Page 48 of Artifice (Pros and Cons Mysteries #4)

O live quickly closed the cabinet and verified the lock had reengaged.

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the jingle of keys.

She glanced around frantically, looking for a place to hide.

There—behind a supply cart in the corner.

Olive ducked behind it and turned off the flashlight on her phone just as the door opened.

Light flooded the room.

A man’s heavy tread entered.

Mr. Thorne, the groundskeeper.

What was he doing in the medication room at this hour?

From her hiding place, Olive could see only his lower half as he moved to the locked cabinet.

He punched in the code and opened it, muttering something under his breath.

Then he removed several bottles of NZ-40X—one of the medications she’d taken—from the top shelf and placed them in a bag.

“Delivery’s ready for tonight,” he said, apparently speaking into a phone or radio. “Karakov’s people confirmed midnight at the warehouse.”

Olive pressed herself farther into the shadows as Thorne moved toward the supply cart. He reached for something on the shelf above her head.

She held her breath.

The amber bottles in her jacket felt suddenly enormous, like they might clink together at any moment. She had to remain perfectly still.

Thorne paused, as if sensing something amiss.

Her lungs froze.

The radio at his belt crackled. “Thorne, we need you at the west wing. Anderson’s having another episode.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. “On my way.”

The light switched off. The door closed. The lock engaged.

Olive remained frozen for a full minute before allowing herself to breathe normally again. The bottles in her pocket might as well have been bombs—evidence that could blow open whatever operation Lighthouse Harbor was running.

First, she needed to get them out of the building.

She checked her watch once more.

Seven minutes until the next scheduled round.

She had to move now.

As Olive eased out from behind the cart, her elbow knocked against a metal tray.

It clattered to the floor, the sound seeming to echo through the entire wing.

She froze.

Then she heard footsteps returning, quickly moving toward the door.

Olive held her breath as the footsteps approached.

The doorknob rattled.

Then a voice called out from farther down the hall. “Thorne! We need you now! Anderson’s having a seizure!”

The footsteps paused then retreated rapidly.

A blessing she didn’t deserve.

Olive waited a few seconds, then eased the door open a crack.

The hallway was empty. None of the board members or students had come into this area.

She slipped out, locked the door behind her, and moved swiftly toward the emergency exit at the end of the corridor. She didn’t bother to return the keys. She couldn’t risk being caught.

With every step, the amber bottles pressed against her ribs, physical reminders of what was at stake.

She pushed through the exit, bracing for an alarm that never came. Another small miracle.

Someone must have disabled it, probably to facilitate the late-night “deliveries” Thorne had mentioned.

The cool night air hit her face as she emerged onto a narrow path that wound around the back of the building. She needed to get back to the B&B, needed to get these samples to Tevin for analysis. But first, she had to clear the property without being seen.

Olive skirted the edge of the east wing, keeping to the shadows. As she passed beneath a row of darkened windows, a soft hiss caught her attention.

“Ms. Bettencourt.”

She turned, instinctively reaching for her gun—the one she didn’t have with her.