11
The limo pulledaround a massive circular driveway, past the grand staircase and white double doors perched on the front porch of Senator Cotter's plantation style home. Nightshade stayed tucked in the corner against the door, studying any possible entry and exit points on the premises.
Manicured lawns stretched out for acres and acres. Beyond that, a solid wall of hardwood trees. And beyond that, she knew from studying the GPS imagery, stood a tall brick wall topped with black spikes.
The mansion didn’t dwarf her father’s palace back in Afghanistan before they’d blown it sky high, but it did exude a certain amount of D.C. elegance and power with its thick white columns stretching from the ground to the hip roof three stories up. The circular drive held a large double fountain in the center, which was surrounded by rows of rose bushes.
They drove around the side of the house, parking in the back beneath a covered awning. “Why are we stopping back here?”
“Because your new security detail advised us to,” Cotter said. “They don’t want to risk any detection from satellites or drones of your movements about the estate.”
Smart. Especially since she’d personally tapped into one of NORAD’s satellites to spy on this very location during her training. But she was supposed to be his privileged daughter, Caroline, not someone with spy savvy. Time to play dumb. “You really think he can do that?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it for a second. But this time, I’m not giving him any chance to take us by surprise.” Cotter glanced out the window, his finger bent at his chin. “I will never allow him to hurt my family again.”
Nightshade held silent, unsure of the Senator’s dim yet almost calculating mood, as their limo driver, the one who’d replaced the man hired by Mankel to kidnap Caroline in the first place, opened her door and assisted her out.
Although her father had offered to have a personal assistant purchase designer clothing for her trip home, she’d refused, instead requesting something more loose and comfortable, using the excuse of her injuries to block any questions about her change in clothing preference. His assistant had come back with cotton tunics and dresses, simple and easy to put on. Not exactly the training gear she was used to, but better than heels and tight skirts.
Nightshade, out of sheer curiosity, donned a dress — she couldn’t recall ever wearing one before. The lightweight soft cotton draped down her body, not tight but not too loose, in a pale shade of blue like the sky on a clear cloudless day. The freedom of movement surprised her as did how easy it had been to slip a knife from one of the hospital security guard’s belts and strap it to her thigh. She’d tried to go without a weapon, she really had, but she’d felt so naked. So vulnerable.
“You ready?” Cotter held out his arm, the material of his white cotton button-up not daring to wrinkle.
She peered up at the small covered back door. “For what?”
“This.” Then he led her inside to an all-out ambush.
“Oh honey, you’re back. I can’t believe it! I was so worried, I tell you, just sick with it.” A large older woman, her silvery hair pulled back into a loose bun, enveloped Nightshade in a nearly suffocating hug. Harriet. She was Caroline’s nanny turned housekeeper of the estate.
Nightshade patted the woman’s back awkwardly, all of a sudden unsure of how to respond to such an outward drenching of emotion. “I’m okay.”
Harriet locked her arms out straight, holding Nightshade for inspection. “You’ve lost weight. Your clothes are hanging on you - oh honey.” Harriet slapped a hand to her mouth and then reverently touched Nightshade’s cheek. “Your face.” Sympathy filled her expression, but then Harriet seemed to rally, her stern command sliding into place. “I’ll call Fernando tonight and have him here bright and early for a full body wrap, facial and massage. He’ll have you right as rain in no time.”
“Fernando?” Nightshade’s head was beginning to spin.
“No. No Fernando, Harriet,” Cotter interjected. “Not until you clear him with her new security detail.”
Another arm locked on Nightshade’s bicep and pulled her from the near bruising grip of Harriet’s. This one, a tall skinny lady whose skin had started to wrinkle around her mouth, seemed to glare down at her. Francis, Cotter’s chef. “Harriet, you can’t fix that kind of trauma with superficial facials. She needs nutrients. I’ll fix you up your favorite foods tonight. The more you eat, the better you will feel.”
“All right, you two. I think more than anything, Caroline needs to rest.” Cotter gently extracted her from Caroline’s avenging angels and Nightshade sank thankfully into his side.
“But I fired up the ovens the second I heard your plane touched down.” Francis snapped her bony fingers.
“I, um, not right now,” Nightshade stuttered out, completely flabbergasted by the whirlwind of doting and hugging.
And a little part of her warmed by Harriet and Francis’s obvious concern for her wellbeing. Even when she’d been shot or cut or burned, the most attention Nightshade got growing up was a quick bandage job and a rough ‘tough it out’ from her father.
Francis’s determined expression fell and regret had Nightshade recalling her statement. “I could use a little snack, though. Maybe a protein bar or something.”
Francis threw a hand over her chest and stumbled back only to have the heavyset Harriet hold her upright. “I’ll not feed something so generic to my baby right after she’s returned to the nest. You just go on up to your room and rest. I’ll bring you up your favorite.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Nightshade spit out as fast as she could, anything to appease the woman. Did Caroline have to put up with this muchhovering?She’d thought the senator was overbearing in the hospital, but he didn’t have anything on these two. Caro’s surrogate mothers could make her mission much more complicated.
“Come on, I’ll take you up to your room.” Cotter patted her hand on his arm and led her down a short, narrow hallway of dark wood panels. He pushed through a small swinging door and into a grand dining room, its center piece a gorgeous heavy wood table gleaming underneath a chandelier dripping with crystals.
Nightshade tried to take it all in, take note of the doorways and windows for possible avenues of escape, but they kept moving, straight into a sitting room and then the foyer. She’d seen photos from a magazine spread of the house, but in person, the dark hardwood floors and balustrade mixed with pristine white stairs and walls held her mesmerized.
She could put at least three teams in this one room alone, along with a large latrine.
