Chapter 241: Blood Trail

Bradley POV

I was in the middle of presenting Martha's birthday gifts when we plunged into darkness. Not even the backup system kicked in—a red flag if I'd ever seen one. I told Martha to stay put with the kids while I went to find Diana.

I extracted my phone, using its flashlight to navigate through the darkened hallway as Parker approached from the opposite direction.

"Sir, the main circuit breaker has been tampered with," he reported in a low voice. "Security is checking the premises now."

"Find out who did it," I ordered, already moving past him. "And locate my wife immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Diana's name echoed unanswered through the pitch-black corridors. My stomach tightened with each second of silence. She'd mentioned checking decorations in the east wing right before everything went dark.

A crash echoed through the darkness ahead, followed by the distinctive sound of glass shattering. My pace quickened to a run.

"Diana!"

I reached the east wing and swept my flashlight across the marble floor. Shattered crystal everywhere. One of the massive chandeliers had crashed down. Against the wall sat Diana.

"Diana." I picked my way through the glass debris.

She squinted into my light. "Bradley?"

I crouched beside her, scanning for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so," she whispered. "The lights went out, and then I heard this terrible cracking sound above me. Someone pushed me out of the way."

My gaze dropped to the floor around her. Even in the limited light, I could see dark smears on the marble. Blood—but not hers. Relief flooded through me, quickly replaced by renewed concern.

"Someone pushed you?"

She nodded. "I felt hands shove me sideways. Then the crash. Whoever it was... they ran away afterward."

At that moment, the lights flickered back on, revealing the full scene. The massive chandelier lay shattered exactly where Diana would have been standing. A trail of blood snaked away down the service corridor.

"Who would push you away from danger and then run?" I wondered aloud, helping her to her feet. "If they wanted to help, why not stay?"

Diana shook her head. "I don't know. It happened so fast."

Parker appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene with a practiced eye before approaching us.

I leaned close to him, keeping my voice low. "Follow that blood trail. Whoever's bleeding can't have gotten far. Bring them to the groundskeeper's cottage. Keep it quiet."

Parker gave a slight nod and disappeared without a word.

I wrapped an arm around Diana's shoulders. "Let's get you back to the party. I'll have someone clean this up."

Back in the main hall, I fed a story to our guests: faulty wiring, nothing to worry about. I suggested wrapping up the party as a precaution, and within an hour, we'd cleared the house of visitors and well-wishers.

After settling the children in bed with extra security posted discreetly in the hallway, I brought Diana back to our bedroom. She was quiet, pensive as she removed her earrings at the vanity.

"Did you send Parker to find that person? The one who saved me?" she finally asked

"Yes," I replied simply.

"Do you think it's the same person who shot at me before? Who shot you instead?"

The question hung between us. The possibility had occurred to me as well. Why would an assassin save his target?

I promised Diana we'd have answers by morning when we got the person and urged her to rest. The night's trauma worked faster than any sedative—within minutes she was asleep.

I kept watch at her bedside until a soft knock drew me to the door. Parker stood there.

"Mr. Booth," he said quietly. "We've got him. He's a fighter—put three security men on the ground before we managed to subdue him."

I nodded, then turned to glance back at Diana. She was sleeping peacefully.

"Set additional guards at all bedroom doors," I instructed. "No one enters or leaves without my explicit permission."

"Already done, sir."

The groundskeeper's cottage sat at the edge of the property, isolated and perfect for questioning unwelcome visitors. Inside, a man sat bound to a chair, his head hanging forward. Blood had soaked through his shirt on the left side where glass shards had evidently cut him. Despite his injuries, his posture remained vigilant, muscles tensed like a cornered predator.

"Who are you?" I demanded without preamble. "And why were you at my home tonight?"

The man raised his head slowly, revealing a face that seemed oddly familiar though I couldn't place it. His expression remained impassive.

"I asked you a question," I continued when he remained silent.

His eyes narrowed slightly but he still said nothing.

"You're not leaving this room until I have answers," I informed him coldly. "So I suggest you start talking."

The silence stretched between us. I decided to change tactics.

"I was certain you were trying to kill my wife," I remarked more casually. "But then she told me something interesting. She said someone pushed her out of the way of that falling chandelier. That's why I'm confused. Why would an assassin save his target?"

A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, perhaps, that Diana had noticed his intervention.

"If you tell me why you saved her instead of letting her die, I might be inclined toward leniency."

The man finally spoke, his voice rough. "I want to speak with her."

"That's not happening," I replied immediately. "You'll speak to me, or you'll speak to no one."

He shook his head. "Then I have nothing to say."

I nodded to Parker, who approached with a bucket of water.

"Last chance," I warned. "Who are you, and why were you at my home tonight?"

When he remained silent, Parker draped the cloth over his face and began pouring water over it. He thrashed violently against his restraints, his body instinctively fighting the sensation of drowning. After thirty seconds, Parker stopped and removed the cloth. The man gasped desperately for air, but quickly regained his composure. This wasn't his first interrogation.

A dozen more rounds of this treatment followed before he seemed to finally break.

"My name is Colin," he offered. "And yes, I was hired to kill your wife."

The blunt admission sparked fury in my chest, but I maintained my cold exterior. "By whom?"

"That information has a price."

"Your life isn't payment enough?" I countered.

He laughed bitterly. "My life hasn't been worth much for a long time, Mr. Booth."

"Then why didn't you complete your job tonight? Why save her?"

Colin's expression changed, a hint of genuine confusion entering his eyes.

"I could have killed her," he admitted. "I had the perfect opportunity. But I didn't."

"Why?" I pressed.

He hesitated, seeming to wrestle with something internally before answering.

"Because I realized who she is," he said finally, his eyes meeting mine directly. "Your wife once saved my life. A long time ago. I couldn't take hers in return."

The confession hung in the damp air of the cottage. I scrutinized his face, hunting for a lie, but found only strange conviction.

"When?" I demanded. "When did my wife supposedly save your life?"