Chapter 63 Stalker
"Did they find anything in the woods?" I asked Tristan over coffee.
We were in the kitchen, the air smelling of toasted sourdough and expensive beans. Marco was humming a low tune as he worked the stove, seemingly unbothered by the heavily armed guards standing like statues just outside the windows.
"Footprints," Tristan said, his expression grim. "Cigarette butts. He wasn't just passing through, Mina. He was standing there for a long time. Watching."
"Is it Julian Thorne?" I asked, the name of Ida’s former associate tasting like ash.
"The police are looking for him, but Vane thinks Thorne is still hiding out in the Caymans. This guy... he’s likely a hired hand. Someone Ida put on retainer before she was committed."
I wrapped my hands around my mug. "So she has a contingency plan."
"She has an obsession," Tristan corrected. "And she still has access to deep pockets. It’s a dangerous combination." He reached across the table, his large hand covering mine. "I’m moving you into the Master Suite tonight."
I stiffened.
"Tristan, we talked about this. I need my own space to process everything."
"You have the whole house during the day," he argued, his voice rising with an edge of desperation. "But at night, you sleep where I can see you. Where Silas can guard a single door instead of two."
"I can lock the door to the guest room."
"A slashed tire isn't a lock problem, Mina. It’s a message. He’s telling us he can get close whenever he wants. I won't let him get close to you again."
"I am not a piece of art to be locked in a vault," I said, pulling my hand away.
"You are my priority!" he snapped. Marco stopped humming. "I almost lost you once because I was blind. I am wide awake now, and I am not taking chances with your life."
We stared at each other.
"Fine," I said softly. "The Master Suite. But I sleep on the right side. and you don't touch me."
He exhaled. "Fine."
The day dragged on in a blur of anxiety. I tried to focus on the blueprints, but my mind kept returning to that shadowed face in the tree line.
At 4:00 PM, my phone rang. It was Lonnie.
"Darling," he sang out, his vibrant energy a sharp contrast to my mood. "Tell me you're not wearing hard hats and steel-toed boots today. It’s a crime against fashion, even for a construction site."
I forced a smile. "I’m wearing jeans, Lonnie. Standard issue."
"Tragic. Listen, I have the swatches for the new drapes in the dining room. Silk-velvet in a midnight navy. I can bring them by in an hour."
"Don't," I said quickly.
"Don't? Darling, I need an excuse to escape my new assistant. He’s breathing down my neck about taxes and receipts. He has no soul."
"It’s not safe here," I said, keeping my voice low so Silas wouldn't overhear.
"Not safe? What do you mean? Ida is locked up in the loony bin with a very stylish straitjacket, I assume."
"She is. But she left a friend behind." I quickly explained the slashed tire and the man in the woods.
Lonnie went silent for a long beat. "I’m calling the police," He said.
"Tristan already did. But I don't want you anywhere near this place until we know it’s clear."
"Mina, you can't stay there. Come to my place. I have a doorman. He’s seventy, but he has a very mean glare and a heavy cane."
"I have to stay," I said, looking out at the charred library wing. "The house... Tristan... we have to see this through."
"You’re playing with fire," Lonnie warned.
"I know," I said. "But this time, I’m holding the extinguisher."
As I passed the front door, the intercom buzzed.
I frowned. Silas usually handled the gate from the security hub. I pressed the button. "Yes?"
"Delivery for Ms. Hayes," a voice crackled.
"Delivery? From who?"
"Florist. Says it’s urgent. Perishable goods."
I hesitated. Tristan sent flowers often, but I had told him to stop the performance. And he certainly wouldn't use a random delivery service with the estate under lockdown.
"Leave them at the gatehouse," I said. "Security will bring them up."
"Ma'am, it requires a signature. Digital log. Policy."
A cold prickle of unease crawled up my spine. "I’ll send someone down," I said, reaching for my cell to call Silas.
The landline on the console table shrilled. I jumped.
I picked it up slowly. "Hello?"
"Hello?" I repeated, my heart hammering.
Then, heavy breathing. A low, distorted voice that sounded like it was being filtered through a modulator. "Did you like the flowers, Minerva?"
My blood ran cold. "Who is this?"
"I’ve been watching you work," the voice continued, ignoring me. "You’re very dedicated. But you’re building on a graveyard, Minerva. It’s bad luck to build over the dead."
"Listen to me carefully," I said, my voice shaking. "The police are tracing this. Security is on the way."
The voice laughed. "Security is slow. And I’m very fast. Look out the window."
I didn't want to. But I couldn't stop myself. I turned toward the large window next to the front door that overlooked the driveway.
There was a black van parked halfway up the drive. Not at the gate. Inside the gate.
"I see you," the voice whispered.
The van's headlights flashed. Once. Twice. Then, the engine roared.
"Silas!" I screamed, dropping the phone.
The van tore down the driveway, crashing through the temporary wooden barricades around the fountain. It skidded on the gravel, fishtailing wildly, heading straight for the front doors. Straight for me.
I dove away from the glass, throwing myself behind the solid oak console table.
Glass shattered into millions of deadly diamonds. Wood splintered with the sound of a gunshot. The entire house shuddered under the impact.
The front end of the van had smashed through the double doors, coming to a halt halfway into the foyer, its engine smoking.
I lay on the floor, covered in dust and glass, my ears ringing with a high-pitched whine. I didn't move. I waited for the driver to step out. I grabbed a jagged piece of wood from the shattered floor, gripping it like a dagger.
"Mina!"
It was Tristan. He burst through the ruin, vaulting over the hood of the van with a gun in his hand. He saw me and fell to his knees. "Are you hit? Talk to me!"
"I’m okay," I gasped, dropping the wood as he pulled me up. "Is he... is he in there?"
Tristan approached the driver's side cautiously, his weapon leveled. He yanked the door open.
"He jumped out before it hit," Tristan said, his voice dropping into a deadly, murderous calm. "He put a brick on the gas pedal."
Silas and the guards swarmed the foyer. "Surrounding breach! Lock down the estate! He’s still on the grounds!"
Tristan pulled me against his chest. "I’ve got you," he whispered fiercely. "You’re safe."