jacket.
The drawing room looked arranged for company that had never arrived. Lamps burned against cream walls. A crystal chandelier threw warm light across the pale rug. The tall windows had gone black with evening, reflecting the furniture back into the room—the carved beige chairs, the emerald velvet sofa, the half-empty whiskey decanter.
Elias scanned the staircase, the doorways, the space behind the sofa.
“Livia?”
His voice was quiet. That frightened Mara more than shouting would have.
Sebastian Crowe sat deep in one of the armchairs, his ankles crossed, a crystal tumbler turning slowly between his fingers. His cream shirt was open at the collar. The black trousers, the luxury watch, the faint shadow along his jaw—all of it gave him the careless polish of a man photographed at charity dinners.
He raised his eyes.
“You were not invited.”
A restrained half-smile moved across his face and disappeared almost at once.
Elias took one step toward him, then stopped.
Something pale showed beyond the sofa. A hand. The fingers rested against the patterned rug with the palm turned upward, motionless except for a slight tremor.
The anger left Elias so completely that for an instant his face appeared empty. Then he crossed the room.
Livia lay curled on her right side. Her deep emerald dress had twisted at the waist, and several strands of dark auburn hair had come loose from the low bun at the back of her head. One pearl earring remained in place. Above her right eyebrow was a narrow cut, no wider than Elias’s smallest finger, with one faint line of blood running toward her temple. A bruise had begun to darken around her left wrist.
He lowered himself carefully to one knee.
“Liv.”
Her chest rose. Paused. Rose again.
Behind him, Sebastian set the base of his tumbler against the arm of the chair. Glass touched polished wood with a delicate click.
Mara moved to the other side of Livia and unfastened the compact medical pouch at her hip. “Backup is close,” she said, so softly the words belonged only to Elias. “Local units and medical.”
Livia’s eyelids moved.
Elias slid one hand beneath her head without lifting it more than necessary. The silver watch on his wrist pressed against the rug. He adjusted it away from her hair.
Her eyes opened a fraction. They did not focus at first. When they found him, her breath caught.
“Dad…” Her voice scraped against the word. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m here.”
Mara placed two fingers lightly against Livia’s neck, then watched her chest. “Slow breaths. That’s all. Don’t try to sit up.”
Sebastian leaned forward. The last trace of amusement had gone from him, though the tumbler remained in his hand.
“She fell,” he said. “Ask her.”
His voice was controlled, but the knuckles around the crystal had whitened.
Elias looked down at the bruise encircling his daughter’s wrist. There were four darker marks on one side and a broad pressure mark on the other.
Livia turned her face slightly toward his shirt. Her loose hair shifted, revealing the thin blood line at her temple.
Elias placed his free hand on the grip of the holstered pistol.
He did not release the retention strap.
He looked directly at Sebastian.
“Stay seated.”
Something in Sebastian’s expression changed. It was not fear yet. It was the recognition that the room no longer belonged to him.
Mara raised her handheld radio. “Victim conscious. Send medical and police inside.”
Static answered, followed by a dispatcher’s clipped acknowledgment.
Elias stayed beside Livia. He could hear her breathing, the soft hum of the chandelier, and tires approaching over the wet drive. Far outside, a siren began and cut off almost immediately.
Sebastian glanced toward the foyer.
“Elias,” he said, attempting an older familiarity. “You need to think about what this looks like.”
“I am.”
“You came into my home armed.”
“You’re still talking.”
Livia’s fingers moved against the rug until they touched the rolled cuff of Elias’s sleeve. She did not grip him. She seemed to need proof of fabric, warmth, something that stayed where she put her hand.
Blue light washed across the tall windows.
Then red.
The first police SUV stopped near the entrance, its reflections traveling in long wet bands over the pavement and across the marble floor. A second vehicle arrived behind it. Doors opened outside, and the mansion filled with the quick, controlled sounds of people entering a situation they did not yet understand.
Through all of it, Sebastian remained in the armchair with the tumbler balanced in one hand.
Only when the first uniformed officer appeared in the doorway did he begin to stand.
“Sit down,” Elias said.
Sebastian froze halfway up.
The officer’s hand went to his own holster. “Sir, remain seated.”
For the first time that evening, Sebastian obeyed someone without pretending it had been his idea.
The paramedics took over beside Livia. Elias moved back only when Mara touched his shoulder and made him look at her.
“Let them work.”
His hand had left the pistol, but his fingers remained curled as though they still held its grip. “I wasn’t going to draw.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
May you like
Mara’s face did not change. Dark hair pulled into a tight low ponytail, radio wire tucked behind one ear, she had the maddening stillness of someone who never argued before deciding whether an argument was necessary.
“I’m looking at you like her father,” she said.
