Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN AT THE EAST GATE
Rourke took one step toward the open chapel door.
Manuel pushed it shut with both hands.
Caleb threw his shoulder against the other side and helped hold it.
The wheel handle spun as Rourke tried to force it open.
“Run,” Caleb shouted through the metal.
Manuel did not waste time asking whether the help was sincere.
He grabbed Rosalie’s hand and pulled her toward the far end of the chamber.
The notebook went beneath his jacket.
The locket hung from Rosalie’s fingers.
Maya’s voice came through the phone.
“Look for the coal chute.”
Rosalie pointed toward a row of empty wine racks.
Manuel drove his shoulder into the nearest one.
It rocked but did not fall.
He struck it again.
Wood tore away from stone, revealing a square iron door no larger than a laundry cabinet.
A rusted chain held it closed.
Behind them, Caleb grunted as the chapel door moved several inches.
“You have thirty seconds,” he yelled.
Manuel wrapped the chain around his forearm and pulled.
Rust flaked onto his shirt.
The metal did not give.
Rosalie searched the nearby shelves.
She found an old iron corkscrew with a thick handle and wedged it through one of the chain links.
Together they twisted.
The link opened with a sharp crack.
Cold night air poured through the chute.
Manuel pushed the iron door outward.
A steep dirt slope disappeared beneath the foundation.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
Rosalie caught his sleeve.
“The dress will snag.”
He looked at the layers of antique silk and lace.
Without hesitation, she gripped the skirt above one knee and tore it.
The sound was soft but final.
She tore the other side until the gown ended at mid-calf.
Lorelei’s wedding dress lay in ruined strips across the stone floor.
Rosalie stepped over them.
“My father cared more about that dress than he ever cared about me,” she said.
“Let him keep what is left.”
Manuel crawled into the chute.
The earth beneath him was frozen and uneven.
He slid ten feet before reaching a drainage trench behind the chapel wall.
Rosalie followed.
He caught her at the bottom.
Above them, the brass door crashed open.
Rourke shouted orders.
A flashlight appeared inside the coal chute.
Manuel and Rosalie ran low through the trench.
Bare branches scratched at their shoulders.
Snow left from an earlier storm lay in gray patches along the ground.
Rosalie’s bare feet struck ice and stone, but she never slowed.
The greenhouse stood fifty yards ahead, its glass roof glowing faintly from reception lights reflected across the lawn.
A delivery road curved behind it toward the east gate.
There was no truck.
Maya swore softly through the phone.
“Caleb may have been fed false information.”
“Or he fed it to us,” Manuel said.
Security lights came on across the estate.
One by one, the dark lawns turned white.
An alarm began ringing near the main house.
The elegant music in the ballroom finally stopped.
Guests spilled onto the terraces, confused figures gathering beneath heaters and strings of gold lights.
From a distance, the scene might have looked beautiful.
Manuel saw only witnesses being directed away from the truth.
They reached the greenhouse and ducked behind a brick retaining wall.
Rosalie leaned against it, breathing hard.
A thin smear of blood had reappeared along the back of her dress.
Manuel removed his tuxedo jacket and placed it around her shoulders.
“We need to stop for one minute.”
“We do not have one minute.”
“You will if you faint.”
“I do not faint.”
“Good.”
“Then sit while remaining conscious.”
She almost smiled.
The expression vanished quickly, but Manuel saw it.
He crouched and checked the soles of her feet.
A small cut marked one heel.
Nothing appeared deep.
He wrapped his handkerchief around it and tied the ends above her ankle.
The key remained inside the linen.
He removed it first and placed it in his inside pocket.
Rosalie watched him.
“You believe me.”
“About which part?”
“My father.”
“I saw your wrists.”
“Most people see what he tells them to see.”
“I have spent my life around powerful men who call coercion a contract.”
“I know the difference.”
Maya interrupted them.
“The east gate camera just went offline.”
“How do you know?” Manuel asked.
“I have access to Pinecrest’s security mirror.”
“Since when?”
“Since Rosalie hired me.”
Rosalie looked away.
Manuel studied her profile.
“You hired a private investigator before our wedding.”
“Attorney,” Maya corrected.
“Former federal prosecutor.”
“Occasional investigator when clients refuse to survive quietly.”
Rosalie pulled the jacket closer.
“I did not know whether you were part of his plan.”
“You could have asked.”
“My father selects men who answer questions well.”
“That is not the same as telling the truth.”
Manuel could not argue with that.
A vehicle engine started beyond the east wall.
Maya spoke quickly.
“The camera is back.”
“A black sedan is waiting outside the gate.”
“I cannot read the plate.”
“Friend or enemy?”
“I do not know.”
Rosalie stood.
“The old gardener’s door is behind the hydrangea wall.”
“It opens outside the gatehouse.”
They crossed the greenhouse in darkness.
Rows of dormant rosebushes formed black shapes beneath the glass.
Water dripped steadily from an overhead pipe.
At the far end, Rosalie pushed through a narrow service door and entered a hedge corridor.
The sounds of security men spread across the grounds behind them.
Rourke’s voice came over the estate loudspeakers.
“Mr. Nelson, Mrs. Nelson is experiencing a medical emergency.”
“Do not place her health at further risk.”
Rosalie stopped at the title.
Mrs. Nelson.
Manuel wondered whether anyone had called her that before.
He took her hand again.
Rourke continued.
“County deputies have been notified that she may be under duress.”
“Return to the house and no charges will be filed.”
“They are building the abduction story,” Maya said.
“They will have video of Manuel pulling you through the greenhouse.”
“They will not show what happened before it.”
“Then we make our own record,” Manuel said.
He turned the phone camera toward Rosalie.
“State your name.”
She understood immediately.
“Rosalie Lorelei Durham Nelson.”
“Are you leaving Pinecrest voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“Did I force you to leave?”
“No.”
“Why are you leaving?”
She looked directly into the camera.
“Because my father brought Dr. Harlan Voss to my locked bridal suite before anyone requested medical care.”
“Dr. Voss has sedated me without consent in the past.”
“My father has confined me and caused the scars visible on my wrists and ankles.”
“I am afraid they will do it again before noon tomorrow.”
Her voice remained steady.
Only the pearl at her ear moved.
Manuel saved the video to his phone and sent copies to Maya and three cloud addresses.
“Send it to the police,” Rosalie said.
“I will send it to everyone if we need to,” Maya replied.
They reached the gardener’s door.
It was a narrow iron gate concealed behind climbing vines.
Rosalie lifted a stone from the base of the wall and found an old key beneath it.
The key entered the lock but would not turn.
Manuel tried.
The mechanism had been changed.
Headlights swept across the hedge behind them.
Security had entered the greenhouse road.
Manuel stepped back and examined the gate.
The hinges were old.
He kicked the lower one twice.
It bent outward.
He drove his shoulder into the iron frame.
The hinge tore from the brick.
Together they forced an opening large enough to pass through.
The black sedan waited fifteen feet away with its engine running.
The rear door opened.
Veronica Nelson stepped out.
Manuel’s mother wore a midnight-blue reception gown beneath a long wool coat.
Her silver hair remained perfectly arranged.
Only the strain around her eyes revealed that anything had gone wrong.
She looked at Manuel’s torn shirt, Rosalie’s shortened gown, and the blood along the lace.
Then she looked at the key-shaped outline inside Manuel’s pocket.
“Get in,” she said.
Maya’s voice came sharply from the phone.
“Do not give her the key.”
Veronica’s gaze moved to the device.
“Maya Chen.”
“You always did enjoy making private matters public.”
“And you always preferred making crimes contractual,” Maya answered.
Manuel stepped between them.
“How did you get through the gate?”
“I have owned fifteen percent of Pinecrest Security for nine years.”
“Emmett never knew.”
“Why are you here?”
“To keep my son from being arrested at his own wedding.”
“And Rosalie?”
Veronica looked at her daughter-in-law.
Something unreadable passed across her face.
“To keep her conscious until noon.”
Rosalie went still.
“You know about the trust.”
“I know more than I ever wanted to know.”
Security lights appeared behind the damaged gate.
Veronica opened the sedan’s front passenger door.
“Questions inside.”
They climbed in.
The driver accelerated before the doors had fully closed.
A security vehicle turned onto the road behind them.
Veronica reached into her coat and removed a compact remote.
She pressed one button.
The iron estate gate began sliding shut across the road.
The security vehicle braked hard on the other side.
For the first time since entering the passage, Manuel allowed himself one full breath.
Then he noticed the driver.
Dr. Harlan Voss’s medical case sat on the floor beside the man’s right foot.
The driver’s face was hidden by the rearview mirror, but his hands wore the pale gloves Manuel had seen reaching through the nursery wall.
Rosalie saw the case at the same moment.
Her hand closed around Manuel’s wrist.
Veronica followed their gaze.
Her expression changed.
“I did not hire this driver,” she said.
May you like
The locks clicked down on all four doors.
The sedan left the estate road and accelerated toward the dark trees.
