“And if he doesn’t?”
Edwina’s muscles tightened, and resentment filled her.But no.Roscoe was right.Just because she wanted Mikhail to leave didn’t mean everything would go to plan.This was real life, not a fairy tale.“That’s a fair point.What do you suggest?”
Roscoe grinned, the action so foreign, so unexpected that Edwina gawked.
“This isn’t funny.”
His smile faded.“No, it isn’t, but I wanted to test you.”
“Did I pass?”
“You did.I agree with you.Mikhail can’t stay there any longer.If he were thinking clearly, he’d try to escape on his own.We know which room is his, so we return tonight.I take it you’re coming with us?”
“Yes.”
“How are your ribs?”
“They’re healing slowly.I’ll be fine.”
Roscoe nodded.“We’ll take extra care tonight.”
“And if they’re waiting for us?”
“We’ll go with Plan B.”
“Which is?”
“Take them out individually and get to Mikhail before the guards realize anything is amiss.”
WhenMikhailsearchedforBridget, he discovered she’d gone shopping.
“When is she expected to return?”he asked the housekeeper, whom he discovered in a cozy lounge.The middle-aged brunette shrugged, apparently uninterested in Bridget’s whereabouts.Her black uniform rustled as she flicked a duster over a piece of Dresden china.“She goes out for the entire day.Will that be all?”
Frustrated, Mikhail stepped back, allowing the woman to continue her path around the sun-dappled room.“Thank you.”
He strode from the lounge, his mind busily working.His headache wasn’t as bad today, and he wasn’t muddled.Unfortunately, that left him open to visions of the mystery woman.She stared at him with accusing eyes as if she expected him to go to her.But where?The more he wondered, the more confusion ailed him.
Pressing his fingers to his temples, he turned his mind back to Bridget, and inspiration struck.Since Bridget wasn’t home, this was the perfect opportunity to search her room.But he had no idea where her room was located.Instinct had him inhaling deeply.Myriad scents assailed him, which was strange.Bridget’s was among them, but if he was truly catching the residents’ trails, they were too confusing for his mind to decipher.He retraced his steps.
“Excuse me.How do I get to Bridget’s room?”He started to offer an excuse and stopped.The employees didn’t appear to gossip or offer opinions.Instead, they crept around like terrified mice.
“Use the main staircase.The room is on the same level as yours but in the other wing.Second, no third door once you turn into the wing.”
“Thank you.”
Mikhail left the room, ignoring the visual holes the housekeeper drilled into his back.Long strides took him down the passage until he reached the sweeping staircase.He took the stairs two at a time and turned to the left.If anyone saw him, he’d say he was meeting Bridget.
Luckily, he met no one, but when he tried the door, he found it locked.Was she in there after all, or did she keep something inside her room she didn’t want the rest of the family to see?
His room had a balcony, as did the empty guest room next door.He checked the door of the neighboring bedroom.Unlocked.Mikhail slipped inside and stilled because the clothes and footwear on the floor suggested someone occupied this room.Several computer monitors sat on a desk, their screens dark.He might’ve investigated them if he’d had time, but examining Bridget’s room was more important.
When no one shouted an alarm, he closed the door behind him.He rapidly searched the drawers and en suite before deciding one of the younger cousins occupied this room.Next, he opened the terrace door and slipped outside.A window was open.Luck indeed.Mikhail exited the room and pulled the door closed after him.
It was a matter of minutes to gain entrance to Bridget’s bedroom.This space was much neater.Mikhail took in the desk, chair, double bed, and feminine furnishings.A walk-in wardrobe contained racks of clothes and dozens of folded jerseys and sweatshirts.Another wall held myriad shoes, all stacked in shiny pairs, according to color.He quickly searched and learned nothing except his wife was neat and organized.
He searched the desk next and hit pay dirt—a folder containing photos of him.The photographer had taken the pictures at different times because he wore varied clothes and different people posed with him.Two men of a similar age, an older gentleman who carried a cane, and a woman in a red evening gown, clutched his arm and leaned close to whisper in his ear.
He swallowed hard and studied the angles of her face.The way she held her head hinted at strength and personality.Aware of the passing time, he flicked through the photos again.
