Chapter 76
Chapter 76:
Light flooded the grounds outside, cutting through the basement window wells. A spotlight.
Gaston had arrived.
The helicopter didn’t land gracefully. It slammed onto the Great Lawn, its skids tearing up the pristine sod. The rotor wash whipped the rose bushes into a frenzy, sending petals swirling like blood in the spotlight.
Gaston jumped out before the blades had even slowed. He was followed by two members of his personal security detail — large men who moved with military precision.
Robert ran out the front door, shielding his eyes from the glare. “This is private property! You can’t land here! I’ll sue you p>
Gaston didn’t even look at him. He stormed across the lawn, his coat flapping in the wind, grabbed Robert by the lapels of his smoking jacket, and slammed him against the exterior wall of the house.
“Where is she?” Gaston snarled. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
“She left! I told you!” Robert lied, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool night air.
Gaston’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “Her phone went dead inside this house an hour ago. You told me she left. One of those things is a lie. Try again p>
He released Robert and turned to his men. “Search the house. Tear it apart p>
“You can’t do that!” Cory appeared in the doorway, trying to look tough. “You need a warrant p>
𝖱𝘰𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼е ոо𝘃𝖾𝗹𝘀 𝗈𝘯 ѕ.𝖼𝘰m
Gaston looked at him. He saw the dust on Cory’s knees — stone dust. And the smell: musty cellar air, clinging to his clothes.
Gaston stepped toward him. “The cellar p>
“You can’t go down there,” Cory said, puffing out his chest. He threw a clumsy fist.
Gaston didn’t dodge. He stepped inside the guard and unleashed a right hook that carried all the momentum of his terrified rage.
Crack.
Cory’s nose shattered. Blood sprayed across the white doorframe. Cory dropped like a sack of potatoes, howling and clutching his face.
“Don’t touch me,” Gaston roared.
He stepped over Cory’s writhing body and ran into the house. He knew where the cellar was — he had studied the blueprints of every property Jocelyn’s father had owned.
He reached the heavy oak door. It was unlocked.
He threw it open and rushed down the stairs.
The smell of spilled wine hit him first. Then the cold.
“Jocelyn p>
His flashlight beam swept the room. It landed on the crate.
She was there. Small. Still.
“Jocelyn!” The scream tore from his throat, raw and agonizing.
He fell to his knees beside her. He ripped off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her shivering form, then pulled her into his lap, chafing her arms, her hands.
“Jocelyn, baby, wake up. I’m here p>
Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Her breathing was shallow, a terrifying rattle in her chest.
He lifted her. She weighed nothing.
He carried her up the stairs, his chest heaving.