Finally, there’s the crunch of gravel and the end to my physical discomfort pulls into sight. The car noses forward, barely moving at all, then comes to a stop five metres clear of the gate.
I wave to Yuri, the guard on duty, and he punches in a key code that even I’m not allowed to know. Once Carla Maxwell rolls down the window, I lean through the gap. “I’ll need your phone.”
It’s just for show, including me handing mine over at the same time. The security at this place is out of this world crazy and there’s a signal blocker inside the house to stop any overlooked devices.
I suppose if you’re going to build a retreat in the middle of a secluded forest, you may as well go overboard.
Back inside the car, I keep my expression neutral as Carla continues up the drive. Another two guards wait at the door, rifles slung casually over their shoulders as though that’s a normal accessory in this part of the world.
The door opens before we leave the confines of the car, Baxter Balabanov standing at the entrance to welcome us as guests. Stefan introduced me to him recently—a fellow leader in the syndicate, based in Canterbury—and he offered the use of his mansion when I was spitballing ideas.
Mansion is my word. He called it a house.
There’s a tray of tea things waiting in a sitting room off the main lobby. This room at least is small and with its overdose of morning sun, stays warm even without indoor heating.
“Is Sierra here?” Carla asks, her face flushing with eagerness.
“No. Not today. This is a run-through to make sure you understand what you need to know. The next time, she’ll be waiting.”
She swallows and manages a smile with thinned lips. “Okay.”
“Rule number one is that you must make it to the gate on time. Not early. Not late. The guards are paid too much money to be standing around, waiting for you. Understand?”
I reach for a biscuit since Baxter was kind enough to provide them. The tea I couldn’t care less about, but I nod when Carla raises her eyebrows, and she pours herself a cup.
She nods in answer to my prelude, but a worm of mischief twists in my belly as I add, “You need to say it aloud. So I know you’re paying attention.”
“I understand.”
“Leave your phone on with the sound enabled until you reach the gate, then hand it to the guard on duty. You might receive a call right up to the time of the meeting. If you do, don’t argue. Just turn around and try again on your next appointed day.”
The command doesn’t sit well with her, but it won’t alter. A vindictive streak in me would happily cancel every single visitation just to watch her break down, piece by piece. That would offset my end game with these meetings, however.
Control.
Sierra is far too much like me to be manageable. Even with every person at home in love with her—or maybe because of that—she ignores advice at every turn and just does whatever the hell she wants.
Bad enough if I was free to parent her however I wanted, but with a case worker still poking their nose in, it’s become a nightmare.
She doesn’t care enough about possessions to rate taking them away as a punishment. At one point, I thought her adoration of Caylon—who’s casually mentoring her into evil genius mode—might serve as a control. Then the one time I tried to stop them seeing each other, they both bitched at me non-stop and every credit card I owned stopped working.
So Carla it is. Sierra might pretend that she doesn’t care we snatched her away from the only parents she’s ever known, but I can see through her little charade. Papering over her torn heart is a trick straight out of my playlist.
Much as I hate it, the feelings still run deep. Deep enough to rein her in with threats to cut off access.
Irony is a fickle bedfellow.
“Never cancel an appointment. If you’re dying, show up anyway and collapse here.” Knowing Baxter, he’s probably got a doctor stashed away somewhere on the property.
“What if I need to get in touch with you?”
“You don’t. I don’t care about your problems. Sort them or don’t. Either way, it’s your business. The first time you miss a meeting, they’ll stop.”
And with an errant husband, there’s no legitimate way for her to get them reinstated.
“I understand,” she says, this time without being prompted.
“And never hurt Sierra. Those guards at the gate can kill you and dispose of your body, so it’s never found. All it’ll take is an order.”
