Page 16 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)

Lady Warren

She rendezvoused with her hired team of men and one woman who met her at the private airport in Phuket, Thailand. The men were her guides and bodyguards, and the woman was her local translator who looked like she did some serious working out alongside who, Monica soon came to find out, were her brothers and cousins.

“Mercy’s Grove is well known to us,”

she said in the back of the air-conditioned SUV driving them away from the airport. For while much of the environment and the humidity reminded Monica of the Warrens’ haunt on Waikiki Beach, the lack of a notable breeze made her linen dress the last line of defense between her and heat stroke.

“My aunt used to work there as a maid for several years. When we received news that a client wanted to hire us to get someone out of there, we jumped at it.”

Monica focused her whole attention on Nina, the local woman with more than a chip on her shoulder.

“I take it the owners of Mercy’s Grove aren’t well regarded around here.”

“They’re regarded as known entities to stay the hell away from,”

the interpreter immediately responded. She sat between two large men who looked to either side of her as if they canvassed the passing landscape for known entities wanting to kick their ready asses.

“My aunt stuck it out as long as she could, but after the tenth assault under her watch and the authorities refusing to do anything… she, as you say, ‘bailed.’”

“Assaults?”

Nina shrugged. Her loose-fitting T-shirt paired with a pair of equally loose pants that looked far more breathable than Monica’s dress. Yet while many may regard the interpreter’s clothing as too casual for this mission, she more than made up for it with her judicious application of makeup and her long, dark hair clasped into a fashionable ponytail. Dark blue nails tipped in white occasionally brushed against her mouth outlined in brown lipstick.

“The Beaumonts don’t have a lot of friends among the locals here,”

she explained.

“All of their close friends are other expats who buy up land and make their quaint Western-style villas because they think this is an affordable paradise. Well, suppose I make my opinion of that known. When I say ‘assaults,’ I mean people like my aunt getting smacked around for either talking back or embarrassing one of those French people in front of powerful friends. They’ve entertained the gamut from Russian oligarchs to, well… American oligarchs.”

Stenciled eyebrows raised up Nina’s forehead as she waited for Monica to say something. When she didn’t, Nina continued.

“They’re in the pockets of most of the local and some national authorities. It’s how they get away with acting like assholes to the people they pay less than squat to.”

None of this surprised Monica, who had spent the better part of her life watching the worst of the wealthy completely sell their souls to a type of Satan that couldn’t even be compared to narcissism or even concepts like racism and class warfare. Many old-money dynasties lived in a completely different world. Their greatest anxiety isn’t losing everything… it’s pissing off the wrong people. The Beaumonts were older than Versailles. Rumors swarmed that they were related to Louise de La Vallière, the famous mistress of King Louis XIV. The Sun King… Surely, the Beaumonts took that to heart.

And like the Sun King, who madly built Versailles to contain the nobles, the Beaumonts had built a chateau in the south of Thailand to contain their darkest secrets.

The car unexpectedly pulled in front of a nondescript but heavily guarded building in the middle of Phuket. Nina held up a finger to still Monica as many of the male guards filed out. Only then did Nina gesture for her client to follow her.

“Where are we?”

Monica was too weary to check her GPS.

“This can’t be it.”

“Trust me, Mrs. Warren. You want to come here first before you try anything else. You’ll be thankful you did. Oh, and…”

Nina walked on ahead.

“Bring your pocketbook.”

Monica didn’t know how she’d explain to her husband why twenty thousand dollars was soon sent to the local government, but if it made the police and local officials ignore the Beaumonts’ upcoming complaints, then so be it.

There was so much protocol to infiltrating a foreign compound where Monica was not wanted – or expected.

She was left alone in the car with a bodyguard while Nina and the others approached the security standing outside the gate. There was no way to know what they were saying – even if Monica spoke Thai, the windows were up to keep her cool with the AC. All Monica could do was take a deep breath and pray to whatever guardian might be watching over her and Abigail.

Nina slid into the car. Before the others could enter, the driver pulled through the unlocking gate.

“We made it?”

The car drove so slowly that the rest of the entourage walked behind them.

“I told them that we’re from the American embassy, here to check in with anyone with the last name Warren after a missing person’s report was filed Stateside.”

Monica didn’t like the taste in her mouth.

“You lied about us being officials?”

“That’s what that money was about. Nobody who matters will care. Besides, it was the only way they would let us in. Right now, security is radioing the house so they can prepare for a host of Thai officials to check on the child so we can report back that the girl is unharmed. They don’t know who we are.”

Nina grinned. “Not yet.”

“Jesus…”

“You want to get your daughter out of here and back home?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then follow my lead, Mrs. Warren.”

The car was led into a parking spot near the front of the large house.

“Why are you helping me?”

Monica asked.

“Besides the fact that I have money.”

Nina watched the men move around the car before deciding to answer.

“It’s not a secret that I’m not a big fan of billionaires, Mrs. Warren. And like the Beaumonts, your family has quite the amount in their bank account. But I’m the one who decides what jobs we do. And when yours crossed my desk, asking that we help you bring your child out of the clutches of the Beaumonts… well, if you two leave peacefully and don’t bother us again, that’s fine with me. I don’t like watching children get hurt.”

There was a slight commotion before they were allowed to get out of the car. Nina did not seem perturbed.

“They intend to keep my daughter here until she’s old enough to marry one of the Beaumont boys. She has no idea about this, of course. Nor does she know that she’s never going home until she’s married. She’ll never see me again unless I get our government involved.”

Not only did Monica wish to avoid that, but she didn’t have much hope that someone actually cared, no matter how much money she had. They’ll tell me this is a family issue. Never mind that her mother-in-law had literally kidnapped Abigail…

“Like I said, it was a compelling reason to get involved. And to stick it to Beaumonts.”

Their doors opened. Nina got out. Monica was slightly slower to follow.

She was flanked by two of the large male bodyguards who talked to Nina in fast and clipped Thai. She led the way up to the main entrance, the bright sun shining intense rays of heat upon the top of Monica’s uncovered head.

She had forgotten to wear a hat. As she ascended the steps and entered the cool, dark foyer of the Beaumonts’ Thai home, she worried that Abigail hadn’t a hat to wear the whole time she was here. What if her fair head burned before Monica could protect her?

“I’d like to see your credentials, please.”

That came from a French-accented female voice, probably owned by the middle-aged woman descending the stairs in a dress that simultaneously highlighted her figure and downplayed every curve and tan line that she had carefully carved over the past sixty years of her life. Monica recognized her instantly.

Lily Beaumont.

She had only met her a handful of times over the past decade when Henry came into Monica’s life. Most of the Beaumonts had come to the wedding, after all, and Lily was one of many who sent a card and a small gift when Abigail was born. If only Monica had known she would one day pay for the white Christening dress Lily had seen fit to send from France. Chantilly lace. That was why it had stood out in Monica’s memory.

Lily stopped on the landing when she happened to make eye contact with Monica. That ice-cold gaze was enough to frost over the entire house. Electric ceiling fans and opened windows were unnecessary in Mercy’s Grove.

“Monica.”

Lily didn’t miss a beat as she opened her arms in greeting. She did not, however, descend the final set of stairs.

“How lovely to see you. We were not expecting you.”

“No, I daresay not.”

“Who are your friends, my dear? Locals?”

Nina tensed beside Monica but said nothing.

“It was a sudden decision to drop by, Lady Beaumont,”

Monica explained. She kept her eyes peeled and ears open for any sign of her daughter.

“I didn’t know my way around, so I decided to hire a competent tour company to ensure my safe arrival.”

“You should have called ahead. I would have sent one of my people to the airport to meet you.”

Monica sucked in a deep breath for strength.

“I would like to see my daughter. I know Abigail is here.”

“I don’t quite know what you are saying.”

Lily briefly glanced at Nina stealing away toward the front door.

“Abigail? Why would your daughter be out here?”

“I know that my mother-in-law Isabella brought her here. She was at your family’s home in Nice only a few days ago. I’ll have you know that she brought my daughter here without my or Henry’s permission. She is missing quite a bit of school, and you know girls that age are practicing their penmanship.”

Lily crossed her arms.

“Your daughter is not here, Monica. I don’t know who told you such a tale, but you were led astray. I am so sorry that you traveled here for nothing, but do know that we will be happy to find you accommodations in the city. There is a lovely resort near the airport that you might find comfortable…”

Nina returned to Monica’s side.

“She and the grandmother are in the guest house out back,”

she whispered.

“I’ve got my men blocking any egress so they can’t escape.”

“What is she telling you?”

Monica did not tear her gaze away from the woman standing as if she were the queen of this palace. I’m sure she thinks she is. Except this wasn’t France. Lily could not regale her guests with tales of Louise and Louis and a world that no longer existed. The very people overthrown during a bloody, relentless revolution. Surely, a woman like Lily Beaumont knew that could happen again any day.

Such as here. Now. I may be one woman…

But Monica was mightier than anyone ever took her for.

“Spare me your lies, Lily.”

Monica stepped past the men surrounding her. A quick perusal of the foyer suggested that many of the maids and other staff people coming and going were focused on what happened with the lady of the house.

“Isabella kidnapped my daughter and absconded with her to France. As soon as Henry gets there, we’ve deduced that you’ve brought her here.”

She snorted.

“I heard that Henry was in Nice. Sorry to break your fantasies, my dear, but I’ve been here for the past month. I like to winter in Phuket, you see. The weather is more agreeable this time of year, and…”

“Where is Abigail?”

Lily Beaumont was not a woman accustomed to being interrupted.

“If you do not leave right now, Mrs. Warren, I am afraid that I will have to call the local law enforcement and have you escorted back to your hotel. I do not take kindly to such allegations in my own home… regardless of the residence!”

“She’s in the guest house, isn’t she?”

“Is that what that lady has told you? She looks familiar. Have we met before, girl?”

Nina waved her hand at the men now dispersing through the house.

“Let’s go,”

she said to Monica.

“This way.”

“Where are you going?”

Lily’s heels clacked down the stairs, her accent growing thicker as panic settled in.

“What is this madness! Stop right there! Guards! Over there! Call the…”

She was blocked by one of Nina’s men, who looked more than ready to lay down some of his own law on the woman who likewise looked as if she recognized him. Let me guess… the son of a certain former maid? This was a family business. Everyone had something to gain from seeing the Beaumonts taken down a peg or two for a while.

The crowd that surrounded Monica directed her down a hallway leading to the back of the house. Nina went ahead, opening a door to a swimming pool in the back.

Monica knew that Lily Beaumont would raise hell for the rest of their lives. Let her. The Beaumonts were no longer tangential acquaintances to the Warrens. Monica would rather scream herself mute than talk to another one of these co-conspirators ever again.

But first, she had to find Abigail. The threat that she might not be there… that they might have been all wrong about this…

“Mom!”

Monica forgot where she was, why she had come to this place, and what might result when the dust settled. Because it didn’t matter anymore. She heard her daughter’s sweet voice in the humid air.

“Abby!”

She stayed stalwart, calm, as she entered the guesthouse and immediately saw her beloved daughter leaping up from a couch, a chapter book falling from her hand as she flung herself over the arm of the couch, tender blond tresses falling toward the floor. She can’t know… she mustn’t know… How much Monica had panicked – how much she was willing to die if it meant Abigail came home safely and never felt fear or pain again.

So she stood a few feet from her daughter, minding her mien while Abigail hurried to pick up her book and spring to her feet. After she gingerly placed a copy from The Saddle Club series on a rattan coffee table, she ran up to her mother.

“What are you doing here? Grandma didn’t tell me you were coming.”

While a host of adults huddled outside the entrance, ready to barge in if necessary, Monica stood between them and her daughter.

“Just a surprise, honey. Are you having a good time here?”

Monica extended her hand. She almost sobbed from the stress of the past week when Abigail took it and leaped into a front-body hug.

“The best! Oh, my gosh, first we went to France, then we got on the plane again and… Mom! I can’t breathe!”

Monica’s knees melted toward the floor as she clung to Abigail’s fragile shoulders and inhaled the familiar scent of her daughter’s scalp. I still remember the day I smelled her for the first time… Her own blood. Abigail’s blood. The blood that bound them as mother and daughter, an unbroken line going back to Eve.

“I’m sorry.”

She passed her cry of relief off as a delicate sneeze as she loosened her grip on Abigail and patted down her bangs on her forehead.

“I just missed you so much this past week. We’ve hardly ever spent this much time apart.”

Let alone without Monica’s permission.

One day, she would have to find the words to explain what had happened. How Isabella had kidnapped Abigail with nefarious intentions.

“She was never going to let us see each other again until you were married, my darling.”

There were too many terrible family lessons to teach such a small child. One step at a time… Right now, all that mattered was that Abigail was safe. Getting them back to Phuket and on a plane to the US as soon as possible was secondary.

Everything else had to come later. When…

Isabella.

The woman stood in the hallway leading back to the bedroom. Monica clutched Abigail’s hand before her daughter could run off to her grandmother, the baleful bitch who reserved only the nastiest of hidden sneers for the woman who dared to interrupt her plans.

“Monica.”

That acknowledgment couldn’t have come with a deeper, more guttural blow to Monica’s gut than if Isabella personally held a gun to the woman threatening God knew how many plans. This ends here. Today.

It had been a long time coming. And if Monica had to be the one who split this family in two, well… it had been Isabella’s premonition, hadn’t it?

“Isabella.”

Monica had long learned the subtle art of projecting her authority to those who didn’t believe she had any.

For years, she had been the woman cast to the bottom of some hierarchy that only saw her as someone to be chewed up and spat out when her flavor ran foul.

If she were to ever be herself and still keep her head on her neck, then she had to learn subterfuge.

Manipulation.

Saying the right things to the right kinds of people.

How else had she charmed most of the men in her world to hand over thousands of dollars to sleep with women who did it for a living?

How else had she convinced tried and true professionals to give her a cut of their earnings? How else had she become the most successful madam who went out of her way to ensure everyone’s happiness while building her tremendous nest egg?

Before, it had been about her survival. Leaving a decade-long relationship that had seen her stripped of her power, her agency meant locking herself up in her Chateau and forming a new persona for herself. Henry had been the one to release her from her cage. But while most assumed she would be a beautiful, cooing dove…

In reality, he had unfurled a sharp and vengeful hawk upon the world.

So, let this woman named Isabella stand in her way of happiness. Let her think she could shoot this bird of prey out of the sky and pluck her bloody wings from her lifeless body.

Isabella could shoot her, all right. Wound her. Clip her wings and stop her from flying ever again.

But she would not win. Isabella was no hunter. She was a vulture, and all she cared about was a carcass to feast upon.

It will never be mine.

Monica would outlast her. Not just because she was younger, but because she had what it took to survive in an ever-changing world.

“I’m glad to see that Abigail is happy and healthy.”

Isabella did not move as she settled into the shadows of the hallway.

“Why wouldn’t she be? She’s been with me the entire time, and I only care about what’s best for my darling granddaughter.”

Monica pushed Abigail behind her. She caught a glimpse of confusion on her little girl’s face and thought it might be best to sequester her away from this, but where? With whom? Monica trusted Nina and the crew enough to keep them alive while they were in Thailand, but could Monica trust any of them with just her daughter?

“You took her without permission. You know what that means, yes?”

“Without whose permission? Abby, didn’t I ask you if you wanted to go to France?”

Monica didn’t look at her daughter. All she heard was, “Yeah…”

“Yes, sweetheart. The word is yes.”

“Yes, Grandma. I wanted to go.”

As Abigail slipped her hand into Monica’s, it took everything within the mother to not crush the daughter’s fingers in a desperate urge to keep her close.

“Neither Henry nor I discussed this with you. I have a feeling it’s because you knew we would not permit it. Abigail hasn’t been in school for over a week.”

Yes, she could focus on that while Abigail was with her. She knew how important school was.

How many times had Monica explained to her daughter that school was where she learned things she could not acquire at home? Where she made friends? Learned different viewpoints and learned about herself as well? There were nights when Abigail cried because she didn’t want to go to school the next day.

She missed her family. Math was tough. Some of the kids in the school were not nice. Why did first-grade demand so much of her?

Indeed, a sojourn to Europe and Asia with her grandma, who doted on her like a princess, was probably exactly what a girl like Abigail had wanted.

Or maybe Monica told herself so she didn’t have to think about Abigail missing her, wanting to talk to her, having no one but her grandmother around…