THE DRIVE TO THE RENTAL HOUSE

“I’m on my way,” Gabriel said.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t curse.

He just ended the call and walked past me toward the service doors.

“Erin. Come with me.”

I didn’t hesitate. I ignored the throbbing in my knee, grabbing my purse from the staff locker.

We walked out to the garage. The rain had started, drumming heavily against the pavement. Gabriel bypassed his usual driver and went straight to a dark gray SUV.

He unlocked it and opened the passenger door for me.

“You shouldn’t be driving on that knee,” he said.

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Put your seatbelt on.”

He backed out of the garage before the heavy door had fully opened, tires catching on the wet gravel. We flew down the long driveway, leaving the glowing mansion and its twenty-eight oblivious dinner guests behind.

Sloane was still in there, drinking champagne, knowing exactly what she had just set in motion.

“How far is Lauren’s house?” I asked, gripping the handle above the door.

“Twelve minutes if we hit the lights.”

He was doing it in eight.

“Mr. Mancini,” I said softly. “Why did Sloane want Eric there?”

Gabriel kept his eyes on the road. The streetlights flashed across his rigid jawline.

“Eric signed a prenuptial agreement when he married Lauren,” Gabriel said. “If she files for divorce, he gets nothing. But if he can prove she’s unstable, or if he can manipulate her into a reconciliation before the paperwork is filed, he keeps his access to her trust fund.”

“And Sloane?”

“Lauren’s trust fund transfers to her when she turns twenty-six. That’s in three months. Until then, I control it.” Gabriel merged onto the highway, the engine roaring. “Sloane doesn’t want my money tied up in my daughter’s accounts. She wants it in our joint accounts.”

My stomach turned. Sloane was willing to throw a twenty-five-year-old mother to an abusive husband just to free up cash.

“She told Eric where to find her,” I whispered.

“And she used my phone to make sure Lauren unlocked the door.”

Gabriel took the exit ramp far too fast. We fishtailed slightly on the wet asphalt before he corrected the wheel.

We pulled into a quiet suburban subdivision. Small brick houses. Tricycles on the lawns. A place meant to be safe.

Gabriel slammed on the brakes in front of a house with a blue door.

A black sedan was parked in the driveway. Eric’s car.

Gabriel killed the engine.

“Stay in the car, Erin.”

“He might have locked the front door,” I said, unbuckling my belt. “I have the spare key Mrs. Davis gave me when we moved Lauren’s things.”

Gabriel looked at me, then nodded once.

We ran up the walkway. The rain was freezing.

I fumbled with the key, but before I could slide it into the lock, we heard the crash. Glass shattering inside the house.

Then Lauren screamed.

Gabriel didn’t wait for the key. He kicked the heavy wooden door right next to the deadbolt. The frame splintered on the second kick, the door flying open and hitting the drywall.

We rushed into the living room.

A lamp was shattered on the floor.

Eric had Lauren backed against the hallway wall, his hand gripping her wrist so tightly her knuckles were white.

“You don’t get to hide from me!” Eric was yelling, his face red. “You’re my wife!”

Gabriel crossed the room in two strides.

He grabbed Eric by the back of the collar and threw him backward. Eric stumbled, crashing over the coffee table and landing hard on the floor.

Lauren collapsed against the wall, sobbing, pulling her robe tightly around herself.

Gabriel didn’t look at Eric yet. He put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “Are you hurt? Did he hit you?”

“No,” Lauren choked out. “He just... he was trying to get to Ella’s room.”

Eric scrambled to his feet, holding his hands up. “Now wait a minute, Gabriel! You sent me the text! You told me to come here and work this out!”

Gabriel turned around. His face was terrifyingly calm.

“I didn’t send you anything.”

Eric sneered, reaching into his pocket. “Sloane said you wanted to handle this privately. She said you were tired of paying for this house.”

“Sloane lied to you.”

Eric shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that. We have an arrangement.”

Eric pulled something out of his pocket. It wasn’t a phone.

It was a crumpled child’s drawing.

“I didn’t come here for the money tonight, Gabriel,” Eric said, tossing the paper onto the unbroken side of the coffee table. “I came for my daughter.”

I looked down at the paper. It was a drawing Ella had made yesterday. A picture of a man with red eyes, standing over a little girl. At the bottom, in Ella’s messy handwriting, it said: The man in the garden.

Gabriel froze.

“Sloane gave me that,” Eric said. “She found it in Ella’s room at your estate. My daughter is terrified of someone at your house, Gabriel. And Sloane promised me full custody if I came and got her tonight.”

From the end of the hallway, a small door clicked open.