Page 7

CAROLINE

A small guardhouse sits to the left of the gate, just large enough to shelter the attendant.

Movable security cameras hang below the roof’s edge on each corner.

To the right of the gate, there’s a small two-story stone house.

The road into the compound is wide enough to accommodate two lanes of traffic, but if the process remains the same, vehicles enter here and exit about a half-mile down the road.

When Dorian first brought me here, I thought he’d taken me to a resort. I couldn’t quite grasp that this was his family home, with staff, guesthouses, tennis courts, and an indoor lap pool in the mountains. I’d been awestruck as we weaved our way up the mountain to his father’s mansion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” My lips curl into my friendliest smile.

The guard hadn’t been pleased when the Uber driver pulled away. My fingers grip the suitcase handle, and I can’t seem to look away from the gate, my heart palpitating as if I’ve traveled back in time and am about to meet my boyfriend’s father.

“Please come in. Mr. Moore is on his way.”

I look through the bars, expecting to see a golf cart or an ATV powering down the road.

Will he send staff for me?

What am I thinking? Of course, he’ll send a staff member to fetch me.

“He’s asked that you wait here. He should be landing shortly.”

“Helicopter?” Understanding dawns. “He’s at the Denver office.”

We’d known that was a possibility. And it’s the best-case scenario. I’ll have time to scout the grounds.

“This way, please.”

The uniformed guard opens a wrought iron door to the side of the gate. As I approach, he reaches for my suitcase.

“That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

It’s an automatic response that lets him know I’m like him, a normal person living an ordinary life. I don’t need others to handle my baggage. My staff comprises me, myself, and I.

“It’s no problem, ma’am.”

He reaches for the bag again, and this time, I step past him, grip firm on the handle.

The winding asphalt road leads up to the main house that sits atop a crest with stunning views of the San Juan Mountains. Here at the gate, we’re much lower, and the view is a mix of mostly barren trees and evergreens.

It’s too late in the season for fall foliage. Brown, dried leaves cling to limbs here and there. Mounds of curled dead leaves line the sides of the woods. The grounds crew must blow the leaves from the road and the paths on a regular basis.

The uniformed guard swings a door open to the two-story stone house, and I read his gold-plated name tag. Lewis Weston.

“Please, he asked that you wait inside.”

I narrow my eyes, wondering why he has me waiting here at the entrance.

Is he hiding me? From whom? A girlfriend?

If that’s the case, I can’t blame him for keeping me out of her path.

It will be challenging to explain. Luke’s terse, “You’re married?

” still stings, even though Dorian and I are nothing to each other.

I argued that we were legally separated, and he asked, “Were you going to tell me?”

What a mess.

The truth is, I wasn’t going to tell Luke, because I didn’t plan on going out with him again. But when put on the spot, I said, “Yes, of course.”

I told Luke we needed to focus on the project. I’d been annoyed that he had any expectations of me. And we do need to focus on Project Unity.

Here I am, in Colorado, and I need to focus.

The scent of paint fills the air, and the rumble of the suitcase wheels over the polished concrete floor mixes with the sound of air flowing from a nearby vent. Along the hallway, rifles hang in neatly lined racks along the wall.

“Is this building new?”

I remember the gate and the guardhouse. My memory is hazy on what was on this side of the road when I visited before.

“Yes, ma’am. This building replaced a much smaller one. All before my time, though.”

“Are you new?”

Lewis slows by a room with a single bed and a window with a view of the woods.

“Been here a little less than two years,” Lewis says. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here.”

I scan the corners of the room for cameras. If Dorian’s plan is to meet me here and then send me on my way, I won’t get any valuable information for the team.

“In the past, I’ve waited in the main house. Is that possible? I don’t need to be in your way.”

“You’ve been here before?” I read his tone and the tilt of his head. He’s skeptical.

“It’s been years,” I say, since I obviously haven’t been here since he’s been employed.

“But I love the library. It’s my favorite room, and the view is spectacular.

” I look out the window wistfully, envisioning the view from the main house high above.

“It’s like a fortress tucked away in a mountainside. ”

“The mountain house is spectacular,” he agrees.

“Do you mind if I walk around until Dorian arrives? It’s been so long since I’ve wandered through the trails.” His lips squeeze into a flat line. “I’ll leave my suitcase here.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t let you do that. Mr. Moore gave specific instructions.”

“Oh?” I take in the sterile room one more time, Lewis’s stiff posture, and his hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure I can’t just…take a walk outside?”

“No, I just…this is the best space for you to wait. It’s where we rest between shifts sometimes. Upstairs, we have a break room, but there are other guys up there. Mr. Moore won’t be long.”

Unease settles in my gut. This room feels a little too much like a cell.

“You know what? I changed my mind.” I pull out my phone. “I’m going to schedule an Uber and go back into town. I’ll check in at my hotel, and then I’ll come back later when he’s here.” I force a smile and open the Uber app.

“I can’t let you do that, ma’am.”

I narrow my eyes and take a sharp breath. I flew commercial and therefore didn’t carry a gun. Not that I would normally carry a gun. But Luke’s insistence that this is a bad idea replays in my head. And what did Sophia say? A man like Dorian can do whatever he wants and get away with it.

“I’m going to need to insist,” I say. “I’ll return at a better time.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s going to be here any minute.” He checks his watch. “He gave specific instructions.”

“Do you always do what he says? Are you willing to hold someone against her will?” Halston Moore hired former Secret Service for his security, but this man is too young to have that pedigree.

“Ma’am. Please. Can I get you something to drink? He’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. It would be a shame for you to leave after you’ve come so far.”

That’s true. I need to see Dorian. If he never takes me to the main house, I’ll fail at planting surveillance and scouting the grounds, but I need Dorian to sign a divorce agreement. If he won’t sign mine, he needs to draft one for me to sign.

But still…Lewis is young. Malleable. “I will not wait in this room. I will not be treated like a prisoner.”

“Ma’am, I’m not trying to make you feel?—”

Footsteps fall along the hall outside. A man in a matching uniform comes up behind Lewis.

“Lewis, head on out to cover the gate. I’ll stay with our guest.”

“I’d like to leave.”

“Can I get you a drink? We also have crackers and protein bars if you’re hungry.”

What have I walked into?

This man is older, with silver wisps and crow’s feet. He’s stern, formidable even. This man might be former Secret Service.

Lewis obediently departs for his command post.

I scan the walls and ceiling, searching for a lens. Is there a security team on the grounds, watching us? Is that why this older man arrived?

“Ma’am, can I get you a drink?”

“I’d prefer to wait in the main house.”

“I’ll be back shortly.”

The door closes and clicks.

I go to the door and twist the knob. He locked me in.

What the hell?

I pull out my phone and debate. Call Sophia? No. This hasn’t gone exactly according to plan, but I’m not in danger—I don’t think. I have cell signal and a tracker in my suitcase. They left my suitcase with me and didn’t ask for my phone.

Do they plan on keeping me in this room all day? Dorian’s thirty minutes equals hours.

I pace the room.

Check the window. It’s a double-hung window. I unlock it and lift from the bottom. It doesn’t budge. It’s stuck. Most likely from lack of use, not from any nefarious purpose. If necessary, I can break the glass.

This is ridiculous. I should try harder. I should insist on being taken to the house.

I knock on the door. “Hello?”

Nothing. I pound with the butt of my hand.

Nothing.

What is Dorian trying to prove? Why not let me wait in the house?

I sit on the edge of the bed and flick between news articles, debating my next move. How long do I wait before I break the window? I won’t call Sophia until I’m in danger. Calling on the team is a last resort.

The tree tops off in the distance sway. And then I hear it. A helicopter.

The door clicks open.

“That’ll be Mr. Moore. He won’t be long now.”

The older guard stands in the doorway, arms behind his back, gaze just above my head, black leather gun holster around his waist.

There’s nothing to do but wait.