We exchanged a look, halfoh no, halfoh yes, and pressed ourselves flat against the wall beside the doorway.
From inside her suite came the faint scrape of furniture, then muffled footsteps… then stillness.
We waited, breath held, nerves flaring, until several long seconds passed.
Then the sound of a panel closing again.
Another click.
A moment later, Cooper reappeared in the doorway, now empty-handed, expression perfectly neutral.
He checked his watch.
Straightened his jacket.
And walked off down the corridor, entirely unaware that he had just broadcast his biggest secret to us.
The second he rounded the corner, Noah whispered, “Now.”
Noah and I hurried forward, slipping into the room right before the latch caught.
The room was immaculate, bed made, curtains drawn neatly, everything in strict order. But the far wall told another story.
A wall panel next to a bookcase sat ajar.
My pulse kicked up.
We approached it cautiously and slid it open, just enough to slip through, and stepped into a hidden antechamber bathed in the dim lamplight.
The scent hit me instantly.
Her perfume.
Imperial Summer Lavendar No. 2.
Lady Beaumont’s signature, the kind of perfume that permeated every room she ever entered.
This room was narrow and cluttered,shockinglyso, considering Lady Beaumont’s suite seemed like a museum exhibit.
Travel trunks were stacked in a crooked tower against the wall, their leather worn and their brass clasps dulled with age. Faded stickers clung to their sides, Zurich, Vienna, London, Bordeaux, all stamped with dates from the sixties.
Noah froze when he saw them.
“Hang on,” he murmured, stepping closer. “These aren’t hers.”
His fingers traced a cracked shipping label.
“These belonged to my grandfather. Edward. He brought them back from Europe after his vineyard apprenticeship.”
My eyebrows shot up, “Are you sure?”
He nodded, slow and certain.
“Dad showed me once when I was little.”
His voice dropped further. “They were supposed to be in the basement.”
And yet here they were.
