It’s not enough. Ineedto get in there.
I don’t blame Velle. He can’t risk the lives of his men to save Lemuel when he’s technically alright—as far as we know, anyway.
So here I am, closer to the mansion than I have been since I left it. Filthy, exhausted… Running on goddamn fumes and the tiniest rations of peanut butter and beef jerky for survival, letting the anger and adrenaline keep me from passing the fuck out in defeat.
I’m hiding in some bushes outside the staff house—this large stone building where the chefs and East Wing doctors live. It’s only about fifty yards from the greenhouse, but the problem is that area is heavily guarded. I’ve been searching for a way in for weeks, and there’s never a goddamn opening. But I still keep coming back, because I know it’s the only way in aside from waltzing in the front door.
Call me crazy, but that might be considered a suicide mission.
A group left the mansion, strapped, roughly twenty minutes ago. I’m not sure what they were doing or where they were going, but it sounded like they were planning to try the path between the old armory and the crash site again. Velle has eyes over there, so I’m just hoping they’re unsuccessful.
Unfortunately, one pop turns to a firefight. And I’m worried for my friends…
Still, I have my own objective, and this might be my only chance.
Bodies are on the move. This is already going on longer than the usual shots fired. It happens often… And byoftenI mean on and off,everydamn day. Gunfire has become a fucking lullaby on this island, though certainly not one that rocks my ass to sleep.
Every time I hear it, I’m panicking. It means either prisoners are going rogue and being gunned down, or Velle’s team is being attacked, or worse…
Lemuel tried to escape and they’re shooting at him.
I’ve had no reason to think that’s true, and Lem is smart. He’s a man of science and statistics. He doesn’t act on impulse. Well… notusually.
I just hope he can hold strong, and not let his emotions take over.That’s my job, after all.
The loud bursts of gunfire keep going, andfinally, it drags away the lookouts from the west side of the mansion.
Now’s my chance.
Slipping out of the bushes, I make a run for the greenhouse, fully expecting to be shot, or to come face to face with a dead-eyed cartel killing machine.
But I don’t. I actually make itinsidethe greenhouse.
My heart is bursting out of my chest, so I take cover between a row of flowers to catch my breath. But it still hurts. Because it reminds me of Lemuel.
Of us being in here together… The time he pressed me up against a wall of dahlias and kissed me breathless. Of him kneeling among crumbling rock just outside and asking me tomarry him.
Closing my eyes, I push past the pain and focus, staying low and letting the plants keep me hidden as I creep through to the other side. Plucking any random fruits or vegetables as I go and stuffing them into my backpack because I’m fuckingstarving.
The greenhouse leads into the garden conservatory—the inside garden is different from the outside garden. That leads to either the atrium on the right, which brings you inside the mansion, or the aviary on the left, and no one ever goes over there, since it’s The Ivory’s personal area. Not to mention it’s ominous as hell.
But this time, I’m thinking that might be the way I have to go. Because I obviously can’t just stroll inside the mansion. I can hear people in the atrium from here. It has to be the most heavily trafficked area of the whole mansion, aside from maybe the front door.
No, no.I have to go left. I have no choice.
Still, I can’t justgo. The path is wide open; a stone bridges that run over the indoor pond.
No cover whatsoever.Unless…
Making a snap decision, because I’m fucking crazy, I slip down into the water.
Oh God… where even am I right now??
It’s shallow, but still sort of hidden by the bridges and lots of other trees and plants. This whole place looks like theSecret Garden—if the Secret Garden itself was designed by an evil Colombian madman who’s clearly seen too many Guillermo del Toro movies.
Regardless, I think this might work. Because, as it seems, I’m wading through undetected.
The water is actually warm, but that’s not exactly placating me. I’m fighting not to twitch or shriek when IswearI feel something brush past my leg.
